High Tide

by Alyson Santos

  I hold my breath for the verdict, and sense he is as well. Does he have control of himself? I’m clinging to the ledge where I left my clothes, inches from his leg. Closer than I was when seated beside him. It’s why I feel his reaction before I see it, the force of the water pushing against me as he adjusts to pull off his shirt. In seconds, a splash of water shivers against my shoulders and he’s facing me, only a thin layer of water separating us now. The heat, the scent of sun and lotion—everything—grazes my nerves that feel hot and raw. What would happen if I touched him? Would this entire pool explode into a boil? Blood pounds through my chest as our eyes meet, asking questions that are too complex for words. I’m afraid of what will happen to my veins if I don’t touch him though. If I can’t release some of this surging fire. It’s already incinerated everything inside me and any chance I have of containing it.

  “Christian.” His name is a whisper on my lips. Should I be stronger or weaker? I don’t know, but I’m the worst possible balance as I hover immobile in front of him. I can’t charge, can’t retreat. I can only torture myself with watching the effect of the pool on his chest. It carves a clear line where his body enters the water. I stare with fascination at the difference between the skin above and below, the way a few drops have escaped to his shoulder and ignited his tattoo in the sun. I lift my right hand to trace it.

  His skin is warm like I thought it would be, hard from the muscle underneath just as I remember. I follow the path of my finger, too afraid to look into his eyes. Anger, regret, frustration, longing, hope—I don’t know what’s waiting for me there, but none of it is something I can handle right now. It’s not fair, of course not, but this is me again, not weak or strong enough to play fair. I’m the now for one of the first times in my life—and right now I need to touch him no matter how terrifying.

  He still hasn’t moved. Hasn’t reached for me but hasn’t withdrawn either. I sense he’s as confused as I am about what’s happening in this strange and rebellious now. I run my finger over the design and notice the way his pecs tighten as my touch spreads forward. Does he feel the same tension in me? That straining war between resistance and desire? My gaze lands on his lips, just inches away. So close I lick mine to quell the temptation. His eyes slip closed for a second when my fingertips brush over his collar bone and finally I find the strength to pull away. He opens them again, his stare heavy with accusation.

  “You…” He pauses, searching for the word. “Confuse,” he says finally. There’s a rasp to his voice I feel in my own throat. I have to swallow it before responding.

  “I know. I confuse myself.”

  “You say you don’t want me but…”

  No. I want you too much.

  His brow lifts, exposing more iridescent flecks in his irises as he waits for the explanation I can’t give.

  “Ahoj, Christian!”

  Crap.

  We snap a simultaneous look toward the interruption, my stomach crashing at the sight. A gorgeous woman approaches with a targeted smile for Christian that screams obvious threat. Her deep tan and bleached blonde hair would’ve identified her as another lifeguard even without the uniform I recognize. She crouches near us on the ledge of the pool, and when she starts speaking another language a wave a panic rushes over me. Christian’s return grin and easy response make it obvious she’s Slovak as well. I wait awkwardly, burning from a new kind of fire, until he finally seems to remember me. I get the impression she would prefer I didn’t exist.

  “Emma, this is Martina. She is from Slovakia also. Martina, this is my friend Emma.”

  I push a smile through my stiff lips. “Hi.”

  Hers is just as forced, and when she returns to speaking Slovak, I know it’s as much to exclude me as to include him. Christian laughs at whatever she’s saying and repositions himself at the edge of the pool. Well at least Martina and I seem to be on the same page when it comes to admiring his body as he pushes up and raises himself out of the water. It almost hurts watching streaks of water cascade over the sharp ridges of muscle, glistening in the sun. It definitely does when I catch the possessive warning Martina flashes at me. She and Christian exchange more words I can’t understand, more laughs I can’t share, and soon he’s on his feet, his wet swim suit dripping inches from my face as I look up at him.

  “I will go now. Have a good day, Emma.” His sincere smile cuts into me, the way his eyes hold mine for a second longer than they should. What isn’t he saying? The same things I didn’t?

