Initially, I had planned to stroll around LA for a while before getting back on the road to the beach house. But there wasn't much I could actually do with the budget I had.
One thing about me: I'm not reckless when it comes to money. If I know I don't have enough, I plan carefully and stick to a tight budget. And when I do manage to earn a little extra, I save it. I prefer spending money on things that actually matter to me... like these two months with my friends.
I knew we'd eventually come back to LA for a few days to have fun, and I had money saved for that. For now, though, it was smarter to head straight to the beach house.
As I drove, my mother's voice echoed in my head.
"You're going for two months? Two months?" she had snapped. "Have you lost your mind, Jeremy?"
She never liked the nickname my siblings gave me, so she always used my full name.
"Do you realize you're not a child anymore? You have a job, meaningless as it may be, but at least you're earning something. I can't believe you're willing to leave it behind to go on vacation with your rich, successful friends. They might have their lives planned out, but you don't. They have meaningful careers with real incomes. They can afford to take two months off. You can't."
Her voice had only grown sharper as she continued.
"How reckless of you. And when your little vacation ends and you're left with no money, no stable job, and nowhere to go, don't you dare come crawling back here expecting help from your father or me. You chose to become a failed artist. You chose to work as a waiter. You deal with the consequences – not us."
The worst part about her outburst was that... I agreed with her.
It would have been easier if they had just left me alone instead of reminding me every single time they saw me how disappointed they were in me.
I had to stop for gas one last time before reaching the beach house. By then, I was already exhausted and just wanted to lie down for a while, but there were still about forty minutes of driving left. So, I decided to fill the tank and grab a cup of coffee to keep myself going.
After pumping the gas, I bought an iced latte. It tasted pretty average, but it did the job and helped me refuel a little. I've always preferred my coffee cold anyway.
Since I was running low on cigarettes, I decided to stock up before getting back on the road. With the cup of coffee still in my hand, I walked into the small mart attached to the gas station.
I grabbed a couple of packs of cigarettes before wandering toward the candy aisle. I suddenly had a craving for something sweet, perhaps a chocolate bar or something similar.
As I passed the organic section, a familiar scent drifted toward me. Warm, spicy... unmistakable. It was the same scent I had noticed back at the café.
I couldn't help but glance around.
And sure enough, there he was again. The same beautiful man stood a few feet away, studying a jar on the shelf. Back at the café, I had only glanced at him, but now I found myself truly watching him.
He was stunning.
I couldn't help but feel a pang of envy for men blessed with such effortless beauty. I swear, if I looked like him, dating would probably be a thousand times easier.
He was still wearing the same black shirt, the sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows, revealing the tattoos inked along his forearms. They were elegant and deliberate, nothing like the questionable, drunken decisions permanently etched on my own skin. His black pants fit him perfectly, outlining a tall, lean frame.
My heart fluttered as my eyes drifted back to his face. Up close, his features were even more striking. He looked mixed... maybe half Asian, half Caucasian. Whatever combination of genes had created him, they had worked absolute wonders.
He had a sharp, perfectly shaped nose, a strong jawline, and a faint five o'clock shadow that somehow made him look even more attractive. His eyes were lowered, so I could only see the long lashes casting shadows against his cheeks. His lips were thin, pressed into a firm line.
He looked older than me, maybe in his late twenties or early thirties. It wasn't that his face looked aged; he actually looked quite young. But there was a quiet maturity about him, something in the way his features were set, a certain heaviness in his expression that made me guess he was older. Of course, I could be completely wrong.
I knew I must have looked like a creep staring at him like that, but it wasn't entirely my fault... he was simply that beautiful. And I tend to get painfully nervous around attractive people.
As if sensing my gaze lingering on him, he suddenly looked up. His eyebrows drew together slightly, and his eyes locked onto mine.
I froze.
In that moment, it felt like I'd just been caught committing a crime.
If I get anxious around good-looking people, then I become a whole new level of weird when I actually have to interact with them. So the moment the beautiful man's eyes narrowed on me, I squeaked out a quiet, "Hi."
