Summer Tour (Summer Tour Series Book 1): Summer Tour Series, #1

by

Diane Matlick

What lies behind us and what lies before us, are tiny matters compared to what lies within us.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Copyright © 2014 by Diane Matlick

Published by Diane Matlick at Smashwords

Cover Design by Michael Matlick

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Epilogue

Preview of Winter Break

Acknowledgements

Please Review!

Links

Chapter One

Tuesday, June 22nd

Ben

It’s early summer in northern New Jersey, finals are long over and I’m hanging out in my college apartment with a bunch of my friends. A dense haze hovers over the room and we’re slow motion dancing around each other while Cypress Hill extols the virtues of bong hits, and the penetrating beat of the song dictates our trance-like movements. I’m about to take my umpteenth hit from the bowl we’re passing around when my phone starts buzzing.

Your mom, my best friend Rocky mouths to me over-emphatically. Before I can even wave him off not to, he answers it for me.

Hey, Elaine! Yes it is. I’m good, how are you? Yes, I miss you too. Sure, he’s right here… He holds up the phone giving me his ridiculous shit-eating grin that seems to get most girls to drop their pants but just serves to piss me off. I scowl at him as I inhale the hit and take the phone giving him my best ‘you’re such a fucking dick’ look, and then I blow the smoke in his face.

What’s up, Mom? I ask through a brief coughing fit.

Ben, do you think you could’ve waited to smoke your pot until after I spoke with you? I have some important things to discuss and I’d prefer if you weren’t high for once.

I’m high whether I smoke or not, Mom. She loves my little quips, and honestly, it probably has only been once that I wasn’t high. I can practically hear her roll her eyes and try to gather her strength. She pretends that I annoy her but seriously, I’m her only son—she lives for me.

Your father and I decided to go to San Francisco for a week—we’re leaving Thursday, do you want to come?

Um… I don’t know, I’ve got the apartment for the summer and—

Okay, great. So, can I rely on you to take us to the airport?

Did she just cut me off? Have I finally pushed her to her limit with all my bullshit? Is it possible that I’m not the center of her universe anymore? Dad must be taking some enhancement pills.

Yeah, of course I’ll take you guys, and I’ll take excellent care of your car. Hmm, this may work out great. My friends and I are planning on doing summer tour, following the band Phish all over the east coast for a week or so, and my mom has a fully loaded Escalade.

I’m sure you will, no fucking around, Ben.

My mom was born and raised in the Bronx and it is physically impossible for her to keep her mouth clean. When I was three, my preschool teacher was pretty alarmed at how often I said the word ‘fuck’, but it was the word I got the most practice with at home. Needless to say, my mom got a phone call to come in for a conference, and apparently they weren’t as impressed as she was that I was using it appropriately.

Of course not, Mom, send me your flight infor—

That’s not all, she says abruptly, cutting me off again.

I got called in to the hospital where Anna’s mother is, apparently I’m the only listed contact right now?

Oh shit—here we go. I creep away from everyone to go outside my room and partially shut the door behind me. Okay.

Ben!

What?

Are you in touch with Anna?

Yeah, a little, she’s fine, she can take care of herself. Or so she’s told me countless times—when she responds to me, that is.

"Ben, her mom was a mess. She was tied down to the bed, sedated on pills. The nurses told me she was screaming something about her daughter, which they found to be weird considering she has no children. Why do they think she doesn’t have any children?"

I don’t know what the hell to say to that so I’m silent.

Ben!

What?

You need to get in touch with her! Clearly we are all she has and I’m starting to think something very fucked up went on with that family. Anna is completely out of touch, she apparently has nothing to do with her mother, her sister is holed away somewhere in a boarding school—

Okay, I’ll check in on her.

She takes a deep breath. Listen, sweetheart, I know this is tough for you because she never returned the feelings you had for her, but this is beyond that, she may really need our help. Please get in touch with her, I want to get together with her as soon as we get back.

"Okay, I got it."

All of a sudden I hear Rocky serenading the girls with his Jim Morrison impression and it makes me laugh, and if my mom hadn’t had enough of me before…

You know, Ben, I liked it much better when you tried to hide your marijuana use from us. Oh fuck that, I know she smokes dope too and my dad grows it—where do you think I get it from?

Whatever, just text me the details.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Goodbye, Ben. And then she hangs up on me! I look at the phone in shock, but then I remember the good news. I go back into the room to let everyone know that we’re doing summer tour, and we’re doing it in my mom’s Escalade.

