Beauty (A Midsummer Suspense Tale) by Asha King

plenty of mistakes believing others’ bullshit when he was younger but he’d been around long enough not to do so now.
    “Well, now you’ve made your little clueless hipster girlfriend famous and we have probably a day or two at most until someone tracks down the beach house and paparazzi find you, and we’re right back where we started. We should leave, get out of here before dark.”
    “I’ll stay out of town.”
    “No, you won’t. You’ll find some reason to go in town, just like you found some reason to go to a party last night—”
    “It wasn’t really a party—”
    “Honestly, Sean, I don’t know why the hell you’re goddamn self-destructive.”
    She was right. Even when he knew he shouldn’t be doing something, he did it anyway. Like right now when he wanted to head into town and find Bryar right after telling Val he’d stay in.
    “The girl,” Val said. “Bryar. Any way you can contact her? Run damage control?”
    He shook his head. “She has my number, though.” His number that she was sure to call now that she’d probably heard who he was. Right. And he was torn thinking about it, wanting her to call—wanting to see her again—and afraid of what that would mean if she did, now that she knew. What kind of person would sign up for that?
    “I’ll stay in,” he promised his sister. And meant it, or so he hoped. “You and Scott should still be able to go out. I’ll make some calls about finding local security—there’s gotta be something around here that someone can recommend. We’ve got time still.”
    “You fail at vacations, you know,” Val said with a smirk, and he knew that he’d won for now.
    “I know.”
    He stared out at the water in the distance after Val left. By now, someone must’ve notified Bryar even if she didn’t keep up with social media herself. Someone would tell her. And if she was as genuine as he thought, she’d definitely want nothing to do with him and his fucked up life.
     
    ****
     
    Sunday was quiet. Except for the odd phone call—which Bryar intercepted before the aunts could so she could ensure it wasn’t anyone calling about Sawyer—the day went by without incident.
    The night before, she’d watched for people heading to the beach, but saw no one. She wasn’t sure she’d head out if there were—surely Sawyer wouldn’t be there, not after Friday night. He had to know he was recognized, that his face was plastered on the web. That hers was. Without him there, it would just be the usual people—the ones who had made her face go viral anyway.
    So she stayed in and moped a bit, didn’t sleep well, and tried to act normal on Sunday. By evening, she’d stared at the phone enough to burn a hole through it, Sawyer’s number etched in her head.
    It might not even be a real number . She felt stupid for even thinking it was. Why would some famous guy give her a real number? Even if he just wanted a local fuck buddy while he was in town, there were plenty of willing women.
    And if he did want that? And wanted you? Would that be so bad?
    No, no it would not. Because he’d ignited desire in her she’d never really felt for anyone before and he was damn good with his hands—she’d like to know what else he was good with. But it was still too surreal to even contemplate. He probably left town already anyway.
    Her aunts were silent over dinner, not even a disapproving look from Donna—or no more so than usual—so Bryar was confident they didn’t know anything. Brennen was hopefully right and everything would blow over in a few days. Her aunts none the wiser.
    As night rolled around, she was itching to get out again, though. She felt it right down to the soles of her feet and couldn’t sit around any longer, eventually slipping on her jeans and sneakers, then a thick hoodie in place of her leather jacket. Once again she slipped out the back door, this time as the clock rolled past eleven and her aunts would be sound asleep, and made her way through