“Nope. I’m just…wow.”
“Yeah, babe, you’ve said that three times.” I can tell she’s annoyed with me and absolutely not picking up what I’m putting down. But I’m committed at this point—and I want to see how far I can push her.
She shakes her head and drops her eyes to the floor for a minute before looking back to me. “You don’t have a clue of who I am, do you?”
Brooks and Anton are both dancing with some random girl sandwiched between them as they try to act like they’re not paying attention to what’s happening with us over here; but I know they’re both tuned in and loving every minute of this.
“Should I?” I drag my eyes over again, taking in all the details up close and personal. That is, until my gaze snags on a little cluster of freckles in the shape of a star just beneath her collarbone. I know those fucking freckles. Why do I know those—holy shit Dots Davis is…well…she grew up.
“No. I guess not.” She slides her hands into her back pockets and rocks back on her heels. “It’s just that…we used to be neighbors and…”
“And what babe? You want an autograph or something?” I know I’m being a Grade-A dick, but seeing her has me off kilter, but damn if I’m going to show it.
“Wow.”
“Mmm.” I lift my drink to her in a mock-toast. “There’s that word again.”
Behind the lens of her glasses, her big, expressive brown eyes show every ounce of frustration, fear, and sadness she’s feeling because of my behavior.
I know it makes me a jackass, but I can’t seem to stop.
“You know what? You’re not…just forget it.”
She turns and my eyes drop to her plump ass. Seriously, where did these curves come from, because my Dots was as flat as a pancake. As she stalks back the way she came, something tells me I won’t be forgetting her anytime soon—not that I ever did to start with.
THREE
Thea
“I SWEAR TO God, he’s the most pig-headed, narcissistic asshole who ever lived!”
“Uh-huh,” Blue murmurs, not even bothering to look up from her tablet. “Tell me more about how much you hate Dane. It’s not like you’ve been ranting about him for the last two days. Please, I’d love to hear more.”
We meet up at the library every Tuesday to study. Blue’s majoring in graphic design whereas I want to be a surf photographer, so it’s a journalism degree for me. However, we do have some overlap in our courses.
“I know, I know. I sound like a broken record at this point. But how do you just…forget…someone you spent nearly every day with for almost nine years? It’s not like I’ve changed that much.”
Now Blue looks up. “You’re joking, right?” I quirk a brow; she shakes her head before continuing. “You literally glowed up. In eighth grade, you looked like a boy and now…you’re…” She waves her hands in the air, making the shape of an hourglass. “All curves and lip gloss and sex appeal.”
I snort out a loud laugh at her description of me, earning me looks of ire from nearby tables. Sure, I grew some D-cups and an ass and learned how to use a flatiron and apply makeup, but I’m still…me.
“Not recognizing me aside, who asks random women to sit on their lap? He’s a dog!”
“But you love puppies.” Blue grins, her eyes already back on her screen.
“Yeah, the kind with fur, not STD’s.”
“Judge much?” she asks, her soft tone not matching her hard words.
I sigh. “I’m just saying.”
She looks up again, pushing her blue hair—yes, her hair matches her name—behind her ear. “Listen, I know you and you’re not gonna let this go without closure.”
“I know.” I cover my eyes and groan. “What do I do?”
Blue peels my hands away from my face. The megawatt smile she’s rocking tells me I’m not going to like whatever she suggests. “Simple: you try again.”
Ugh. Yup, called it. “I don’t know…that sounds like—”
“The best idea ever? I know. It’s like I’m a genius or something.”
“Or something,” I mutter and Blue laughs.
“Whine all you want, but we both know, as per usual, that I’m right. So do your little stalk-y thing and talk to him.”
“It’s not stalking, it’s—”
“Call it what you want, but find an in, talk to him, and move on. Simple as that.”
I nod, because as much as I don’t want to admit it, she’s right. I’m being a baby. I need to face this thing with Dane head on, so I can move on once and for all.