***

So, you’re probably thinking that I’m some no good, spoiled, rich kid pothead—but you’re way off. My family has money, but I’m not spoiled because my parents are hippies and they make me ‘earn’ my cash so I spend a lot of time volunteering in inner cities with less fortunate kids. I’m also a straight A student and I have never been in trouble with the law. But I am most definitely a pothead. Certain circumstances in my life being what they are, reality just doesn’t do it for me, so I choose the altered reality that smoking pot brings me and I choose it regularly.

Chapter Two

Ryan

It’s early evening, and although I know I should be concentrating on my work, I can’t help but zone out to the view of the city skyline from my desk. When I graduated I had a few job offers in New York City that I seriously considered, but when this firm showed me what I’d be looking at through my office window, I knew I’d take a job here. Say what you want about New Jersey—and most of it is probably true, but the views are the best, especially down here across from lower Manhattan. My office is on the thirtieth floor and as I look out at the nearly blinding reflection of the sun setting against the enormous buildings, it almost feels like I am in the city because I can’t even see the Hudson River below me.

I try to pull myself together and look down at my desk—refocusing my eyes with some rapid fire blinking—but now I’m zoning out to my work, with all the numbers blurring and dancing around on the screen of my laptop. My phone buzzing snaps me out of my daydream—my oldest friend Curt is texting me.

Curt: We’re going to a titty bar tonight

Nope, I’m not doing it. Curt is always trying to make me his partner in crime and I’m over it—I’ve got too much on my mind right now to get involved in his nonsense.

Ryan: Sorry, I’ve got too much on my mind right now, laying low for the foreseeable future

Curt: That’s exactly why you need to go, pick me up after work

Ryan: No

Curt: Yes

Ryan: City?

Curt: Hell no, I have a political career to think about, can’t get caught out in the city, some place local

I can’t help but laugh. We live in Hudson County, New Jersey, one of the shadiest places in the country. It’s so corrupt here, politicians exchange illegally harvested organs in the back rooms of strip clubs while they hold fundraisers in front. Curt just loves the seedy places, where the girls’ tits have to be real because they can’t afford implants. The clubs in New York City are too corporate and the girls are too fake.

Ryan: Fine. ONE drink

Curt: And one lap dance

Ryan: For you

Curt: You’re gonna give me a lap dance? No thanks, I’m not trying to be governor

One of our recent governors came out of the closet while he was still in office with his loyal wife by his side, yet gay marriage isn’t legal. Could it be possible that if a person felt truly accepted they might not marry a woman when they’re into men? I think he was a shitty governor though, I don’t really remember.

Ryan: Ok, that one was funny, see you after work

I’m not usually into strip clubs, but I guess I do need to get my mind off things for a bit. I’ll go, but I’m having one drink and no lap dances.

Chapter Three

Ryan

Two drinks and one somewhat uncomfortable lap dance later, I’ve had enough for the night, but I cannot find Curt for the life of me. There is no doubt this place is in a bad part of town, but as I scan the room I notice it’s actually not that terrible inside. You get the feeling that you’re back in the seventies with all the retro furniture and bright colors, but it’s surprisingly clean and modern. There are a few stages in front and the small bar on the side is manned by a large and scary looking dude of a bartender—I guess they prefer you order drinks from the girls. And speaking of the girls, he seems to be keeping a close eye on all of them, I’m sure not much happens on his watch.

I’m nearing the end of my patience so I do one last visual sweep and as I scrutinize the dark and crowded room, I come upon a girl that is sexy as hell and to my disbelief, she is looking right at me. She has dark hair, light eyes, and appears like she’s a mix of races—I can’t tell which—but it really works on her and comes across very exotic but with an underlying innocence. She’s serving drinks but she’s in a different outfit than the other waitresses, so I’m wondering if she’s one of the strippers and I missed her or if she has yet to perform—obviously I’m hoping for the latter. I subconsciously still as she continues to lay out drinks without missing a beat or breaking our tenuous connection, before she abruptly looks away and disappears through an archway.

A few minutes later, finally, I spot her again. She’s sitting at the bar having a drink, animatedly chatting away with the bartender. I suddenly wish I were a bit more inebriated because I have a small window of opportunity here and I am way too sober to proposition a girl this far out of my league. Don’t get me wrong—I attract girls, but mostly because of my personality, and by that I mean how funny and shamelessly outgoing I am when I’ve had a few. Unfortunately, at this moment, I am smack dab in between buzzed enough to want to pursue her, but not enough to pull it off.

