by J. Haymore
“I don’t want you to miss your chance with him if you choose me over him now. You shouldn’t do it. You should make the right choice and—”
“Why are you trying to get rid of me?”
“I’m not!” His palm slams down on the built-in chest of drawers beside my bed. His face is alight with some kind of emotion I can’t quite pinpoint. Is it anger? Frustration? Anguish?
I clutch my pillow to me like a shield.
“I just know Kyle is better for you.” He grinds out the words as if it’s physically painful for him to say this to me.
Good. Because it’s physically painful for me to hear him saying it.
“Kyle isn’t you,” I repeat firmly, because it’s true. There’s only one man who can bring me happiness right now, and that isn’t Kyle. It’s the man sitting on my bed, trying to convince me to fall in love with someone else.
A part of me agrees with him completely. He’s absolutely, one hundred percent right. Kyle has never treated me as flippantly as he does his “bedmates,” and I know he’d never, ever hurt me. He’s an open book. He’s the safe choice. I know exactly what I’d be getting from him.
I’d be getting…a lot. All of him. For Kyle to say he loves me… God. I know for a fact he’s never said that to anyone else. A new kind of hurt swamps me, threatening to drag me under into darkness. What am I doing to him? To my best friend in the world? Why can’t I just love him back?
Why do so many women choose the man who’s the worst for them? The most dangerous choice? The choice most likely to hurt them? The one who refuses to give them the long-term happiness they yearn for?
Of course I choose that one. The bigger risk. The man I know very little about. The man who’s almost guaranteed me that he’ll do nothing but hurt me. That’s the one I want.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I dig around in my head, trying to conjure some feeling for Kyle, but all I can come up with is that sisterly, bestie love that I’ve always felt for him. But maybe…if I tried…
There’s so much good to see in Kyle. He’s the best man I’ve ever known. He’s gorgeous. He’s fun, and he makes me laugh.
I think of walking with him on the beach. We’ve walked on the beach together a lot, but this time, we’d be holding hands. Kyle would be wearing his wetsuit peeled down to his narrow hips. Drops would sparkle over his tanned chest and on the wave tattoo on his arm. Our heads would be tilted toward each other, and we’d be laughing.
It’s not an unpleasant image. At all.
“Kyle can make you happy,” Ethan tells me softly.
I look up at him, and all thoughts of being with Kyle vanish, wiped away by the image of Ethan as he stares at me as if trying to convince me what he’s saying is true. As if he’s pretending he really wants me to agree with him, but deep inside, he can hardly bear to lie to me like this.
His straight blade of a nose. His slashing black brows. His high cheekbones and cheeks with their persistent dark stubble. His soft, kissable lips. His hot gaze. The way his lips feel on mine, and the way his body feels against mine. The way he holds me and talks to me and touches me…
“I can’t help it,” I say softly. “You’re the one I want. Nothing can change that.”
He releases a long, harsh breath. “Fuck.”
And then he plucks the pillow out of my arms. His arms wrap around me, and he jerks me toward him. His mouth crashes against mine, hot and hard and possessive. His tongue dips into my mouth, and I capitulate with a little gasp, letting him in, my body opening like a blooming flower ready for more. Wanting more.
His lips move from my mouth and travel hungrily up the side of my face. His hand splays over my lower back, then pushes up my spine until my nape is in his palm and his fingers are digging up into the roots of my hair. I press harder against him, and his steely erection pushes against my stomach.
“I know it was the right thing. I know I had to do it,” he murmurs as he kisses me. He licks my lower lip, then sucks it into his mouth. “Try to convince you.” His lips move over my cheek, over my hairline and into my hair. “But the thought of you with him…with anyone… I’m too damn selfish, Tara … Fuck. I don’t know what’s happening, but I can’t stop it.”
A shudder that seems to come from deep in his bones makes his body vibrate against mine. He holds me steady by the back of my neck as his lips move to my eyebrows. They press over my closed lids and down my nose and then across my other cheek. It’s as if he’s marking every inch of my face, claiming my skin as his own. And I let him. I want him to claim me as his. I can’t remember ever wanting anything more.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers against my cheekbone.