  This is what you wanted, right? Your list is safe. Congratulations.

  I’m frozen as he swipes his shirt off the ground, grabs his lunch, and follows the gorgeous and grinning Martina back to the beach.

  “Where’s Christian?” Harper asks when she and Jakub return from their rendezvous. I adjust on the chase lounge I adopted after he disappeared.

  “He left. With Martina.” I say it casually, hoping maybe it won’t sting so much. No chance of that when Jakub reacts with a wince I’m pretty sure is for me.

  “Who’s Martina?” Harper asks, looking back and forth between us.

  “Another lifeguard,” Jakub says at the same time I say, “a hot blonde.”

  Harper gives him a hard stare, and he shrugs with a sheepish grin. “She is that too,” he concedes.

  Harper crosses her arms. “Anything else you want to share?” she asks him.

  “Um…” He glances at me, and I’m pretty sure if he wasn’t crazy about my friend the answer would be hell no. Harper isn’t the kind of woman you say no to, however. “She is from Slovakia also. She…” He looks at me again, and honestly, I just need him to rip off the bandage already.

  “She likes Christian. Obviously,” I finish for him.

  He clears his throat. “They go on a few dates when we arrive. Before he met you, of course,” he explains to me. I actually think that was supposed to make me feel better. Slovak boys are clearly as clueless as American boys. Either way this conversation is doing nothing for the shredding going on in my stomach.

  I close my eyes against their pitying stares and pretend to be blocking the sun instead. “You can go if you want. I’m going to finish drying off here. I’ll meet you at our spot, okay?”

  I practically feel them exchanging a glance. I’m just glad I can’t see it.

  The building supervisor gives me a long, thorough appraisal as I wait for the verdict. I imagine myself holding out my arms and turning like a model so he can get the full view. It almost makes me smile and helps calm the nerves I’m trying so hard to hide. Can he tell I’m desperate? I tried to keep my tone casual when I asked to move in and start work early. I know I’m good at masking the truth. “Aloof” Alžbeta used to call me with a measure of respect. She understood. She knew why aloof was required to survive and admired the fact that I could hide in plain sight. It’s working for me now as the manager considers my request. It’s better than the confident no I’d been expecting.

  He draws in a deep breath, eyes narrowing as they scan me again. “The room you’ll be renting isn’t ready. That floor is still being painted. Won’t be finished for another few days.”

  “That’s okay. I can figure something out. Maybe I can help paint?”

  Shit. Now that sounded desperate. His expression shifts a bit. “You’re studying at the university, correct?”

  I nod. “Yeah, physics. I’ll be renting the room with my friend who should be here with everyone else right before classes start.”

  That sounded more normal, I think. He must agree when he seems to relax. “I see.” He scans me again, sizing me up in a way I’m accustomed to from adults. I confuse him with my youth and the old soul trapped inside. “Well, there’s a cot in the basement if you don’t mind that until your room is ready. I suppose I could use some extra help around here.”

  Air explodes back into my lungs. Color seems to return to the scene. I force a calm smile that shows nothing of the panic and relief bashing around inside me. Just another student lookin
g for a job. That’s all I am. Just another stranger you can forget.

  “Have you eaten dinner yet?” he asks, waving me to follow him.

  I smile again and shake my head. I don’t tell him I haven’t eaten in two days.

  Chapter Thirteen: Mr. Nice and Explosive Supernovas

  Maybe it’s the cute picture of a sad-looking cat he just texted, or maybe it’s the image of Christian walking away with Martina that I can’t purge from my head, but this time I answer when Logan calls.

  “Hey, what do you call a feline in recovery?” he asks as soon as the line connects.

  I roll my eyes, already smirking. “I don’t know. You’re going to tell me no matter what, I’m guessing.”

  “A cat-on-tonic.”

  The snort slips out before I can stop it. “As in catatonic? Did you just make that up?” And yeah, he seems pretty darn proud of himself.