The bartender seems to be instantly aware of me as I walk over to them—alternatingly smirking at each of us—but I can’t see her expression, so I have no idea in which direction this is headed. I slide up right next to her and lay my hands on the railing of the bar, drawing a colossal blank as I try like hell to think of an acceptable opening line. He tilts his head—still with that smirk—in mock anticipation, and she leans forward to take a sip of her drink, throwing me a sideways glance in the process.

What did I already do? And what the fuck am I going to say?

You’re a great dancer, I manage to get out.

She turns her head back forward and they lock eyes. I can’t see the look she gives him, but he gives her one barely perceptible nod of his head. I didn’t dance tonight, she says matter-of-factly.

Shit, that was the best I had. Scary dude looks at me like, ‘What else you got?’ Um, nothing.

So, I’d offer to buy you a drink, but you already have one… This is getting pathetic.

She puts an end to me with, Yeah, and most of the guys that offer to buy me drinks turn out to be serial killers, so I’m good.

Okay—got it. It pains me to walk away because this girl is so intriguing to me, but I still have my pride—I think.

Chapter Four

Ryan

I have completely lost Curt—this is so fucking typical. I honestly could not care less because I just want to get the hell out of here, but I haven’t gotten a text or even a butt dial back from him, so I’m concerned about leaving. The neighborhood this place is in is beyond shady—and he disappeared during his lap dance—but I’ve reached my limit, and I’m ready to get in my car and go home without him.

I’ve already determined he’s not anywhere inside, so I decide to take a quick look outside, and as I’m searching for him, or possibly his remains, I spot her again. She’s got a coat belted around her, a Yankees hat pulled down low, a huge bag hanging off her elbow, and flip flops on her feet. She is so much shorter without her stripper heels on that I almost didn’t recognize her and she looks annoyed as she furiously checks her phone. As thrilled as I am to see her, I can’t believe she hangs around outside here all by herself, it just seems so dangerous to me. I walk right up to her and watch her for a minute and she doesn’t even flinch.

Are you okay? I ask her.

What? She responds automatically and still hasn’t looked up at me.

I’m sorry, I know it’s none of my business, but you’re out here all by yourself and you keep checking your phone—is everything okay?

She looks her eyes up, and when she recognizes who I am, she nods her head and says, I’m starting to think you really are a serial killer. And then she looks back down and continues to ignore my existence.

No, I just—

She cuts me right off. Listen, I can handle myself, I’m just waiting for someone.

Still looking at her phone…

For a ride?

No, I live right around— She closes her eyes to stop herself from continuing and then looks at me again and furrows her brow. "Why are you still talking to me? Because as you said, this is none of your business."

Okay—fuck this. Curt is gone, this girl clearly wants nothing to do with me, and I’m spent. You’re right, you seem to have it all under control—have a good night, I spit at her.

She narrows her gaze at me like she’s trying to figure something out and then asks, Are you a narc?

Is this girl serious right now? What?

I don’t know, you just seem a little too interested in what’s going on here and you’re dressed all buttoned up. She proceeds to point out my outfit like she’s Vanna White. Alright, I’ll give her that one, I came straight from work and this isn’t the type of place that typically attracts guys in suits. I’m starting to think that you’re not a serial killer—you’re a narc, she says pointing at me, pretty proud of herself.

Trust me, I’m not a narc, I shrug casually, I’m an accountant.

She scrunches her nose in disgust. Huh. Now I kinda wish you were a narc.

Now, I’m really done. This stripper is honestly judging my chosen line of work? I start backing away…

You know, I may be boring and buttoned up, but I also happen to be a nice guy, and while I’d prefer not to see you end up in a fucking dumpster, as you said, you can handle yourself, so I’ll go now. I turn around and walk off. Good night, Vanna.

Really? she calls after me, Because nice guys don’t usually drop F-bombs the first time they talk to a girl.

I turn back to her so stunned I actually laugh and shake my head. "Well I guess I’m not that nice." Then I turn back around and continue on my way.

Wait, come back here a second. Seriously? Now I have her attention? Why do girls always have to be into bad guys? I stop in my tracks and run my hand through my hair in exasperation. Against my better judgment, I turn around and slowly walk back to her. She grabs my hand and gives me a pleading look, but I shake my head again and look away.