• • •
I spent the last two weeks agonizing over how to approach Dane again. The confidence—ahem, false bravado—I had the night of the party has long since vanished. Every time I even thought of talking to him again my gut churned. But for the sake of my own sanity, and to satiate my curiosity, I have to. It’s like Mama always says—you gotta buck up, buttercup.
However, two days ago, the tides finally turned in my favor and the perfect buck-up-opportunity fell into my lap while perusing the school’s website, in the form of private surf lessons with none other than my golden god. I don’t think I’ve ever filled out an online form so fast in all my life. Major props to my middle school computer lab teacher for getting me to 60 words a minute!
Today’s our first session and even though it doesn’t start until nine, I was up before the sun, my body wired with nervous energy.
My inner-asshole whispers to me, telling me I should stay home and that I’m only going to make a fool of myself. But just like at the party, I shut her poisonous ass down. And plus, even if I do end up crashing and burning, at least I’ll go down knowing I tried.
FOUR
Dane
LAST MONTH WHEN I told my agent Lance I needed to come home, he almost had a coronary. He went as far as straight up trying to forbid me from traveling, like I was a naughty child. I shut him down real quick though.
My family will always come first, and when my mom called and told me Dad suffered a major heart attack, I didn’t hesitate to pack my bags.
I told Lance if it came down to it, I was prepared to walk away from it all. In the end, we compromised. In return for me being here while Dad recovers, I have to give surf lessons for a PR boost.
Which means instead of hitting up Dante’s for a ham, egg, and cheese sandwich with my boys, I’m sprawled out on my back in the hot sand waiting on what’s sure to be some grom that doesn’t know a nug—a good wave—from mush.
Even worse than that scenario, I could be waiting on some superfan who wants to collect a lock of my hair or some shit. Then again, said fan could be a fangirl, which I am totally down with. Especially if she’s down to fu—a shadow falls over me, abruptly ending my train of thought.
“Here for lessons?” I ask, looking up toward the interloper. The sun shines brightly behind them, making it impossible for me to really see them. Details, sure. Like it’s a she—a short and curvy she with tits to rival a porn star. Huh—maybe that train of thought won’t be derailed after all.
“Yup. So maybe quit staring and start teaching.”
Fuck. That voice. “Dots,” I say before I can stop myself. I straight up acted like I didn’t remember her the other night and here I am calling her by her old childhood nickname.
“Oh, now you know me?” Her tone drips with indignation.
I shrug, trying to come off as careless, relaxed even. “Knew you then too,” I murmur fully prepared for her to yell.
What I’m not expecting is a face-full of sand. I’m so shocked when she kicks a mountain of it my way that I don’t even think to cover my head. “You piece of shit! Do you have any idea of how you made me feel?”
Blindly, I fumble for my towel. “Fuck!” I yell spitting out granules of sand. “What the fuck Dots?”
She waits until I’ve removed as much of the sand as possible before answering me. “It’s Thea now and let’s not act like you didn’t deserve it.”
I scrub a han
d over my face and through my hair, finding even more sand there. “Yeah, you’re right. Shit.”
“Why?” she asks, tapping her foot, the movement drawing my gaze to her breasts.
Momentarily, I lose my words as I watch the twin mounds jiggle beneath the yellow rash guard she’s rocking like a second skin.
“Why?” she asks again, snapping her fingers in front of my face, freeing me from my titty-trance.
“Why what?”
Dots huffs and clenches her tiny fists at her sides. “Why did you pretend not to know me?”
“Honestly? At first, I really didn’t recognize you. I mean, you’re all grown up, if you catch my drift. By the time I realized you were you, I…” I shrug my shoulders, feeling helpless—which is a foreign feeling when talking to a woman.
“You what?” she asks, her hands on her hips. My Dots was never one to back down from a fight, and while it seems like a lot about her has changed, a lot has also stayed the same. “Because I can’t think of a single way to end that sentence that will justify your behavior.”
