He grinned even bigger, if that was possible. “Well, what do you know? Me too.”
Nick
She turned me down for fucking coffee. Seriously. And that, was all it took. Game on. I pushed all my concerns away, I ignored the warning signs, I stopped listening to my conscience. I wanted this girl, I wanted her bad, and she’d turned me down. Before—before the military, before Afghanistan, before “it” happened—I would have never hesitated. I loved nothing more than a girl who was a challenge. And this girl? I could tell she was going to be a challenge.
I reached over and took her big book bag off of her shoulder. “I’ll get this for you.”
She opened her mouth like she was going to protest, but then shut it again and walked out of class. Relief flooded me. I liked a challenge, but outright combat was a different issue.
We exited the building into a hot, humid Hawaiian day. The campus was filled with areas of tropical plants and flowers, and Lyndsey led us along one of the heavily planted paths that ran between the math and econ buildings.
“So, what year are you?” I asked, taking half-sized steps so I wouldn’t outpace her.
“A sophomore,” she replied. “And you?”
“Just a lowly freshman.” I brushed her arm with mine and laughed. “Think it’s okay to be seen with me?”
She huffed out a breath and smiled. “I’ve seen your ID, so I know you’re over twenty-one. What have you been doing since high school?”
This was the part I dreaded, the part I tried to avoid telling anyone. Telling them led to questions, and questions led to me wanting to lie.
“I was in the military,” I said simply.
She darted a look up at me. She seemed surprised. “Really?”
“Yep, really.”
“When did you get out?”
“About a year ago. I stayed with my folks back in Sacramento until I came out here for school.”
“Were you overseas?” She looked concerned and beautiful all at once.
“Yeah, Afghanistan. And before you ask, it sucked, and I don’t like to talk about it . . .”
“Okaaay,” she muttered.
“Sorry,” I replied quickly. “A lot people have this sort of morbid curiosity, you know? They want to hear that I saw people die and that I was traumatized. They get off on it somehow. I just want to forget about it and move on.”
“I can understand that.” She touched her hand to my forearm as we left the narrow walkway between buildings and reached an intersection where we waited for the crossing light. The cars that idled at the stoplight were mostly filled with other students and several different songs played from their stereos. I picked out one where Jay Z was singing about his baby, and another where Taylor Swift trashed her latest boyfriend.
I wondered how much Lyndsey did understand how I felt—the desire to forget the bad things that you’ve done and move on with your life. I wondered if she was any better at doing it than I was. I reached over and took ahold of the hand Lyndsey touched my arm with. “What about you? You serve alcohol at The Grill, so you’re obviously over twenty-one too.”
“Just twenty-one,” she clarified.
I laughed. “Well, what have you been doing since high school?”
She raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been in school for two years,” she answered as she gently pulled her hand from mine and we started off across the street. My fingers felt raw where they’d touched her. “But, I’m poor, so the degree is going to take me a while longer. Before that I was working and trying to get in-state tuition.”
“You’re not from Hawaii . . . Where’d you grow up?”
“New Mexico.”
“Wow, I’ve never known anyone from there,” I said, genuinely curious now.
“Yeah, no one has. I kind of count on it.”
We continued walking down the sidewalk that had widened out now, no longer bordered by flowers and trees, but by buildings and street instead. I wondered at how everything she said, every gesture, every expression, only seemed to make me want her more. Obsession didn’t cover it. But, now, what the hell would I do about it?
Lyndsey
When I came to Hawaii I had a new identity, a new name, a new social security number, a new GED. But I’d needed to create a new past as well. I thought long and hard about it on the plane that brought me from Chicago to Honolulu. I’d been told to stick as close to the truth as I could in most things so that it wasn’t too hard to keep my story straight. However, I was terrified of being found, and I couldn’t bring myself to claim a Midwestern origin. All I could think was I had to get as far away from anything that hinted at my real past as I possibly could.