Listen, I’m sorry to be such a bitch but you can imagine I get a lot of… unwanted attention around here, and of course every guy tells me how nice he is… She tugs my arm and I look back at her. The sudden hint of vulnerability in her eyes is mesmerizing and she easily recaptures my full attention. "My roommate has some disgusting guy over and I can’t go home until she gives me the ‘all clear’, and I’ve had the longest day and I’m so tired. All I want to do is lie on my couch and smoke this joint my friend gave me but I’m fucking stuck here… She looks down and even though she’s clearly upset, I can’t help but snort out a laugh. She drops my hand and looks at me like I’m mean. What are you laughing at?" she asks quietly.

"Sorry, it’s just one second you won’t even talk to me because I’m a serial killer, the next second I’m a narc, and now you’re spilling your guts, telling me you have pot on you?" She tries to keep a straight face, but starts smiling herself. Wow, she’s even cuter when she’s not scowling at me—I am not walking away from her again until she’s home safe.

Hopefully you’re not a narc, I do not want you to confiscate my stash. She looks up at me with those eyes—I’m sure she uses them to get her way all the time. She sure as hell is charming and I’m not ready to say goodnight to her, so I take her hand again.

Look, I really am a nice guy, so why don’t you come to my place? We can smoke your joint, I have tons of funny shows to watch, we can even stop for some snacks on the way—my treat. When your roommate gives you the ‘all clear’, I’ll bring you home completely unharmed, scouts honor.

She looks at me suspiciously for a second then asks, You were a boy scout?

I look her right in those eyes. Nope.

She tries unsuccessfully to suppress her smile. Then she tilts her head to the side and squints. What kind of funny stuff?

I shake my head slowly. Anything you want. I almost call her baby, but I wisely leave that out.

What kind of snacks? I shake my head again—she gets it. Alright, let’s go. I’m Anna, by the way.

I’m Ryan. I shake her hand that I didn’t realize I was still holding, and lead her to my car.

Chapter Five

Anna

Ryan lets me into his car and shuts the door before he heads around to the driver’s side. Just as I get settled, a text message comes through from my roommate—she’s giving me the ‘all clear’ just when I don’t give a shit anymore. I found someone—I mean something better to do. I quickly exit the message and throw the phone into my bag before Ryan gets in the car. As he sits down and starts the engine, he smiles at me and says, I know a place we can stop at on the way to my house. Cool—he has a house. I guess there are perks to hanging out with an accountant—unless it’s his parent’s house, but he seems too old to be living with his parents.

How old are you? I ask nonchalantly.

Twenty-eight. You?

Twenty-two.

We drive in silence. Awkward silence. But is there any other kind when you’re a stripper in a car with a guy you just met and you’re going to buy munchies and smoke a joint and then hopefully hit the sheets together? Probably not. When we arrive, we smile at each other (awkwardly) and get out. We head into the convenience store and start searching out for snacks. He’s by the chips and I’m checking out the ice cream when the flip phone some stalker patron gave me earlier starts buzzing in my bag.

Rick: Where u?

Seriously? This douchebag has got to be joking. I power it off and toss it into a garbage pail by the ‘fresh’ hot dogs. I only took the phone to avoid confrontation at the time and now he can piss off. I may be a stripper and I may get around, and yes I have daddy issues, but I also have standards. I would love a relationship but no normal guy wants to date a stripper and I’m not in a place to give it up—yet. Sure, I’ve had plenty of offers to help me out of my ‘situation’ and I even do my best Julia Roberts impression each time—it’s a really good offer for a girl like me—but I rely on no one but myself and this how I’m doing it. A guy like Ryan is exactly what I look for in my one-night stands—grateful. I’m sure he gets laid plenty—he’s certainly a cutie, but probably not often by a girl like me. And trust me, I’m not bragging. It’s not lost on me that looks are pure genetic luck of the draw and frankly, mine have done way more to hurt me than help me. That being the case, I have no problem using them to my advantage. I find guys who are thrilled just to get a night with me and I keep it moving before the condom even comes off. I have absolutely no interest in getting involved and even less interest in getting hurt. My life is carefully constructed right now—it may be hanging by a thread at times, but carefully constructed nonetheless.

We finally meet up at the register and as we pile our treats on the counter, I decide to start teasing Ryan a little. I grab a pack of lighters and start smacking him in the chest with them.

"We are definitely going to need one of these." Then I put my