I just groan, because I don’t want to talk. I don’t want his apologies. I just want him to keep kissing me.
“He’s better for you. I should have convinced you.”
“No,” I growl out, pressing myself tighter to his erection, shifting so I can feel that bit of friction as he moves against me, “you couldn’t have. Nothing could convince me.”
He shudders again. I’ve never seen him so uncontrolled, so open. His whisper is rough, erotic, and full of emotion. “I’m done. I’m done trying to convince you. But I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Then don’t,” I say simply.
Pulling back, he gazes at me for a long moment, and I stare at him, feeling mussed and thoroughly kissed, knowing my lips are glossy and my eyes are shining.
“I’m going to try,” he promises me. “I’m going to try my damndest not to hurt you.”
I give a small nod.
This time when he kisses me, it’s slower, gentler, and I fall into a slowly rising tide of passion. We kiss for long, sensual, bone-tingling minutes until warmth seeps through me and I release every breath in a soft sigh. Languid pleasure melts my tense muscles and infuses my bones. Finally, he pulls away. He places my pillow in position at the head of the bed and lays me gently upon it.
Then he gives me a single, soft kiss to my lips. He pulls back, stroking my cheek with his knuckles.
“Good night, Tara. Try to get some rest, okay?”
“Okay,” I whisper.
And I finally do.
Justine
September 30, 2005
My old roommate Ginny’s back. I swear, she’s like a little parasite that won’t let go. The games I play with her were entertaining at first, but now they just bore me.
She bores me. No…it’s more than that. She’s so damned empathetic, so incredibly, condescendingly understanding. And her friendship with Ethan… God, I don’t know how much more I can take.
Of course, we’re roommates again. Did I mention how parasitic she is? Daddy bought a great house for me in Palo Alto, which I pretend to rent along with my three housemates. Katie and May are good little housemates who mind their own business. But Ginny? No. She squirmed her way into my house by being kind and wonderful and such a “good friend.” (Gag.)
She’s always asking me questions, and they’re ridiculous ones, like, “How did that make you feel?” and “What did you feel the need to do after that?” I am always tempted to tell her I felt the need to snap her neck, but I know better. My life is good. I have Ethan. I’m not about to mess that up.
I wish I could just live with Ethan, but Daddy’s having none of that. Once I graduate, maybe I can talk him into it. I’ve got nine months more of this… I just have to endure till then.
I wish Ethan had asked me to marry him over the summer. He didn’t, and I know he probably wants to wait until I’m done with school, but he can’t know how anxious I am to marry him. To further tie us together, under God, under the law. It’s not an unbreakable tie, I know—in fact it’s probably not as meaningful as Ethan’s involvement in Triton… Well, maybe it’s just the idea. That once upon a time and happily ever after every little girl wants. Even me, I guess.
Anyhow, back to Ginny. I do not like how she is always around when Ethan’s over. It annoys the shit out of
me. Worse, she and Ethan have become friends of sorts. They seem to share a common interest in the psychology of business, a topic I find ridiculously dull. I don’t like their easy camaraderie. I don’t like their joint interest. I really don’t like Ginny getting near him at all.
This is life. I know this. Ethan will have women friends throughout the rest of our lives, and I need to be okay with that. I’m trying to view this as a learning experience for the future, a way to learn to cope with inevitability. But I can’t let go of the rage, Dear Diary. It’s so damn hard. And every time I see Ginny and her petite little body and her russet-brown bouncing bob and that sickly sweet smile, the rage grows. I want to crush her like a bug.
But I won’t. I will control it, like I’ve learned to do. That’s the hardest thing in the world for me, Diary. But I’m doing a good job. I’m strong…stronger than anyone will ever know.
By the way, have I ever told you about Susanna? I don’t think I have.
Susanna was a girl in my elementary school. She was rich and smart and pretty and bossy, and everyone viewed her with a kind of reverent fear. She was the most controlling little bitch, and I hated her.
