by Teagan Kade
Personally, I like to get out on the ski as much as I can, especially when there’s a bit of wind or swell. Nothing beats the water when it comes to bitch-slapping you into shape.
Before long, the bar’s packed. It’s Friday night, everyone who doesn’t have a shift tomorrow is keen to kick off the weekend right. For Robbie, that means heading out of here to slum it down at South Beach. He’ll get his shirt off and those starry-eyed youngsters will flock to him like moths to flame.
I join him sometimes, but not tonight. A man can only take so many American Apparel-clad college girls thinking they’re the next Sasha Grey.
I stand and reach into my pocket for my apartment keys, instantly remembering I’ve left them back at the tower.
Robbie sees me patting myself down. “What’s wrong, brother? Lost your balls again?”
“Left my keys at the tower.”
He takes his keys out, taking one off and tossing towards me. “Take mine.”
I hold it up. “I owe you.”
He throws his hands in the air. “Shit, doesn’t everyone?”
I say my goodbyes and head back down to the beach.
Spring Break may be in full effect, but apart from the odd couple engaged in coitus or passed out, the beach is empty.
I open the tower door and find my keys, pausing for a moment to stare at the ocean. It’s a full moon tonight, a silvery staircase having fallen across the water, the neon lights from the city turning the shoreline kaleidoscopic.
I’m about to turn away when I spot something in the water.
I pick up the binoculars and try to bring it into view, squinting to see through the blackish wash.
Shit.
Someone’s in the water, and they’re struggling.
I consider calling it in, but they’re not far out.
I shake my head. At least the water’s warm.
I switch on the tower lights enough to illuminate the water, but if they go under…
It’s a good hundred-and-fifty feet to the water. I shed clothes as I go until I’m down to my boxers. South Beach has seen worse.
I hit the water conscious of my slightly dulled senses.
The swell’s picked up. I power through the breakers searching until I spot the vic’s arm.
That’s the thing most people don’t realize. When somebody’s drowning, they’re too busy trying to breathe and keep their head above water than waste energy screaming or calling for help. It’s a silent killer.
The other silent killer is the shark, and while we haven’t had an attack here in forever, they’re definitely active after dark.
I reach the area where I saw the vic’s arm, but they’re gone.
There’s no time to waste. I take a deep breath and plunge below the surface of the ocean. There’s just enough light to see the victim, a woman, thrashing.
This is the other issue. You can swim out to help a drowning victim, but they’ll do anything to get that sweet, sweet air, even if it means dragging you down into the depths with them. Superhuman strength can be summoned when your only thought is staying alive.
But regardless of my own personal safety, I have to act.
I reach down and she grabs my arm with all the strength of an anaconda.
With effort, I drag us both to the surface. She clings to me coughing and spluttering as we surface, a wave breaking over our heads.
“Can you swim?” I shout.
She nods, then shakes her head, clearly having some kind of mental breakdown.
I wrap my arm around her and head for the shore in a turn and trawl. She’s mobile, no signs of spinal trauma, so a vice grip isn’t required.
My chest is burning when we hit the sand. She gets onto her knees beside me and I notice she’s in her bra and panties, both see-through thanks to her midnight dip.
She goes to stand, but she’s weak, her wet hair swaying around her head in inky tendrils, her skin as pale as the sand below our feet.
I pick her up under the legs, cradling her and making my way to the tower. Her hair hangs down and I notice a tattoo on her shoulder.
Her eyes open and focus on me, the tower lights catching their turquoise depths. She’s beautiful, with full lips and soft features, but this is no time for macking.
I use my foot to kick the door open and set her down on the treatment cot at the back of the tower. I take two blankets out of the back cupboard, placing one around her and the other around myself. I reach for the phone, but her voice comes squeaky and uncertain. “Please… don’t.”
I turn towards her. “I have to call it in.”
“Please,” she begs, her teeth chattering and those blue-green Gulf of Mexico eyes imploring me to abandon protocol.
I place the handset down. “Okay.”
I stand before her trying to catch my breath. In the low light she’s even more attractive—early twenties, maybe, the kind of girl I’d go for in an instant on the strip. “What’s your name?”
“Winter,” she whispers.
“Winter… in Miami?” I smile. “I imagine you can see the irony in that.”
She smiles ever so slightly. “I like the cold,” she says, but even she doesn’t sound so sure.
“And why were you out there tonight, Winter?”
She looks down, pulling the blanket tighter around herself. “I… don’t know.”
“You don’t know how you got into the water, or why?”
“Please,” she says, looking back up to me with wet eyes, “I don’t want to talk about it.”
I exhale. I expected to find my keys tonight, not a legs-for-days riddle like this. Still, there’s something about this girl that’s drawing me in. I want to protect her, keep her safe. The need of it is burning through me like a hot fever.
“Do you have someone I can call?” I offer. “A relative or friend, perhaps?”
She shakes her head, her hair hanging, framing her perfect face. “No.”
“There must be someone…”
Her eyes are steely when they return to me. “No.”
“Is there somewhere I can take you, home?”