“Fuck Dots—”
“Thea.”
“—Dots. You want me to be honest, fine. I’ll be honest. I don’t know why I acted like an ass. At first you were just some girl, some crazy hot chick I wanted to take a spin on my dick. When I recognized you, it threw me for a loop. I mean, you’re you and even knowing that, I was still imagining sliding inside you and fucking you senseless. I didn’t know how to handle it, so I slid into ‘Douchey Dane’. It was shitty and I’m sorry. Okay?”
Dots stares blankly my way. Thanks to her reflective sunglasses, I can’t tell if she’s actually looking at me, much less what she’s feeling. Finally, after eons have passed, she says, “Douchey Dane? What does that even mean?”
I sigh. “It’s what my PR team calls my public persona. It’s how I keep most people at an arm’s length.”
“Let me get this straight. You have a douchey alter ego you adopt to keep everyone at a distance and decided to try it out on me, because you were imagining fucking me and it made you uncomfortable?”
I shift on my feet. “Well, when you say it like that…”
She huffs out a breath. “There’s no good way to put it. But whatever, you’ve always been a little bit of a d-bag, so I’m not really surprised.”
Now I’m huffing, because what the fuck? “Me? How?”
Another stare down—I think, damn tinted lenses—ensues before she says, “Uh, does the summer before high school ring a bell?”
Well, shit. She’s got me there. Now the question is how do I play this? I contemplate bullshitting her for about point-two seconds before dismissing the notion. Telling the truth has worked well so far, plus, Dots would call me on my shit faster than I can pop up on my board—which is pretty damn fast.
“I’m gonna be real with you Dots. You’re not gonna like what’s about to come out of my mouth.”
“Because I’ve loved everything else you’ve said?” Is it wrong that her sass gets me hard?
“I was fourteen. I was noticing girls and they were noticing me. I wanted to…” I trail off, trying to think of the best way to phrase what I want to say. “…I’m just gonna say it. I wanted to round the bases, Dot, and I couldn’t very well do that with you tagging along. Sounds harsh, but I was a shit then and I’m sorry.”
She laughs, but I can’t tell if it’s in humor or spite. “You’re a shit now, Dane Foster.”
I shuffle a step closer. “But I’m a sorry shit.”
“You’ll hear no arguments from me there. Lord knows, only a sorry shit would ditch a lifelong friend to get his dick rubbed.”
“Wait, that’s not what I meant.”
She shrugs. “Your words, I’m just choosing to interpret them differently.”
“You’re impossible,” I tell her, all the other times I’ve said those exact words to her playing through my mind like a highlight reel. Like the time she wanted to scale the side of my house and jump from the roof onto the trampoline so that she could bounce into my pool. I tried like hell to talk her out of it, but she insisted. Spoiler alert: she broke her ankle and spent the entire summer in a cast.
Or the time she begged the neighbor on the other side to pull her behind his car on her rollerblades—thankfully he refused and told her parents. She was grounded for a week.
Oh, and I can’t forget the time she talked me into marrying her. We couldn’t have been older than seven. I came over like I did every weekend and instead of wearing her play clothes, she was dressed up in a white church dress with flowers plucked directly from her front yard, roots and all, clutched in her small hands. I asked her what the heck she was up to and she proudly announced to me that she was a woman now since she’d lost both her front teeth and that we were getting married. I told her guys usually did the asking. Dots shoved me down and told me that was stupid. I told her she was impossible. We exchanged vows and dandelion stem rings all the same.
“You mean amazing,” she retorts.
“I definitely meant impossible.”
She grins and my heart thumps a little harder in my chest. “I’ve heard it both ways.”
I groan. “You did not just quote Psych.”
“Shawn Spencer is a God.”
“Whatever.” I move another step closer. “So, we good?”
She doesn’t immediately reply, and the sweat dotting my brow is more from nerves than the heat. Finally, she says, “As long as you can rein in Douchey Dane, yeah, we’re good.”
