Surf & Surrender

by Riley Edgewood

  "And who'd you text after?"

  But I just cock an eyebrow and shake my head. "You know I can't tell you that."

  "Where is it?"

  "Oh, come on. You know the same goes."

  "Then how am I supposed to drive us there?"

  "So you want to come?" And, when he nods: "I'll give you directions along the way."

  He rolls his eyes at me when I offer to help pay after he signals for the bill. I roll my eyes right back. "Sexist."

  "Just polite," he corrects me. "I have a very strong-willed, very pro-women's rights sister. Not a chance in the world she'd allow me to end up a chauvinist, believe me. But I am paying for your dinner. I chose the spot. You can pay on our next date. Deal?"

  I sigh like I'm giving in instead of using the opening to tell him there won't actually be another date. Because I'm a total chickenshit. "Anyway, tell me more about your sister. She sounds awesome."

  CHAPTER SIX

  SAWYER

  I'M TIRED.

  I'M tired from working all day, and my back complains so loudly I can't wait to get horizontal.

  I'm tired from the earlier encounter with my dumbass brother.

  And I'm really, really tired of this date.

  Morgan. Came into the shop and flirted until I asked her out. Brown hair, blue eyes. How could I resist? But she's a poor man's substitute for the only girl I've ever wanted. They always are.

  Against my better judgment (hell, against anybody's better judgment), I let her talk me into coming to the bonfire all the way at the base of Nags Head. Now she's sitting here, shivering next to me on this damp log way back from the flames, and I don't have a jacket to offer her. It's June at the Outer Banks. It shouldn't be chilly. She scoots a little closer, squeezing her bare thigh against my jeans, practically begging me to put my arm around her. Which isn't going to happen. I'm an asshole for taking her out in the first place; I'm not going to lead her on further.

  A random-looking assortment of people stand around the fire, sparks flickering high into the sky, the spice of burned wood lingering in the night. The occasional bottle makes its way into the flames, shattering, the leftover alcohol creating miniature blue and white and yellow fireworks. Someone's truck is pulled onto the beach, bumping bass through wood-smoked air; more people gather there, standing around, laughing, sitting on the opened bed, legs swinging. I can't make anyone out from where I sit, which is fine by me. I've already seen one person I know, and she was more than enough.

  Gianna Marcel. Quinn's best friend. I almost panicked when I saw her, certain Quinn would be near. She wasn't. And now I'm sitting here with Morgan, hiding on the outskirts of the party because if Gianna sees me—if she's still friends with Quinn and if she's the same girl I knew those years ago—I won't be leaving here until she's got my still-bleeding balls hanging around her neck.

  Thankfully, it's dark. Clouds from the earlier storm are blocking the moon, and I'm obscured from view back here in the shadows. Morgan probably thinks I'm looking for a little action. I'm not, but I'm pretty sure she is, sliding the side of her body against the side of mine.

  I should look at her, let her see on my face that it isn't going to happen, but I can't pull my gaze from the circle around the bonfire. My eyes refuse to stop searching for the girl I already know isn't here.

  I can't believe the circuit's still around. I can't believe I agreed to come. Actually, that's bullshit. I don't lie to myself. Ever. I agreed to come the instant Morgan suggested it, even though I'd been about to take her home, and I know exactly why I did.

  I agreed because of my idiot baby brother. He saw Quinn today. I wanted to pummel him with jealousy, and it unraveled the control I spent years assembling. One mention of her erased it all.

  I agreed to come because I thought I might catch a glimpse of her.

  The last time I came to one of these, it was with Quinn. Exactly one week before I never saw her again.

  Of course she isn't here. All the good times we had on the circuit are probably her worst memories now.

  "I'm cold," Morgan purrs, squirming against my side.

  "Wish I had a jacket for you," I say, honestly.

  "Aw, you're a sweetie, Sawyer." She traces a heart on my thigh. Another poor man's substitute, and this one turns my stomach sour.

  "Maybe I should take you home—we can turn on the heat in the car."

  "I could think of a few other ways to get warm, you know." She tiptoes her fingers a little higher, presses against me a little harder.