  “Is that an actual laugh from the impenetrable Emma Andrews?”

  “Ew. Don’t ever call me impenetrable. Ever.”

  He chuckles (nervously?), and I picture him tangling his fingers in his hair when he quiets. I actually hear his deep inhale through the phone. Uh-oh. “So, um, I was wondering if you wanted to hang out tomorrow night.”

  “Hang out?”

  “Yeah, or I mean, another night if tomorrow is bad. Some night. Any night. You tell me.”

  A smile climbs back to my lips as he clears his throat and mutters something that sounds like “shit.”

  “So you want to hang out sometime?” I clarify.

  “Right. Or whatever.”

  “Or whatever? What’s the whatever?”

  “Oh… no. Not whatever. Just hang out. Only that.”

  I bite my lip, fighting a full-on grin now because how cute is this? I quickly shove away the flash of soulful green-flecked eyes.

  “Where were you thinking of hanging out?” I ask, mostly to stop my stomach from reacting to pesky phantoms in my head.

  “Oh, um, Smother? It’s this club by—”

  “Yeah, I know it.” Too well.

  Sure it’s a club. It’s also hard bodies and devastating smiles. It’s secrets and lies. It’s heaven and hell and all the things that don’t make sense when you’re wrapped up in the wrong person. I swallow the sparks shivering through me and force myself back to more acceptable present logic. Logan. The sensible guy who waits patiently while I do battle with myself. You know why? Because he’s sweet. Smart. Kind of funny in a nerdy way, but I’m a nerd too and speak it fluently. Logan and I could have a future and not a single person would question it because—I draw in a quick breath and stare at my wall of lists—Logan makes sense.

  “Would you mind if my roommate and her date hang out with us too?” Can’t resist that extra bit of teasing. Maybe I’m even flirting back? See, I must like him.

  “Harper? Of course.”

  “Perfect. Does seven work for you?”

  An hour later, I stand behind the logic of asking Harper and Jakub to tag along on my “hangout” date.

  Safety: Having a friend present would provide support should the date go south.

  Fair Play: Inviting others would signal to Logan that I’m not ready for anything serious.

  The Obvious: Everything is more fun with Harper, and yes, Jakub too I’m learning.

  I thought for sure Harper would be all over this particular list for once. She’s the Queen of Social Games. At the very least she’d be happy I’m still trying after the Christian disaster. Her scowl when I share the plan, though—not encouraging.

  “You don’t have to go,” I mutter in response to her sour expression as she assaults her pile of clean laundry.

  “Oh, I’m going.” She yanks a shirt from the basket and puts an exorbitant amount of wrist action in the shake to lay it out. At least she won’t have to iron it.

  “Logan is a great guy.”

  “Not questioning that.” She grabs a handful of assorted socks.

  “I thought you’d be happy someone even likes me.”

  Her gaze shoots to mine. “Really? Of course he likes you. He’d be stupid not to. Lots of guys like you, Emma. And lots more would if you didn’t spend so much time waving your stay-the-hell-away flag at everyone.”

  “I said yes to Logan,” I say, pulling a tank top from her basket to fold. Anything to distract from her expression that’s somewhere between pity and frustration. “I’m not good at dating and you know it.”

  I almost hear her fingers clench around the poor fabric in her hands. “You don’t have to be good at dating when it’s the right person.”

  “Well, maybe Logan is.”

  “You know he’s not.”

  I slap down the folded shirt on her pile and stand. “Like I said, you don’t have to go.”

  “With this level of denial, it sounds like you’re going to need me more than I thought.”

  My glare fixes on her. “I’m not in denial. Logan is a nice, intelligent guy. Why can’t that be enough? Not every relationship has to be explosive supernovas and romance novels.”

  “Right. So you’re really happy with Mr. Nice while Mr. Explosive Supernova hangs around with Martina?”

  ”Nice is more than you can say about half the guys you date!”

  My retreat isn’t fast enough to avoid her hurt expression.

  Yeah it was a shit thing to say.

