Surf & Surrender

by Riley Edgewood

  I pull his hair so hard I'm shocked it doesn't come away in my fingers, and he lets a slow, sly laugh escape. "You always liked it a little rough."

  "Shut up," I breathe through his lips. "Just shut up and don't fucking stop."

  He doesn't fucking stop.

  Groans turn to grunts, now, little growls and sharp tugs with his teeth against my lower lip, against my neck. The friction of his erection rubbing, shoving against me, pushes that fluttering between my legs into pulsing and builds to a crest and my orgasm gives barely any warning before it flows through my entire system. From my head to my toes. From the inside of my belly to the wetness I feel flood between my thighs.

  Only when he puts a hand against my mouth do I realize how loud I've been moaning. But he's been moaning, too—I can hear it in my memory of the last few seconds. And when he lets go of my mouth to grab the fence again, his hips are at rest except for the occasional reflexive jerk, making his breath come out in shaky little laughs.

  It takes a minute, but when my own breathing's slowed enough for me to speak, I bat my lashes all innocently and ask, "You need a new pair of shorts?"

  "You need a new pair of panties?" he shoots back, his eyes dancing.

  "Proud of yourself?" I raise a brow. "You seem quite smug at the moment."

  "Honey, I just made you come and didn't even have to take your clothes off."

  I laugh and slowly, gently, unwrap my legs from him, sliding back down the fence. "Pretty sure I did the same to you, honey."

  "True," he concedes. And for a pause, we stand here, grinning at each other like idiots. I can't remember a moment when I've been this happy.

  Somewhere down the street a car alarm blares and we both jump. Sawyer looks around like he's just remembering where we are. In someone else's backyard. Could be busted any moment. "We should go," he says.

  "What about your plan to freeze time?" I ask, knowing he's right but still wanting to stall the moment a bit longer.

  "I changed my mind," he says. "I don't want to freeze time with you. I want to claim every second as it passes. See what happens next."

  I throw my arms back around him and press the side of my face into his chest. "I need you to hold me for at least a few of these precious seconds you speak of."

  "Easiest thing I've ever done." He squeezes me against him, his heart picking up speed. Or maybe it's mine, throwing itself against my chest so hard it's the only thing I hear.

  A few seconds pass way too quickly and soon he's stepping away, taking my hand, and tugging me toward the gate. I stop before we open it. "This has been an awesome day. No matter what happens when we step out of this backyard. Thank you."

  "Best day I've had in four years," he says.

  I squeeze his hand and let him lead me back into reality.

  Right as the homeowners pull into the stub of a driveway.

  "Shit!" I smile and wave, all awkward, as though hanging out in their backyard is a regular, accepted occurrence that they're just fine with—and I rush to my car. Sawyer beats me to it, cursing when he can't get the passenger door open. I can't help giggling as I slide into my seat and reach through to push it open for him.

  The guy, an older man with salt and pepper hair, jumps out of his car and shakes his fist at us, but I only see him in my rearview because I'm hauling ass to get out of here.

  "That was close," Sawyer says, glancing behind us.

  "Imagine what they would've found if you'd actually had a condom this time!" I expect him to laugh with me, but he grows quiet instead. "Or…not."

  "Maybe we should take it slow," he says. "Where that's concerned."

  "Why?" I'm seriously considering stopping off at a gas station to buy condoms and breaking one out in the damn backseat of my car.

  "Because, Quinn, it's sex. I want it to mean something to you. When it's with me, I mean."

  It takes a moment for his arrow to hit its mark, but it hurts when it does. "Well, ouch."

  "I didn't mean it like that."

  "Yes, you did." Tears sting my eyes, again. Painful ones this time, so I stare straight out my windshield and refuse to let them fall. "Don't worry, then. Sex between us? Off the table for a while."

  "Pretty sure anytime we bring a table into the picture, sex is going to be right back on it."

  I don't laugh. It'd be funny and sexy any other time. But not while my pride is sliced in half.