  I'm not unaffected. I don't want her, but my body's not so choosy. We should leave before I make a mistake. "I have to work early. We should go."

  "I don't want to go yet. Let's have a beer first. Just one," she pleads, pointing in the direction of the keg. "A little buzz will keep the chill away."

  I stand, her hand trailing slowly down my leg in the process, and squint toward the people gathered there. Gianna's not among them. Guess it's safe. Safer than sitting here with Morgan and her short skirt and her exploring fingers, anyway.

  The sand is wet and cold under my feet, and halfway to the keg I'm almost sidelined by the even colder, wetter shoulder—body, really—of someone rushing up from the ocean. Instantly, I'm tense, ready to go.

  "Watch it, bro," he shoots over his shoulder, and even though I didn't see his face, I recognize the gravelly voice. Danny Simmons. We played Little League together growing up. A girl's laugh chases after him, right before she scampers by me, too. Blonde. Not Quinn. They're both shivering, sharing a towel, a few yards past the keg when I get there a second later.

  I force myself to relax. I'm not the guy I was four years ago. And I'm not the even worse guy I was three years ago. Or two. I don't fight for no reason anymore and I'm not going to start shit with Danny just because he ran into me and was a dick about it. Not worth it. Even if the thought of hitting someone—or something—right now has my blood singing, begging for that release.

  Instead, I reach around the keg, grabbing a plastic cup for Morgan and taking the tap from another guy when he's finished with it. I watch Danny while I pump beer, but he's too busy sticking his tongue down the blonde's throat to notice.

  "Gross."

  I glance over my shoulder, and shit, Gianna's standing there. But she's not speaking to me. She's glaring daggers toward Danny. A second later, though, that glare shifts to me. It cycles around to shock, to confusion, and then centers right back into an even more pissed off glare. "Sawyer?"

  "Hey, Gianna." I try to smile while mentally preparing to protect the fellas in my pants. I gesture toward her hair the best I can with the tap still in my hand. "Like the pink."

  Her hand automatically smooths the thick, bright stripe of hair jutting across her forehead, but the compliment doesn't faze her. "'Hey, Gianna'? You disappear for four years, and you think you can just up and 'Hey, Gianna' me?"

  She doesn't shove a finger in my chest to drive her point home, but she might as well have.

  "Gi—"

  "No. I don't know what you're doing here, but if you so much as look at Quinn, I swear to God you'll be crawling home instead of walking."

  "Still the same, sweet Gianna, I see." Then my brain catches up to her words. "Quinn?"

  "Don't even say her…" But whatever else Gianna's saying falls on deafened ears. Even the music dulls to a hum.

  Because behind her, I see Quinn.

  Walking toward the bonfire. Wearing a jacket two sizes too big for her, next to the dude I'm sure it belongs to. But I barely process him.

  Quinn.

  She's taller. Still sexy as hell. Her hair's wild and blowing in the wind. Just like I've imagined every time I've pictured her the past four years. Same straight nose. Same delicate neck. Same jaunty smile. Punches me in the gut that it's not directed at me.

  She doesn't see me yet, and Gianna shoves me back toward the shadows, toward the log where Morgan's waiting. "Get out of here. She doesn't need to see you."

  When I don't mo
ve, she shoves me again, pinching a bit of flesh before swiping her hand away, and in the back of my mind I realize I could be in for some pain if I don't do what she says and she chooses to bring her knee into the equation. But I no longer care about the well-being of my balls. I have no room left for anything other than the fact that I'm sharing the same air as Quinn for the first time in four years. For the first time in one thousand, four hundred and sixty-one days. If she turns her head, just a little, I'll be able to look into her eyes. Jesus. Turn your head, Quinn.

  "Sawyer," Gianna hisses. "You shattered her. Do you really want to break the very few pieces she actually managed to put back together? It took her years." She doesn't touch me, but her words slice through my stomach so fast and so effortlessly, my guts hit the ground before I feel the pain.

  I step back without another word.

  I shouldn't have come. I don't have the right to want to share Quinn's air anymore.

  So before she has the chance to look our direction, I slip back into the shadows, far from the light of the fire.

