Chapter 3

Wednesday night at Sand Dune boomed loud with music and laughing patrons, college kids and surfers fresh off the beach. Some even bothered to wipe the sand off their feet. Karla wiped down the counter, having to step on her tiptoes to reach the outer edge. She didn’t mind, of course. Leaning over like that allowed her top to pop open as she teased the customers with her cleavage and promised them treasures just beyond their grasp. Heath, Sand Dune’s bouncer five nights a week, winked at her as she glanced up, showing his appreciation of the view. Paul Kiser, owner and bartender, reached under her skirt and pinched her ass as he walked by on his way to the Glenlivet. Those who noticed, also cheered. Karla just yelped as she jerked upward, her squeal turning to laughter. She turned, smiling at him as she slapped her towel at him. He surprised her with the pinch, but it wasn’t unexpected. Paul played grab ass with her ever since before he hired her. It was probably because of how much he loved her ass that he gave her the job. The interview process took place behind locked doors and after hours and involved more than grabbing ass. Of course, the two of them went further than the grab ass phase back when she was a patron and not an employee. Paul was always her sure thing at last call if no one better ever came along. Sure, it sounded bad if said that way, but it wasn’t meant that way. Neither of them ever took it beyond the booty call at closing time, so no one ever got hurt, and she even got a job out of it. Still, Karla was all about new adventures, which Paul ceased to be after the first night she couldn’t pay her bar tab. That was the night she knew Sand Dune was her bar.

Sand Dune was the latest job in a long string of jobs. She tended to go through them as fast as she went through relationships. She wasn’t the type to stay in one place for very long. Never was. She became bored. Quick. Needed to move. Needed change. Constant change.

She tried college. When her sister, Aimee, entered community college, Karla followed her—as she tended to do with everything. Yet, while school was perfect for Aimee, it was an uncomfortable fit for Karla. It didn’t surprise her parents. She hated high school, so the fact she even tried college shocked everyone. Her mother always said Karla possessed a gypsy spirit, prone to wander. It became her excuse to wander from job to job, as well as relationship to relationship. Aimee always saw the future. Planned for it, even down to her retirement plan. Karla only cared about the now, the latest party, newest adventure. The future would take care of itself, she believed. And it always did, leaving her free to enjoy her life.

“Vodka and cranberry and a Jack and Coke, please.” He was blond, still wearing his board shorts and smelling like the Atlantic. He wasn’t alone, either. Vodka and cranberry meant there was a female. Ah, well. He was cute and taken men never bothered her. Yes, Karla was one of those women. She didn’t answer to anyone and even when she did, it still didn’t matter. She did whatever she felt like doing. This was the reason her relationships never lasted. Six months, that was her average time in a serious relationship. She endured one for an entire year before, but eventually, it ran its course, she grew restless, and she got busted in bed with someone else and the love affair ended. Not the one with the guy she was in bed with, of course, just the one she was supposed to be serious about. It didn’t matter. There was always someone else who thought they could change her. They wanted the challenge. They weren’t like other men, they promised. They could handle her. Yet, all men were alike and none of them were up for the challenge of Karla Harper. They meant well. They had high hopes. Enthusiasm. And even though she warned them, they all made a valiant, yet futile, attempt.

Each one of them failed to realize that Karla Harper despised relationships.

She slid the drinks in front of the surfer, took his twenty, and thanked him. She watched as he carried the drinks to a corner booth overlooking the Atlantic shore and gave an appreciative nod when she saw Miss Vodka and Cranberry. With a slight nod, Karla decided she may have to weasel her way into that couple before the night ended.

And that was the problem with relationships. If she had a man who claimed her, she wouldn’t be able to go out with surfer dude and his girlfriend. At least, not without someone getting their boxers in a wad. Relationships came with rules and Karla Harper despised rules. They were restraints that bound you to the morals of the past and kept you from relishing life in the present. And Karla relished life. She loved sex, loved showing off her body, craved the attention and adventures it brought. Men trapped you in a relationship and then hid their partner’s body and quelled the adventures. Nobody stifled Karla’s fun.

Her phone vibrated in her back pocket, a text from Mitch. Let’s hit the steak house tomorrow night. You’re buying.

One of her eyebrows popped up. He had guts, she’d give him that, to be so casually telling her they were going out, especially after his little stunt that morning. She typed back. You’re asking me out. Why would I buy? And shouldn’t you apologize for this morning before suggesting we go out to dinner. She slid the phone back into her pocket with a shake of her head at his audacity and finished wiping down the counter. It didn’t really need it, of course, but it gave Paul the illusion that she was being industrious. He was easily fooled. Besides, he liked staring at her shaking ass.