So, if the middle section of the United States was a no-go, I thought, where could I be from? I knew better than to choose someplace like California or New York or Florida. There were too many people who had lived in those places or visited them, and I never had, so they’d realize I was a fraud in minutes.
Left with places like Montana and Arkansas, I finally settled on the one place that seemed the most remote of them all. A place almost no one would know about. New Mexico.
The first few weeks I was in Hawaii I holed up in my room and researched which city, neighborhood, and even apartment I’d say I grew up in. I settled on a nondescript duplex. It was on Quincy Street NE in Albuquerque, a stark city in the desert.
I spent days and days reading up on the restaurants in Albuquerque, the University of New Mexico, the parks near where I’d “lived,” and Sandia High School, where I’d dropped out my senior year to take the GED after my mother died. Then, I counted on never running into anyone who’d lived in or visited Albuquerque. And so far? No one had.
“What was it like growing up in New Mexico?” Nick asked, as his warm arm brushed against mine while we walked.
“You know, after living here for over two years, it’s like I was never even there. I just don’t remember that much,” I replied, close to the truth in a roundabout way. I took a deep breath and smelled the combination of ocean air and diesel fumes. It made my head swim, but not quite as much as my proximity to Nick did.
“Yeah.” He looked thoughtful. “It’s strange how that happens isn’t it? You get settled someplace and it’s like you’ve been there forever. Every other place just fades away. That’s how it was in Afghanistan. After a few weeks I couldn’t remember what it was like to live someplace where I didn’t have to arm myself to go to the latrine, or where I could play catch with a kid without worrying that he was wired with explosives. It just became all there was. All there’d ever been.”
He gave himself a little shake, seeming to return from the memories, and said, “Sorry. I bit your head off for asking one simple question about Afghanistan and then I go all emo about it and blab on.”
I wondered what had happened to him over there. He was obviously fine physically—well, much better than fine really—but I knew enough to realize that not all injuries could be seen. I found myself wishing that I’d be the person he’d confide all of that to. But I swallowed it down, reminding myself of my new mantra: you can’t have him.
“Here’s my car,” I reached out my hand for my book bag.
Nick looked at me with a smirk on his face. “Not quite so fast, Goldilocks.” He leaned against the side of my car, close to me where I stood at to the driver’s side door.
I stepped back a few inches, wondering how I’d ever get the car door open if he continued standing where he was.
“Lovely Lyndsey,” he murmured as he reached out and ran a rough, warm finger down my cheek. I instinctively jerked my head back and he frowned at me for a moment.
“I don’t scare you, do I?” he asked quietly.
If he only knew how much. Too much. Or maybe not enough.
“Thanks for walking with me, Nick, but I really need to get going,” I ignored his question.
“You’re going to shoot me down if I ask you out, aren’t you?” He smiled.
I nodded.
&n
bsp; “Then I’ll have to convince you otherwise.” He leaned forward, settling my book bag on my shoulder at the same time. “And you know what?”
I shook my head this time.
“When I do? You and I are going to be un-fucking-believable,” he finished, and leaned in further, a hairsbreadth from my face. “Un-fucking-believable, Lyndsey.” Then he brushed his lips across mine for a split second, and set my whole body on fire.
While my impulse was to back away, his lips on mine, even for such an incredibly brief moment, halted that impulse. I sighed, my eyes fluttering closed. When I opened them back up he was standing there, mere inches from me, looking at me so seriously. His spearmint-scented breath was warm on my face.
“See you around, Goldilocks,” he whispered. Then he turned on his heel and walked off like the whole earth hadn’t just shifted on its axis.
Chapter 3
Lyndsey
“Un-fucking-believable,” he’d said. I snorted as I started up my car to leave the D Lot. What a great description of him. And the worst part? I loved it. He was hot, he knew it, and it only made me want him more. I was eaten up with lust. Lust, lust, lust. Wasn’t that some sort of thing that got you in mortal trouble? Well, I’d had my share of trouble of the mortal variety; I didn’t need to go there again. What I did need to do was stay the hell away from Nick Carlisle, hot guy extraordinaire.