  "You left. I waited for you for hours in that tent, ready to give myself to you, and you never showed up. Never spoke to me again." I've never regretted the decisions I've made regarding my body. Until now. "What I've done since then isn't anything you get to comment on."

  "You slept with Danny Simmons."

  Okay. So there's one thing I've always regretted, one thing I always will. "Yep. I did. I went out and screwed the first person I could when I realized you weren't coming back." I stop at a red light and look at him, but now he's staring straight ahead, a muscle in his jaw clenching, unclenching. "Look at me."

  When he does, his eyes are tortured.

  "Stop judging me," I say, quietly. "I care about you, Sawyer. I want to be with you, to try this thing even if you can't tell me your secrets. I'll do my damn best to accept it. But if my past, my history, is something you can't get over, you might as well get out of my car right now. Because I can't change anything about it. And I don't want to. I'm sorry if you can't handle it, but the things I've done? They're how I held myself together. Every person I've been with has been another step away from the memory of you. And I'm grateful for them—even when they didn't know that's what they were doing. You almost killed me. I couldn't function. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't—"

  "Stop, please." His voice is almost as broken as his expression. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I won't ever forgive myself for what I did. I wake up hating myself every fucking morning, okay?"

  "No." I shake my head. "It's not okay. I don't want you to hate yourself—especially when I don't feel anything like that toward you. Very much the opposite, in fact. But I need you not to judge me. It's the one thing I can't—"

  "I'm not judging you. I—" The car behind us honks and Sawyer pauses. I missed the light going green. I drive forward, hating dragging my eyes away from him. He clears his throat. "I want sex to mean something with us, because it's you and me, Quinn. Our first time. You didn't—"

  "Of course it'll mean something. You just said—it's me and you. How could it ever be meaningless?"

  "Let me finish." He's looking at me so intensely the side of my face burns. I glance at him as long as I can spare from the road, and nod. He drags a hand through his hair. "You didn't wait for me."

  "I already told—"

  "I understand why," he says. "I don't blame you. Never will. But the thing is, Quinn, I did. I waited. For you."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  QUINN

  IT DOESN'T MAKE sense at first, what Sawyer's saying.

  He waited for me.

  "You…?" I look at him. He watches me. He waited for me. For sex. "I don't… How?"

  "You need me to explain the mechanics?"

  I'd roll my eyes if I wasn't so shocked. But I am shocked. Like, need to pull my Jeep over shocked. "No. I mean…" What do I mean? "Look at you, Sawyer. How the hell did you manage to wait? Did you always know you'd come back? Or were you at college in a monastery? Or…" I shake my head. "I just… How?"

  I'm starting to tremble and I don't know why. My heart is aching and I don't know why. I can't meet his eyes all of a sudden and…I do know why. "Sawyer—"

  "I wasn't a saint," he says. "But nobody else ever—"

  "Ever what?" My voice is raspy, dry. I need water. A gallon of it. A freaking lake and a straw. "Came on to you? Wanted you? Offered to bang you? Because I call bullshit on all that."

  "Measured up. Nobody else ever measured up."

  "To the memory of a gawky seventeen-year-old?"

  "Don't." His tone is sharper now. "Don't act like what we had wasn't signifi
cant because of our ages."

  "I've spent the last four years screwing around to try to forget you—clearly, unsuccessfully. I don't think anything about us was insignificant." I don't know why I'm doing this. Being such a bitch. Throwing my past in his face. "I'm sorry. Can I start over?"

  "That'd probably be nice," he says, not looking at me.

  "I'm not reacting very well, here." Great, now my voice is wobbling. "But did you know you'd come back? Is that why you waited?"

  He shakes his head. "I didn't think I'd see you again. And I just told you why I waited."

  God. Why is everything hurting my heart right now?

  * Things That Hurt My Heart This Time *

  1. He waited for me without knowing he'd ever see me again because nobody else was worth it to him, while I gave everything away because I didn't want him to be worth it.