  I feel like crap that night and especially the following day as we go about our business. It’s even worse that Harper acts like the argument never happened. There are no awkward attempts to explain her side or heated demands for answers from me. No, she hands me a cup of coffee in the morning and later asks what I think of her shoes with the dress for our night out. It’s a clinic in avoidance, and yet, even as she helps me choose an outfit, makeup theme, and hairstyle, I can’t shake the invisible neon sign flashing “MISTAKE” that follows her around. It’s right there in everything she doesn’t say, the little looks of disappointment she thinks I don’t notice. We’re too close to hide crap like that from each other, and by the time we leave for Smother, I’m longing for the distraction of a chaotic night club. She’s wrong though. Logan can’t be a mistake when he checks every box. He’s perfect in every way I should want, and it frustrates me that I can’t convince the one person who should understand that.

  A few seconds into our drive, I receive a text from Mr. Perfectly Nice. “Logan says he’s inside the club and got us a table.”

  Harper smirks. “Twenty minutes early? Did he bring his laptop and day-planner too? You’re not going to do homework the entire night, are you?”

  I roll my eyes. “So he’s conscientious and excited about our date. Big deal. Better that than someone who’s late all the time.”

  “Uh huh.”

  Previous resentment starts seeping back into my system. I told her plenty of times that she didn’t have to come.

  “Is this going to be our entire night? You making snide comments about my date?” My tone isn’t nearly as playful as I intended, and Harper glances over, her smile fading. She quickly focuses back on the road but I notice her fingers tighten around the steering wheel.

  “You know I would never be openly rude. I can’t believe you’d think that,” she says, maybe even a little sharply.

  I suck in a long breath to soothe the simmering fire inside. I’m not sure it’s entirely aimed at Harper. “I know. Just…” I blink and stare out the window. “Logan’s a nice guy, okay?”

  I feel her glance but don’t meet it. “Okay,” she says, softer.

  We blast music and call a silent truce for the rest of the drive. It’s stiff and obvious and I’m pretty sure we’re both relieved for a change of scenery by the time we pull up to Smother. Harper parks quickly, practically jumping out of the car when she sees Jakub leaning against the building. He perks up as well, and I feel like I’m watching the end of every rom-com movie I’ve ever seen when those two collide for a kiss. I hang back frozen as I force away a rush of panic for them. D
on’t they understand the pain they’re setting up for themselves? Maybe Harper needs to focus less on me and more on her own impending disaster.

  “You coming?” she calls back to me.

  Jakub follows her gaze then whispers something to her. Her perfect brows sink a bit, and suddenly I don’t want to be here anymore.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask when I join them.

  They exchange another glance, and I don’t miss Jakub’s your-call shrug.

  “Nothing. Let’s just go dance and have fun! Don’t want to keep Prompt Logan waiting any longer, right?”

  I cast a quick look at Jakub but he’s already moving toward the entrance. Harper hangs on him with gusto, leaving me alone with a sick feeling in my stomach. So much for my night of distraction. I was so excited for this and now… were you, though? I push that critique away as well. Logan makes sense.

  Plus, I look good tonight. Harper and I guaranteed it by using the need to primp to avoid the awkwardness of not-talking. The reward? I may be miserable but I look damn good doing it. That irony kind of makes me smile as I message Logan and follow Harper and Jakub inside.

  We find him standing at a cocktail table as promised. No laptop though, thank heavens. He looks cute too. Not much different than normal, I guess, but the button up shirt with rolled sleeves shows he tried. His hair is still the wild, touch-ably soft mass of curls I’ve now experienced. Yeah, maybe this wasn’t a mistake after all. See, Harper?

  He straightens when he spots me, and I return his smile.

  “Wow. You look great,” he shouts over the music.

  “You too.”

  “Thanks for hanging out.” His lips curve up in a self-deprecating smile that makes me laugh.

  “Anytime.” I even wink to finish the joke. Yep, I’m playful, relaxed. This is good. I can totally do this.