I’d told Nick I needed to hurry and get to work, but I actually had two hours before my shift started. I knew my resolve to stay away from him required reinforcements, so I looked at the clock and saw there was a chance she’d still be there like she was nearly every day before and after preschool. I drove out of campus in the opposite direction from my apartment, and headed to a small neighborhood not too far from downtown. The houses were a mix of ranch and split-level, solidly middle class, with wide-open lots covered in grass and palm trees. There were trikes and bikes and little wagons laying around on porches and lawns. It all said, families live here; children live here. The kind of place I’d never lived and never would.
I turned on one of the side streets and headed to the neighborhood school, which had a park adjacent to it. Once I reached the park, I pulled up across the street and stopped under a collection of banyan trees that lined the street and partially concealed my car. I rolled down my window, hot humid air flowing in on my face, and looked toward the children’s playground. There she was, taller than the last time I’d seen her. Her blonde hair was longer, and her little legs were slimming out, those plump baby thighs disappearing. She was wearing some sort of athletic sandals and a bright blue sundress with little straps that tied on her shoulders. My hands twitched to feel the fabric and smooth the flyaway hair around her cherub face.
I watched as she climbed all the way up the play structure steps without using the handrail. My God. The last time I’d been here she’d needed to use the handrails. There was a sharp pain in the center of my chest, but I didn’t turn away. I forced myself to look and to remember. I remembered the sweet smell of her, the sensation of her delicate skin against my cheek. The way her tiny red lips puckered when she looked up at me. This, I thought. This is why. Every choice you make, every moment you spend alone, every relationship you avoid is because of this. Right here. You don’t deserve love. You don’t deserve happiness. Not after what you’ve done.
I started up the car and drove away, back toward my apartment. And it hurt. It hurt so damn much I wondered if I’d ever really be able to live the rest of my life, or if someday I’d just disintegrate from the pain.
* * *
The next weekend Jack and I decided to do our normal Saturday morning run on the beach. I rarely went more than three or four miles, but it was good to get outside after a week of classes and work, and Jack loved nothing more than the chance to see all those people and chase the Frisbees and beach balls. I usually chose the most popular beach in Hilo, because even though it was crowded, it also had the best parking and easiest access to water fountains and showers.
We were winding down after running for a half hour or so, when I heard a voice calling my name. I stopped, looking around. The man’s voice called my name again, and then I turned to see Nick jog up behind us. He was wearing a white sleeveless T-shirt and a pair of board shorts, his hair damp, and his sunglasses splattered with water drops.
“Hey, Nick,” I said as he reached me and stopped.
“Well, good morning, Goldilocks,” he replied, grinning. Jack took this as a signal to bound over and wiggle at Nick’s feet. Nick bent over and pet him, sending Jack into a full-blown seizure of licking and tail wagging. “Is this your dog?”
“Yes,” I said laughing at Jack’s antics. “This is Jack. Jack say hello to Nick.”
Nick kneeled down in the sand. “Hey there, buddy,” he crooned. “Are you having fun at the beach?”
I laughed at big-guy Nick brought down by a floppy mutt. “What?” he asked standing up. “You think just because I’m a guy I can’t talk stupid to a dog?”
“It is a little out of character.”
“Well, you don’t know my character very well because you wouldn’t agree to have a cup of coffee with me last week.”
“Oh yeah? Does caffeine have some magical property that reveals the true you?” I avoided making eye contact by leaning down and brushing sand off of my bare foot. The grains made tiny scratch marks on my instep.
“Caffeine, beer, and surfing,” he answered, as I stood back up and he smiled at me.
“Huh. Well, I already said no to the coffee; when I saw you after you’d had a few beers you punched someone, and I don’t surf, so I guess I’m doomed to die without knowing the real Nick Carlisle.”