She showed up at my sleepaway camp when I was twelve. It was my camp! I’d been going there for three years already by then, but she showed up and began to try to control everyone and everything, including me, in her typical way.
All I could think about was how I had to get rid of her. I was young and not very smart, and I didn’t take the time to thoroughly think through the steps of getting rid of an annoying pest. Instead, I jumped on the first idea that came to mind.
I dared Susanna to come swimming in the lake with me at midnight. I intended to drown her—it seemed an easy enough method, given the convenient, large body of water. But the girl was stronger than I expected, and she had the lungs of a banshee. She screamed so loud before I got a good grip on her that people came running. By the time they arrived, I’d been holding her down for less than a minute, and they were able to resuscitate her.
And even though she was screechy and nasty and a complete bully, I was the one punished for trying to silence her. I spent the next year in and out of hospitals, seeing countless shrinks and doctors. The only thing they could come up with was that I’m bipolar. Sure, fine, bipolar, whatever. I’ve taken my meds like a good little girl. But the meds don’t take away my annoyance with humanity in general. And they don’t take away my rage.
In fact, I don’t even understand why I do take them. Originally it was to placate my “team” (stupid word for the people breathing down my neck to make sure I was being a good little psych patient). But I’m a big girl now. No point in continuing. I have nothing to prove to anyone. I will graduate magna cum laude from Stanford. I have the best father and the best boyfriend in the world.
Everything is going to be fine.
Chapter Thirteen
In the morning, the alarm wakes me for my eight o’clock watch. I wash my face, brush my teeth, and throw on a pair of jeans and a fitted cotton tee before pulling my hair back into a ponytail. Still groggy, I head up to the cabin to start my watch. Kyle is asleep on the sofa, a loud and clear signal that he and Nalani didn’t patch things up.
I shouldn’t be surprised. What he did to Nalani was unforgivable.
I tiptoe past him, not wanting to wake him, not having any idea what to say to him if he does wake up.
I exit from the cabin and close the door as quietly as I can behind me. Mick is up on the bridge, and as I make my way toward him, he greets me with the same friendly smile he gives me every morning.
“It’s a great day, isn’t it? Amazing how quick the weather can change out here.”
“It is.” I look around and, for the first time, pay attention to the weather. The sky is bright and sunny and speckled with puffy white clouds. A light breeze powers the Temptation through long, rolling waves.
“Well, we’d better enjoy it while it lasts. I checked the forecast this morning, and we’re going to have a day of this, then more stormy weather is on the way.”
“Great,” I say dryly.
He shrugs and pats the navigation station fondly, the radar display scrolling emptily beneath his palm. “The silver lining is that we’ll get there faster. Two weeks into a voyage, most crew on a sailboat are ready to be back on land. Seems to me everyone here wouldn’t mind a hot freshwater shower and a nice sit-down meal at a restaurant.”
“I’m guessing we’re all ready to be back on land.” Last night, I was ambivalent about getting to Hawaii, but today I really need to get some distance from Kyle and Nalani.
Mick and I discuss headings, wind direction, and sail trim for a moment before I clip myself into the harness and head out to the bow to check the lines and fittings. As I crouch down refitting one of the connections to a lifeline, a fin peeks out of the water, and then two more.
I grab the wire forestay that extends from the top of the mast to the very front of the boat at the center edge of the trampoline and lean out over the water. Fins cut through the ocean’s surface all around the Temptation’s two hulls. My heart leaps. I turn and call back, “Mick! Dolphins!”
Mick hurries forward to join me at the bow, and we watch the dolphins frolic at the front of the boat, leaping out of the water, making eye contact and seeming to smile at Mick and me before gracefully diving back in.
A splash just off to the side of the bow of the Temptation draws my attention, and a laugh of delight bursts out of me. It’s a mother and her little baby swimming gracefully along at her side. I sink down, sitting at the edge of the bow. Letting my legs dangle, I lean forward, gripping the lifeline to watch.
“So cute,” Mick says, grinning at the pair before they disappear into a wave.
The dolphins keep pace with the speed of the Temptation, jumping, frolicking, and simply playing for several minutes.