  2. He thought he'd never see me again. He accepted it.

  3. He's an amazing, beautiful boy and I don't get to tell anyone else he's all mine. For now.

  4. The for now tacked on to the end of the last sentence.

  * * * * * *

  I don't know what to say because he's shared something so unbelievably sweet and special, but I'm so devastated by it all that I can barely breathe. He's waiting for me to get a grip. He's waiting for me. Again.

  A full minute passes.

  Another.

  "I need to get back to work," he says. Guess he had to wait too long.

  I nod. And I drive him quietly back to his shop, finally finding my voice the moment he opens his door. "Sawyer, listen. I'm a little blown away, okay?"

  He shrugs. "I get it."

  "This means something," I manage. "It means…a lot. I have some mental adjustments to make, but you're…"

  "Perfect?" He throws a cocky grin like a lifeline, like he knows exactly what I need.

  "Let's not get carried away here, buddy." I grin back. "What time do you get off?"

  He raises his brows.

  "Of work."

  He laughs. "I close tonight."

  And I've got dinner plans with my parents, which I'm definitely not about to bring up in front of him again. I don't want to fight about my mom a second time. Especially considering that with the one exception of how supportive she was when he disappeared, we're pretty much in complete agreement about how awful she is. But admitting that to him feels like a betrayal for the months she spent consoling me. Instead, I say, "My college roommate is coming to town this weekend. Friday. Want to come hang out with us?"

  "I'm not sure that's a good id—"

  "Oh, right. We're keeping this a secret." Almost forgot in the wake of the bomb of a his confession. "Well, what if you come out with us and we pretend like we're only friends?" I really want him to meet Cassidy. "Her boyfriend, Gage, is performing at Port O' Call. We can even drive separately…though hopefully one of our cars will see a little backseat action before the night's done."

  "All right." He sighs. "See what you do to me? Didn't even have to twist my arm."

  I slide a hand into his lap. "I could twist something else, if you wanted me to. Gently. And with my mouth."

  "You're just full of temptation today."

  "Only today?"

  "You fishing for compliments?'

  "Just pointing out that if you think this is tempting—" I squeeze his thigh, making him jump "—you've got no clue what's coming for you."

  "You. You'll be coming for me," he says, smirking. "Again and again and again."

  Damn it, if I didn't already need clean panties, I would now. "Wow. Okay. You win the banter award."

  "Is it still banter if it's also a promise?"

  "Does it stop being just a promise if I straddle you right here?"

  "Fuck, Quinn. You're about to send me to my appointment with a boner." Something out my windshield catches his attention. "Shit, there's Wyatt now."

  I follow his gaze toward a guy walking into the Surf Spot. "Oops." I slide my hand higher until I'm cupping him. And yeah, he's got the start of a swell. "Hello, there."

  He grabs my wrist with a groan. "This guy already hates me." He pries my hand away, lacing his fingers through mine instead. "He's a pain in the ass. Don't make me go in there with wood."

  "Keep holding my hand and I'll stop teasing you," I promise. Because I want a moment to let it sink in. Sawyer's holding my hand. He's holding my hand and we're seeing each other and the world feels like an endless possibility for happiness right now.

  Then he leans across the console between us and feathers his lips over mine.

  I part my lips to let him in, but he pulls away with a regretful little smile, adjusting himself and making me laugh.

  "I definitely can't walk in there if I keep kissing you. I might not be able to walk at all if I don't leave now." But he kisses me one more time, anyway. On the cheek, though it doesn't lessen the way his lips sear my skin. And then he's gone. Sliding out of my car and walking away.

  "Hey!" I call after him. And when he turns, "Port O' Call's on milepost eight."

  "Don't pretend I wasn't the one who introduced you to that place years ago."

  I grin, shrugging. "Thought you might've forgotten. Be there at seven thirty."

  "Never forgot a single thing where you're concerned."

  "If you weren't already out of the Jeep, I'd be jumping you right now."

  "You're killing me, Quinn."