  I hand Morgan her beer and drop down on the log a foot away from her. We need to leave, but I need to figure out an exit strategy that doesn't involve Quinn seeing us first.

  "Where's yours?" Morgan asks.

  "I'm driving." I stare at the fire, not moving when she shifts closer to me. "Morgan, we need to—"

  "Here," she shoves the cup at me, "a few sips won't hurt anything."

  I turn my attention to the drink in her hand. It's tempting, but if I take it, I'll down it. If I take it, the monster under my skin will end up doing something I regret. "I'm good, thanks."

  "You okay, sweet Sawyer? You look tired." Her tone is kinder than I deserve, especially as I can't remember the last time I actually looked at her face. Still can't bring myself to do it. She's nothing like Quinn, but I asked her out because something about her sparked a vague reminder. I don't want to see it now.

  "A little. It's been a long day," I say. But the truth is…it wouldn't matter if I hadn't slept in weeks.

  Quinn is here, somewhere across the flames.

  I'm wide awake.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  QUINN

  MENTALLY, BY THE time we reach the bonfire, I'm both kicking myself for not being into Chase and running through lists of girls who might be good for him instead. He's too funny, too sweet, too not what I expected him to be to be single.

  Gianna came to mind, but she lasted there less than a second. She's beautiful—dark brown skin, eyes like amber, body like a sexy, sexy hourglass—and she's the smartest person I've ever known. But she's also cynical as hell. She'd eat him alive.

  Not that you'd know it by the smile lighting her face as she rushes up to us and wraps me in a quick hug, spinning me in half a circle. "Quinn, baby. Where've you been?" She turns her head to check out Chase, and her next words come out silkily. "Oh, never mind. I see."

  "Your hair!" I ignore her tone and tug at her now-pink bangs. Her long, natural¸ grown-for-years hair is gone. Replaced with a pixie cut—and neon streaked bangs. I can't help cracking up because they truly, truly suit her. "You're literally my spunky little pixie girl now."

  "My mom's going to freak," she admits, rolling her eyes. "But even if I live with her while home from school, I'm twenty-one years old and can make my own damn decisions. Plus, tonight aside, it's already hot as fuck for the summer. Long hair is for the birds—and, of course, for you, Q." She sticks her hand out to Chase, who takes it, looking a little apprehensive. "Hello, I'm Gianna. You're adorable."

  "Gianna of the text messages?" he asks.

  She skillfully raises a brow. "Gianna of the please, please go grab us a couple drinks, you mean?"

  "Gianna of the extremely subtle, anyway," he says, laughing. Then he glances at me. "Beer?"

  "Please." And when he's gone: "Gianna—Jesus." But I'm laughing as I say it.

  "He's cute," she says. "Like, why'd you even bring him here cute? Turn straight back around and get after it."

  "Chase is great," I admit. "But…no spark, unfortunately."

  "Really?" Disbelief narrows her eyes as she stares over my shoulder, watching him for a minute. "That boy's made of sparks. Just pick one. Or two."

  Hmm. Maybe Gianna's an option after all. "He's great, Gi. Even his family sounds cool. His sister? Carleigh? I want to be best friends with the girl. Pre-law, determined to someday defend people who can't do it themselves. She's actually spending the summer in DC at Georgetown early to avoid a cop she used to date—because she egged his car to break up with him."

  "That's kinda ballsy."

  "Yeah, well, apparently he made an overly aggressive arrest of a person whose only crime was that they were Hispanic…"

  "It sounds like you've got sparks with her, at least."

  "Maybe I do." Now I raise a brow with almost as much skill as she did, smiling—until I notice Danny Simmons standing to our side, nodding. I level him with a glare. "What?"

  "Made it through all the dudes in the area, movin' on to the chicks, now?" His full lips curve into a sneer. "I'd pay good money to see that. Even more if you'd let me join in."

  I loathe this guy in way too many ways to list. Gianna's silent by my side and I hate him more for her than I do for myself. "Fuck off, Danny."

  "I told you, doll. I'm going to ruin you." Sneer's still there, but his brown eyes are empty of emotion.