Eventually, they drift away. My eyes never stray from them as the distance between us grows, and I sigh. “I wish they’d stay all day. How many do you think that was?”
“It was a pretty big pod. Maybe twenty?”
“They’re so amazing.”
I’ve always loved dolphins. I still remember the first time I saw one—when my parents took Em and me to Sea World a few months before they died. They’d had to drag me away from the dolphin tank.
“They are incredible,” Mick agrees.
The dolphins’ splashes grow smaller in the distance, and I watch until they disappear completely. Mick stays near me, and we make small talk for a while, and then he suddenly says, “Hey, I knew something was missing when I saw you this morning. You don’t have a coffee cup glued to your hand.”
My eyes go wide. “You’re right.” I was so focused on getting out of the cabin without waking Kyle, I completely forgot. “I’m going to go get some right now. You okay up here?”
“Sure.” He glances up at the mainsail, which is luffing a little bit near the mast. Mick shrugs at me. “No big deal. I’ll adjust it while you’re down below.”
“Thanks,” I say. “You want me to grab you a cup?”
“Nope. Just the light stuff for me.” He holds up his water bottle. “Go get your hit.” It’s an ongoing joke between us. I’ve always wondered how plain water can sustain him; he’s always laughing at my coffee addiction, saying when I don’t have my morning coffee, I’m like a drug addict in need of a fix. He’s right—I can already feel the withdrawal headache forming behind my eyes. But honestly, if I had to choose my drug—coffee or Ethan—Ethan would be a clear winner.
A prickling sensation skitters over the back of my shoulders. Mick’s gaze is on me as I limp toward the cockpit, careful as always, gripping on to the lifelines as I make my way down the length of the boat and unclip myself from the harness once I’m in the cockpit.
Kyle is still blessedly asleep, so I open a new package of coffee as quietly as I can. When it’s about half done brewing, Nalani comes up from her cabin.
“Morning,” I say qu
ietly as she enters the galley. She ignores me and walks past me to the fridge. Her steps are heavier than usual, as if she’s deliberately trying to wake Kyle up. She withdraws a bottle of milk and pours herself some, not paying any attention to it sloshing over the lip of the glass.
She puts the milk away, slams the door to the fridge, then turns and heads toward the chart table, where she angrily snaps open one of the charts.
Oooookay.
The noise wakes Kyle, of course, and he groans, rolls over, and presses the pillow over his head. I turn back to the coffeemaker, not wanting to deal with either of them, when Ethan emerges from his cabin, which is across from mine on the port side.
He comes up behind me and slips his arms around me.
“Morning,” he murmurs and kisses me softly on the cheek.
I freeze.
We didn’t talk about this last night, but I guess it’s clear there’s no point to keeping what’s going on between us a secret anymore. And there’s a reason Ethan’s doing this. He rarely does anything without purpose. Glancing at him, I realize he’s not gazing at me but at Kyle, his eyes narrowed in challenge. And the pillow is off Kyle’s face, he’s sitting up on the sofa, and his upper lip is curled into a snarl as he stares at Ethan.
Oh shit.
And all of a sudden, I get why Ethan came up and kissed me like he did. He was staking his claim. Great. Apparently, we’re going to continue on from where we left off last night. I’m evidently going to be playing the part of the prey—again—in some animalistic primordial male pissing contest.
And before my morning coffee too. Damn it.
I wiggle out of Ethan’s grasp and grab the handle of the coffeepot. The coffee, thankfully, has finished brewing, which gives me something to do.
“Good morning,” I say. About twenty decibels too loudly and way too cheerily.
There’s a long silence. Behind me, the charged gazes of Ethan, Kyle, and Nalani buzz through my awareness. My heart pounds as I pour in the half-and-half and mix the sugar into my mug.
“So you’re up early,” I say to Ethan, still trying desperately to keep things light. He usually doesn’t wake up for another couple of hours, thanks to his late-night watch. And Kyle, whose watch doesn’t end until five a.m., is usually fast asleep until noon. Great. Not only am I facing two men in a pissing contest, but I’m facing two exhausted men in a pissing contest.