“Did you just say you don’t surf?” His smile expanded.
“Uh, yeaaah . . .” I got the feeling he was up to something.
“Well, today’s your lucky day then,” he answered. “You can meet the real Nick Carlisle and learn how to surf.”
“No, no, no.” I backed up, my hands up in the air. “I didn’t say I haven’t had surf lessons, I said I don’t surf. You need to understand, my boss Raoul’s tried to teach me, and I’m terrible—really, really terrible.”
“Oh, Goldilocks.” He reached over and took my hand leading me back down the beach from the direction he’d come. “You really just don’t get it do you?”
Nick
I led Lyndsey along the beach, astounded that she was going with me so easily. I’d expected all sorts of protests, but I think I surprised her so much that she’d forgotten to argue with me for a moment. Her fuzzball dog bounded along beside us, periodically sticking his nose in the sand and tossing it up in the air.
“Even if you were terrible the last time you tried surfing, it doesn’t mean you’re going to be terrible this time,” I told her as we reached my board and other stuff lying on the beach. She looked at me skeptically. “Becaaause . . .” I prompted.
“Let me guess,” she said grimacing. “You’re teaching me.”
I smirked. “Exactly.”
“Full of yourself much?”
“Nope. I’m just a great surfing instructor, and I can tell that you can be a great surfer. You only need the right teacher. I promise.”
She shifted her weight from one leg to the other and chewed on her bottom lip. I could see that part of her wanted to take me up on it, but for some reason I had yet to discover, she was reluctant. Jack barked at a bird scrounging around in the sand and it made a shrieking noise at him.
“Oh!” Lyndsey said, snapping her fingers so that Jack came to her side. “I’ve got Jack with me. I can’t leave him here on the beach by himself while I’m out on the water.”
She thought she’d found her way out, but she underestimated my commitment to spending time with her.
“First of all,” I said, as I took my sunglasses off and dried them on my T-shirt, “we’re going to be doing most of the teaching and learning on the beach, not in the water.” She squinted at me skeptically. “An
d secondly, if I teach you to surf I may as well teach Jack to swim and board too.”
“What?” she glared at me as if I’d suggested we take the dog out and drown him.
“Relax, Goldilocks.” I laughed. “He’s part retriever, right?” She nodded. “Well, they’re bred to be water dogs, so he’ll swim just fine, and then I’ll teach him to stand or lay on my board while I paddle. He’ll do great and we’ll stay away from the waves, I promise.” Jack barked at us, and I winked at Lyndsey. “See, he thinks it’s a great idea.”
She sighed. “Alright, I’ll give it a shot, but you’re going to be disappointed in me, I just know it.”
I took her chin in my hand, surprised at how fragile the bones of her jaw felt under my fingers. “With you? Never. Now let’s go teach you a thing or two.”
Lyndsey
Nick carried his board down to the edge of the water. When I caught up with him, he set the board down, looked at me, and said, “Alright, strip.”
“Excuse me?” I replied, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks.
“Well,” he continued, a little too cheerfully, “I assume you’re wearing a swimsuit under those clothes—since you are at a beach—so why don’t you strip ’em off and we can start your lesson?” He reached down, and pulled the hem of his shirt up. I swore he did it slowly on purpose, exposing inch after beautiful inch of his smooth, tan skin and hard, cut muscles before he finally removed it entirely and tossed it further up the beach away from the water.
I realized I’d been gawking at him the whole time when he chuckled quietly and said, “Earth to Lyndsey. Think you can get water worthy now?”
Rolling my eyes, I stepped away toward where he’d tossed his shirt. I turned my back to him and unbuttoned my cutoffs, then stepped out of them and stripped my top off, leaving both items in a pile next to Nick’s shirt.
When I turned back around, Nick was standing very still, with an intense look on his face. He slowly ran his eyes down my body and then back up before breathing out in a long whistle. “Wow,” he said, taking a step closer to me.
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