“I think I can manage.”
“Then you’ve got yourself a deal.” She holds out her hand for me to shake. I clasp her hand in mine, pumping my arm once before yanking her toward me. The move is unexpected and her unchecked momentum sends her plowing into my chest.
She moves to push away from me, but I band my arms around her and hold her to me, secretly loving the way her small, soft body feels against mine.
Before I can think better of it, I’m mumbling into her hair how much I’ve missed her and how I’m glad she’s here. “For real, you were my ride or die and I left you. I’ve missed you like hell.”
“You could have called. Texted. Facebooked, anything Dane.” Her warm breath fans against my chest, but she still makes no move to pull out of my embrace.
“I know, Dots. I know.” After a few more quiet moments, we break apart. “You ready to surf?” I ask, knowing damn well she doesn’t need the lessons.
“Yup.” We grab our boards and head toward the water. The breaking waves rock us gently as we wade out. “Hey Dane,” Dots says once we’re knee deep.
I turn and look at her, only to find her belly down on her board, staring straight ahead. “Yeah?”
“I missed you too,” she calls over her shoulder as she paddles out.
FIVE
Thea
HE SLIDES HIS hand down my leg, his fingers brushing along the hem of my bikini bottom along the way, until he reaches the bend of my knee. It takes my all to focus on his words over his touch.
He grips me above the knee and pulls my leg into the position he wants it in. “See how your foot is planted and your knee is hanging over the side of the board?” I nod. “This is exactly how I want you.”
As loathe as I am to admit it, a million sexy fantasies of him saying those exact words play out in my mind. Only we’re both naked and not on a public beach. My cheeks heat as I imagine all of the filthy things he would do to me—and how much I’d like it.
“Got it.”
“You’re looking a little pink, Dots. Everything okay?”
The blush painting my cheeks burns its way down my chest. “Mmhmm, yup, fine.”
He drags his hand back up my leg, and this time the tips of his fingers brush the most sensitive part of my inner thigh. It’s a light touch, but packed with pleasure and I can’t help but squirm under it.
“You sure?” he asks, sounding smug. “Or maybe my hands on you is too distracting?”
“I’m not distrac
ted,” I insist, pleased when my voice comes out steady.
“Show me.”
I grab the rails the first try instead of bringing my hands under my chest—a total grom move. Naturally, Dane catches me and smirks. “Thought you weren’t distracted Dots?” I glare at him, but my gaze snags on his firm pecs. His smirk turns to an all-out laugh. “Damn, do I need to put a shirt on too?”
What good would a shirt do? For the past three weeks, it seems like he’s always finding a reason to touch me—and he’s growing bolder each time. So, even if he covered his sinfully sculpted body, I’d still end up distracted.
I flip him the bird and get back to work, moving in and out of the position a few more times and once Dane is satisfied, we move onto the next step. “Now, push up and use your back foot to propel your front leg under your chin and then stand.”
We work through it a few more times before Dane’s satisfied. “I know I said your pop-ups needed some work, but you look good Dots, really good.”
I beam, and even though I know he’s only complimenting my form, I pretend he’s telling me I look good. “Thanks! I learned from a pro.” I wink and we both laugh.
“Same time next week?” he asks as he begins packing away his stuff.
“Yup.” The sudden urge to ask him if he wants to meet up outside of our weekly lessons hits me like a bag of bricks to the chest. “So, um, what are you up to this weekend?”
“Oh, uh,” he looks down. “Just hangin’.”
I nod. “Right. Sure. Well, if you wanna maybe hang out or…” I trail off, feeling like an idiot for asking.
He doesn’t answer right away, which only adds to my building embarrassment. “Uh, well, the thing is—”
I cut him off, not wanting to hear his rejection. Apparently, all the touching and flirting was a figment of my imagination. “It’s fine. I’m sure you’re busy. I’ll catch you next week.” I grab my board under my arm and hoof it to my Jeep before he can reply.
• • •
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