Unlike me, the man wasn't a bundle of nerves. He calmly glanced around, as if checking whether I was really speaking to him. That probably should have been my cue to disappear, but I had already embarrassed myself enough for one day. So I stayed rooted to the spot and watched as his gaze returned to me.
I expected him to say something.
He didn't.
Instead, he sighed softly, placed the jar back on the shelf, and turned as if he was about to walk away.
My face immediately burned with embarrassment. He must think I'm a creep. The last thing I wanted was for this beautiful stranger to remember me as some weirdo following him around, when seeing him here was clearly just a coincidence.
I puffed out my cheeks and decided to clear the air before we both went our separate ways.
"Excuse me?" I called after him.
It worked. He stopped and glanced back at me, looking completely unimpressed.
I couldn't tell if I was bothering him or not. At least he didn't look as angry as he had back at the café. Maybe I had just caught him at a bad moment earlier.
"Listen," I said, taking a few cautious steps toward him, "I'm not following you."
I don't know why that was the first thing out of my mouth, but it was.
I watched as one of his eyebrows slowly arched. His eyes narrowed slightly before he spoke, and oh man... his voice. It was like liquid gold. Deep, smooth, and heavy with something that settled right in my chest. It had been a long time since I'd heard a voice with that much gravity.
"I didn't think you were," he said calmly.
His husky tone made me feel things one definitely shouldn't be feeling in the middle of a gas station. Then his lips curved just slightly, though there was no warmth on his face.
"I do now," he added.
I flinched. I understood why he might think that.
"I'm sorry," I said quickly. "I'm not a creep. I was just here filling up gas and getting a few... things." I glanced down at the pack of cigarettes in my hand.
He narrowed his eyes slightly. "Okay?"
His vague response only made my anxiety spike.
"I – I mean," I stammered, "I saw you at the café earlier, and now here... so you might think I'm following you or something. But I'm not."
My voice trailed off awkwardly. My cheeks burned, and at that moment, I truly wished the floor would just open up and swallow me.
"Who are you?" he asked, his voice carrying a hint of confusion.
"Uh, I'm— I mean... I'm Jerry. Well, Jeremy, actually. I was in the café when you walked in. You saw me..."
I was babbling now. I had no idea what point I was trying to make, so I forced myself to stop before I embarrassed myself any further. I had already done enough damage.
"I didn't," he said simply.
"Oh. Well... that's good, I guess?"
Why was I still talking?
He looked mildly weirded out by me.
"Okay," he said calmly, before turning and walking away.
Only then did I realize I'd been holding my breath... actually, I knew I was holding my breath, I just couldn't breathe in front of him. I exhaled sharply, my chest rising and falling as if I'd just run a marathon. I wiped my hand over my face. Why do I have to be so weird?
Why couldn't I just ignore the man, grab a piece of candy, and get back on the road?
I stayed frozen in that aisle for another minute, waiting. When I finally peeked around the corner and confirmed he was gone, I hurried to the counter, paid for the cigarettes, completely forgetting the candy, and rushed outside, desperate to get into my car and disappear.
But when have I ever been lucky enough to get what I wanted?
As soon as I stepped outside, I froze. There he was...the same beautiful man, leaning casually against his car, a cigarette balanced between his fingers. And what a car it was. An Aston Martin DB5, sleek, black, and impossible to ignore. Need I say more?
His gaze met mine, calm and unwavering. For a heartbeat, time itself seemed to pause. He brought the cigarette to his lips, inhaled slowly, and let the smoke curl into the air – all while never breaking eye contact with me.
I gulped. Suddenly, I felt painfully out of place, like I didn't belong anywhere near him.
It was me, yes, me... who quickly tore my eyes away, scrambled into my old Ford, fumbled with the keys, and started the engine. Without daring to look back, I drove off, my heart hammering in my chest.
Of course, he was rich. Of course, he smelled and looked exactly like someone who existed entirely out of reach from my ordinary life.
I exhaled a shaky sigh as I merged back onto the road to the beach house, trying to shake off the sting of wanting something so untouchable.