She shakes her head again, seems on the verge of tears. “I have nowhere to go. Please.”
“Nowhere?”
She gets down onto her knees before me, which typically would be a sign things are about to take a welcome turn, but this is far from a sexual advance. “Please. Help me.”
I breathe out again. “You’ve got to tell me what’s wrong first. I can’t help you if I don’t know what the heck’s going on.”
“Please,” she repeats, eyes dinner plates in the light.
“Look, you can come back to my place, just tonight, but only if you truly have nowhere to go.”
“I don’t.”
“Are you in danger?”
She remains silent.
“Is someone trying to hurt you?”
“I’m… tired,” she says, her lips parted.
I open the cupboard again and find some woman’s clothes in the lost property box. The ‘Time Flies When You’re Having Rum’ shirt I select looks about her size. I doubt it’s her usual attire, but we don’t exactly stock couture here.
I hand it to her with a pair of denim shorts. “Here. I’ll, ah, turn around while you… you know.”
She takes the clothes as I face the desk.
Still, I can’t help but glance at the reflection in the window, at the delicate curves of her body, the sweeping mounds of her breasts and her nipples, bubble gum pink.
I look down again in shame, because this isn’t right—any of it. I should call this in right now and be done with it. Fuck knows why she was out there, a girl like this in nothing but her underwear.
I know there’s a dangerous undercurrent running here. Question is, how far does it go?
CHAPTER TWO
WINTER
It’s strange sitting here, in this stranger’s house. An hour ago I thought I was going to die, and here I am, good as new—reborn.
&nb
sp; The lifeguard, Archer, hands me a steaming mug. “Drink. You’ll feel better. Do you want something to eat?”
“No. Thank you, and thanks again for letting me stay.”
He extends his hands. “My pleasure. I just wish you’d talk to me, tell me what’s going on. I only want to help.”
The mug is warm between my hands. “I know, but the less you know about me, the better.”
He takes a seat on the couch opposite. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”
I smile, looking around. It’s an impressive apartment right on the beach, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ocean—silver and infinite. I look to the other side of the room where a simple framed picture is hanging with the words ‘The Ocean Makes Everything Better’.
I nod at it with my head. “Do you really believe that?”
He brings his hands together, leaning forward. His arms bulge in the tight tee he’s wearing, ink showing underneath the sleeves. With his dark hair and steely eyes, he looks more like a cover model for Harley Davidson than a lifeguard. “I do. I’ve been around the ocean my entire life. My best memories are there, in the water.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Your best memories?”
He smiles and I can’t help but stifle a flutter of sensation making its way downwards towards the space between my legs. “Well, not all of them, but that’s not to say certain activities can’t be enjoyed in the ocean, if you catch my drift.”
I almost choke on my honey tea. “Excuse me?”
“You know,” he smiles, “surfing, fishing…”
Fuck-ing, my head fills, and damn it I’m choking again.
He goes to stand up. “Everything okay?”
I place the mug down. “Fine. Just a little hot… That’s all.”
You can say that again.
Change the god-damn subject.
I look past him to a set of shelves in the corner full of board games. “Have you got kids?”
He follows my eyes. “No. No, no.”
“You just, what? Really like board games?” I laugh, my throat dry and scratchy from the saltwater.
His mouth opens, but he can’t seem to find the words.
“Oh,” I realize my mistake. “You do. I didn’t mean to offend—”
He puts a hand up, standing. “It’s fine, a… hobby, amongst others.”
I can only imagine what other ‘hobbies’ Archer has given this bachelor pad, its bare minimalism projecting testosterone left, right and center. I’m sure if I simply stepped foot inside his bedroom I’d orgasm on the spot.
On cue, he gestures down the hall. “My room’s on the right. It’s yours.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I’ll be perfectly fine in the guest bedroom. There are towels on the rack in the bathroom down the hall. Take one of my shirts from the drawers if you want, clean boxers in the top. I’ll see if I can dig you up some, ah, female attire later.”
I smile. “Thank you, again, for all of this, for saving my life.”
He stops before he enters the kitchen. “Something tells me it was a life worth saving.”
*
I’m on a speedboat. It’s shuttling through the night at high speed, water whipping up like wet sheets from the sides. There’s a dark figure behind the wheel, but when I try to speak to them no words come out of my mouth. My lips are moving but nothing happens. There’s no sound but for the roar of the engines and the thud, thud of waves against the hull.
Suddenly, I’m flying through the air, the boat continuing to jet forward. I land in the water and start to sink. My arms are lead. The more I thrash, the deeper I go. But this isn’t water. It’s ink. I taste it in my mouth as I scream. It fills my lungs, takes away my vision, until all I see is black.
I wake up gasping, reaching for my throat.
I notice the ceiling, the unusual wallpaper, and panic sets in all over again.
I sit bolt upright.
Where the hell am I?
I’m wearing a navy shirt, oversized, and… boxers? Since when do I wear boxers?
There’s a muffled groan in the bed beside me. It, he turns over, reaching for me. It’s a guy, his body chiseled and cut and straight from a centerfold. There’s a scar running down his side.