  "And I told you good luck with that," I say, my voice strong. This guy…this virginity-taking, cheating-on-my-best-friend, heart-breaking dickwad… There's not a single thing he can do that will affect me in any way. Not anymore.

  I wish I could say the same about Gianna. But she's still quiet in the most heart-wrenching way. I brush a fleck of sand away from the top of my hand like I don't have a care in the world. "Listen," I say, my tone also careless, "I get it. Gianna's impossible to get over—even though you're the one who fucked it up—I get it. But you've got to stop finding reasons to trail after her like a pathetic little puppy. It's sad, hon, and completely transparent. Move on."

  "That's funny coming from you, my little slut puppy—are you so anxious to find a doggy friend? Wag your tail a little and I'll let you know if I'm interested."

  "Seriously, fuck off, Danny." Gianna finds her voice and steps forward, and though he doesn't back away, he definitely flinches. I laugh. There she is, my ferocious little pixie, and she's not done yet. "Where's your latest victim? That poor blonde you were suffocating with your tongue a minute ago?"

  "Don't be jealous, Gi," he says. "There's plenty here to go around—as you both know."

  And with impeccable timing, Chase returns with three red cups full of beer.

  I'm not sure how much he's overheard, but I'm assuming at least some, because there's not a trace of his smile when he nods toward Danny. He hands me a cup, then Gianna, holding on to his own. "What's up, man? I'm Chase."

  Danny doesn't bother nodding back. "You with Quinn?"

  "Yeah. Y'all are friends?" Chase slides closer to me, knowing, I'm pretty sure, the answer already. I both love and hate his closeness.

  "We go way back," Danny says. "All the way back, you could say."

  "Nobody would say that." I sigh, and fight a small wave of embarrassment. "Get lost, Danny. Go make some other girl miserable." Then I glance at Gianna, nervous my words were insensitive. But she's rocking her fierce little glare and I'm glad for it. Maybe she's finally moving forward.

  Danny shrugs, not a care in the world, addressing Chase instead of me. "Not trying to infringe here, bro. I just wanted to say hi to little miss orgasmic—oh, sorry, I meant organic. Though with all the dudes she plows through, both titles fit."

  "Wow. A play on my parents' business. You're so clever." I fight the urge to kick sand at his face. His words are harsh, but considering the source, I shouldn't let them get to me. I slide out of my flip-flops and twist the tips of my toes into the damp sand anyway.

  Chase looks studiously at Danny, as though he's ju
dging him and finding him lacking. "Are those the manners your mother raised you with?"

  His reaction's a little mild for my tastes, but that's only because I'm itching for a fight. Because, Jesus, enough is enough with this guy. "Plus, Danny, let's be real. Like you'd know a single thing about making anyone orgasmic."

  "Gianna never complained."

  "Not to you." She scoffs. "But believe me, it happened."

  Finally, something hits its mark and Danny's jaw clenches. "Bitch."

  "Yep. That's me. Queen B of the puppies. And you? You're not a part of the pack. You're just a prick." She transfers her cup to one hand and holds up her pinky finger, wiggling it in the air. "And not a very impressive one, either. Know what I mean?"

  I bust out laughing, the sound traveling over every other echo of conversation around the bonfire, and clutch her arm. I love her so much right now. Then I notice that under my hand, she's trembling. I really hope it's from the coolness in the air, or even from rage, but I think it's probably more from heart pain.

  "Ouch, man," Chase says, laughter in his tone. "I can't figure out why you're still standing here after that."

  Whatever Danny's response was, it's drowned out by the sound of glass shattering and a loud shriek. We all turn toward the bonfire as a girl with long brown hair sprints in our direction, laughing as she passes us.

  And behind her?

  Sawyer Carson.

  Shock is an iron collar tightening around my neck.

  No. It's Novocain, making my face completely numb.

  I recognize his stance before my gaze even gets to his face, and the sudden understanding of his shape is an electric cannonball slamming into my chest, where it sits still for a moment, ticking, ticking… The enormity of it is too heavy to leave room for breath.

  Then we catch eyes, and the damn thing explodes in my veins.

  The entirety of me buzzes. Under my skin. Vibrations. Jolts. They hurt.

  They burn.

  They thrill.