  "Good." And when I remember the entire reason for stopping by today, I add, "You'll talk to Jess, right?"

  "Yeah. That kid's got a wake-the-fuck-up fist heading straight for his face."

  I'd laugh again, but damn if he doesn't look completely serious.

  I spend the rest of the day sighing dreamily like an idiot and picking flowers to press and frame. I arrive home with a rather gorgeous collection. Clumps of blue-eyed grass flowers with delicately winged petals that will look gorgeous pressed between glass, as will my clusters of pink wood sorrel. Then the twenty or so wood anemones—I'm already drooling over my mental image of the stark white flowers contrasting the deep blue frames I have waiting for me back at school—and a mixture of pinkshell and flame azaleas that won't dry very well, but will look lovely in a vase at the center of my dining table.

  Which makes me think maybe I'll have Sawyer over for dinner sometime.

  Which makes me sigh wistfully all over again.

  Which makes me roll my eyes at myself.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  SAWYER

  I PLANNED TO spend my day off with Rajesh. Surfing. Studying houseplants and comparing the way their leaves grow to those in the wild. Instead I find myself at my father's apartment first thing in the morning.

  I brought him coffee but drank it on the way over to try to push myself into a better mood. It's hard when I barely got any sleep last night. I couldn't stop reliving the way Quinn felt pressed against me yesterday, the way it felt slamming her against the fence, nearly taking her right there. The sounds of her moans. Which are the last things I'd ever complain about—shit, I'd live in that memory all day, every day if I could. But every other thought was spliced through with the image of my stupid-ass younger brother drowning. I couldn't stop picturing what would've happened if Quinn hadn't saved him.

  I spent my night turned on while simultaneously alternating between feeling like I was going to throw up and being really pissed off. Now I'm at my dad's door still feeling sick and really pissed off. At least I'm not turned on. Took care of that in the shower. Just have to do my best not to think of Quinn.

  Damn it. There she is. In my mind. Her wide blue eyes; her red inviting mouth opening to say… Condom. Now.

  Fucker.

  But she disappears when I let myself through the front door because the first thing I see is my dad, strewn lopsided on the couch, snoring like a damn chainsaw with a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels tucked next to him. At least it's not completely drained. Guess that's something. I nudge him with my knee, but he doesn't budge, doesn'
t even hiccup in his snores.

  The rest of the apartment is a disaster. Two kitchen cabinets hang wide open. Empty take-out boxes litter the counters. A mountain of laundry is piled on an armchair across from the couch; I can't tell if it's clean or dirty. Fuck it. I scoop it up and shove it all in the washing machine, searching a good ten minutes for detergent. I find it tucked behind some cereal boxes. I can't begin to fathom how it got there.

  I tidy up the rest of the place the best I can, quietly at first, but as my irritation grows so does the sort of noise I make. Slamming doors and drawers, stomping through the dining room and living room. Still, my dad doesn't budge. It shouldn't surprise me; I gave up on him ages ago. But he promised, he swore, he'd do better by Jess.

  Damn it. I cleaned to try to get rid of some of this anger, but all it's done is roar through my mind, through my veins, until it's the only thing I feel. I bang Jess's bedroom door open and find him passed out just like our old man. Hanging halfway off a chair, snoring with a video remote control gripped in one hand. Empty beer cans by his feet.

  "Get up." I poke his shoulder, rougher than I probably should, and his eyes snap open right before he hits the floor.

  "What the hell, man?" His words are so slurred with tiredness—or maybe drink—I can barely understand him. He flicks me off and tucks into a ball on his side, snoring again an instant later.

  I want to kick him. So badly I turn away from him and sweep out my arm, bulldozing everything off the top of his ratty old desk. A few papers; a few more beer cans. Nothing nearly satisfying enough. I slam a fist down on top of it. The pain vibrating up my arm helps a little.

  I duck down in front of Jess. "Wake up." Nothing. I push his shoulder. "Wake up." He waves me off, choking through half a snore.