It all comes back to me—the lifeguard, the water.
I look around again. This is not the room he sent me to. I went to sleep alone.
He, Archer, said he was sleeping in the guest room.
Oh, no. No, no, no.
I start to slide out of the bed as quietly as I can, slowly pushing the duvet away. He reaches for me again. “Hey, he mumbles into his pillow. Where you going, baby? I’m rock fucking hard here.”
His eyes open, he sees me, and then they open a hell of a lot more.
He sits up in shock, the duvet thrown off completely. His mouth drops, his eyes ping-ponging from my chest to my legs and back again before finally finding my face.
But I’m looking at his crotch, my eyes drawn to the very erect, and very large, penis on show. It’s dark, but the shadowy silhouette of it tells me all I need to know.
He covers himself with his hands, leaning over the side of the bed and replacing his hands with a balled-up leather jacket. It’s like some sort of weird Michael Jackson stripper routine.
“Jesus… fuck,” he starts, unable to work out where to look. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know… I mean… Hell, did we?”
“Have… sex?” I question, quite sure I’d remember my first time. “No. I don’t think so.”
He looks cute confused. I’d laugh if this wasn’t completely insane.
“But, but,” he stutters, “didn’t I put you in my room, down the hall?”
“I sleepwalk sometimes,” I confess. “Since I was a kid, actually. Once I got up, made myself a turkey sandwich downstairs, did the laundry and ended up asleep on the neighbor’s rooftop, so showing up here, with you, isn’t the weirdest place I’ve spent the night, sorry.”
“I had no idea.”
I climb out of the bed, pulling my shirt down. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. I guess you’re used to company, though?”
He flops back down onto the pillow shaking his head and staring at the ceiling, the jacket still covering his uberection. He laughs. “Generally it’s not a mysterious girl I plucked out of the ocean.” He sits up on an elbow. “You’re still not going to tell me anything about what happened, are you?”
I shake my head in return. “Sorry, but I do want to thank you—again.”
He waves it off, reaching over to switch on the bedside lamp. “Hey, just doing my job.”
I notice a picture on the drawers at the end of the bed, a group of guys in black tank tops standing arm in arm smiling, an endless stretch of sand behind them. I recognize Archer in the middle. “Friends of yours?”
He nods, finally pulling the duvet back into place, though if I’m honest the peepshow wasn’t entirely unenjoyable. The hot vice gripping my crotch is testament to that.
“More than friends,” he smiles. “The best human beings you could hope to find.”
My eyes move to what appears to be a large, metal cupboard of some description in the corner, a giant lock on the door. “Is that where you keep your extra-special stuff?”
He acts sheepish. “Of sorts.” He breathes out, glancing at the bedside clock. “Look, I’ve got a shift in a half hour, but you’re welcome to stay. The fridge is fully stocked. If you tell me your size, I’ll try and pick you up some clothes, but after that…”
I hadn’t even thought that far ahead yet. Survival was my only guiding marker last night. “Size six.”
He reaches up like he’s holding a pair of breasts. “And your, um…”
“Thirty-four double D.”
It’s always nice to see a grown man blushing, especially when he’s stark naked. “Great. Fine.”
I start to back towards the door. “I’ll leave you to it.”
“And you,” he replies, still red as a
spanked tomato.
I close the door and giggle quietly to myself, trying to block out the mental image of his giant cock at DEFCON One.
CHAPTER THREE
ARCHER
The sun’s out, the drink is flowing. It’s going to be another shift from hell.
Robbie’s already in when I enter the tower. “Welcome to paradise, hombre.”
He doesn’t take his eyes off the water. I come up beside him, marveling once again how he can drink all night, no doubt fuck to the wee hours and still come into work so damn bushy-tailed and bright-eyed.
He looks at me when I don’t reply. “Oh, shit. What happened? You find a freshman on the beach in need of your special attention?”
You have no idea. “Not a student, per se.”
Robbie shakes his head, returning to the watch. “You fucking animal. Come on, details.”
I’m deciding how much to spill here. Winter made it clear she didn’t want details slipping to the authorities. Maybe she’s got a record, a warrant out? She could be anyone, though I’m considering doing some digging with an old cop friend of mine, find out what the hell’s going on.
I shrug, pretending to find the paperwork on the desk intensely fascinating.
Robbie’s eyes go wide. “No, no you don’t. Don’t you block me out like this.”
“Some things should remain a mystery.”
“You can save that shit for the fucking Loch Ness monster. Come on. Blonde? Brunette? Pierced?” The irritation increases. “Did she have a diamond for a vagina? Come. On. Bro. Give me something.”
I turn the tables. “And you? Because you can’t honestly tell me you weren’t getting laid last night.”
There’s the slightest upturn at the corner of his mouth. “Straight bottle-blonde Breaker who’s still got her blowjob learner license. Nothing to report really apart from braces, while hot in theory, don’t translate so well into the real world.”
“So she left your cock in one piece,” I laugh. “That’s comforting.”
“You’re stalling.”
A knock on the tower door is the conversation-breaker I was looking for.