Wreckless

by Bria Quinlan

  Jake wrote something with the Sharpie, waved the napkin as if to dry it, then folded it and stuck it in his back pocket.

  “If I'm right, if I've added something you said to the list, we go do them all—right now. Tonight.”

  “And if you’re wrong?”

  Out came that grin that had me seriously doubting myself.

  “If I’m wrong, if I just added something you didn’t list, I’ll take you home and I’ll ‘accidentally’ wash a red sock with my white game jersey for the Hawks versus Falcons game Friday.”

  “Fine.” He was really starting to grate on my nerves. I couldn't wait until he showed me that napkin and I could take my list and go home. I didn't need an overbearing, smirky-guy like him for an adventure. I could be not-boring on my own.

  He pulled the napkin back out of his pocket and held it in front of me. The grin morphed into a smirk and I struggled to come up with what he was going to say. What could I possibly have missed?

  My stomach dropped when I read the dark guy scrawl next to number twelve.

  I wish I’d thought harder.

  I wish I’d never said it.

  “Skinny-dipping.”

  Oh. Crap.

  Chapter Six

  “I knew it.” Jake snatched the napkin back. “You're going to chicken out. You're always going to be that girl.”

  “What? What girl?”

  “That girl who wants to do something, be someone else, but can't do it.”

  “I can do it.” I wasn't letting some guy I'd known eleven seconds define who I was.

  “Whatever.” He shrugged. “I'll take you home. I have someplace I have to be later anyway.”

  He headed around the truck as if he hadn't just called me a coward.

  He was almost to his door when I shouted over the hood, “Sure. Easy out. Maybe I'm not the one afraid to get naked.”

  Oh. My. Gosh. That did not just come out of my mouth.

  “Darlin', I bet you shower with your bathing suit on. Now get in the truck so I can take you home.”

  I stood there, at the front of the hood as if I could block him from driving off as he climbed in and turned the headlights on.

  “Bridget,” Jake stood on the runner and looked over the edge of the open door. “Are you coming?”

  “I want my list back.”

  I couldn't see him over the glare of the lights.

  “You want your list back? What are you going to do, frame it?”

  “I'm going to do it. Even if I have to do it by myself.”

  Actually, that didn't sound like a bad idea. Skinny-dipping alone seemed like a much better plan. Getting naked anywhere near a guy—especially a guy like Jake Moore—seemed like one of the stupidest things I could have come up with.

  I blame the temporary betrayed-and-hurting insanity.

  We glared at each other. Me standing in the blinding light of the headlights. Him barely silhouetted by the moon behind him.

  Okay, maybe I wasn’t sure if he was glaring or not, but I sure was.

  “You really think you're going to get naked in front of me?” He stepped off the runner and came around the door to face me, entering my personal space and forcing me to crane my neck to look up at him. “You think if we head on over to that creek you're just going to strip off that kindergarten teacher outfit and dive in wearing nothing but the skin God gave you while I sit here on this hood and watch?”

  He tapped the hood of the truck behind him to prove he was willing to watch me strip for a dip.

  “No one said this was a strip show.”

  “You wouldn't get in the water if I let you keep your bra and panties on, let alone skinny-dip. You're way out of your league. Let's get you back to the sandbox.”

  “You wanna bet?

  Jake stuck crossed his arms, his feet braced shoulder-width apart, and glared down at me. I was crossing lines faster than I saw them coming, but that happy little third-of-a-beer buzz had me feeling like I could be something else. Even if just for tonight.

  Jake pivoted and headed away again, calling over his shoulder, “Fine. Get in the truck.”

  “What?”

  “Get in the truck. You wanted to skinny-dip, we're going to go skinny-dipping.”

  He stalked around the open door and jumped back in the cab. I waited a moment before I did the same, slamming the passenger's side door for good measure. He gunned the engine and drove us across a field toward the copse of trees on the far side.

  With the silence taking over, he parked the truck, turned it off, and slid around to face me.

  “Last chance.”

  Just the way he said it, his low voice dropping another octave, made my gut churn.

  He was right. I was in way over my head, but I wasn't backing out. I may have been a lot of things, but I wasn't a coward. Without waiting for him to push me again, I hopped out of the truck, slamming the door. If there wasn’t a therapy center somewhere that let you come in just to slam doors, there should have been.

  I met him in front of the truck and glanced toward the dark mirror the trees were clustered around. He pulled a blanket out of the back of the truck, and then gave me that grin—the one I already knew signaled nothing but trouble.

  After a glance that said, there's no way you're not going to back out, Jake started walking toward the water, pulling his t-shirt over his head as he went.

  It really was unfair. I couldn't just take off a layer and not feel naked. Guys had the upper hand in situations like this.

  Yeah, because there were tons of situations like this.

  Not to mention I was one hundred percent sure my body was not as ogle-able as his. If I wasn't mistaken—and even in this near dark situation, I was pretty sure I wasn't—it looked like he had some type of tattoo wrapped around his shoulder.

  Jake had spread the blanket out on the ground and dropped his shirt on it by the time I stopped gaping at his ink.

  “Well?” His voice broke my attention, dragging my gaze away from his body art and up, up to where he looked back at me, a smug look etching those lips.

  Behind him, the dark water held a pin light of moon dancing on it. He held his hands out to the side as if calming a colt about to sprint. My whole body was locked in place, tense. I was sure he could see it from across the clearing. Especially when his whole demeanor softened.

  “Bridget, it's okay if you don't want to. I'll stop giving you a rough time.” He reached over and picked up his shirt.

  Even him being nice felt like a dare. He was there, already stripping his clothes off, and telling me he'd understand if I was too chicken to keep up.

  And I was doing everything I could not to take him up on that ‘out.’

  “What if…what if you go first and then turn around and I'll…”

  Jake cocked an eyebrow. “You'll what?”

  “I'll...” Oh dear Lord. I couldn't even say it.

  “You'll get naked?”

  “Yes.” I waved my hand before he could start that grinning thing again. “You'll turn around and let me get in the water without looking.”

  “I think you're missing about ninety-nine percent of the reason guys bring a girl skinny-dipping.”

  It shouldn't have—really, really, really shouldn't have—but the idea that Jake might want to see me naked felt good. Darn good.

  Tanner hadn't ever pushed for anything sans clothes, though it looked like he had been getting awfully comfortable naked with my best friend.

  Ex-best friend.

  “Jake, this is my list, and we'll do it my way.”

  My mama always said, fake it ‘til you make it. I was hoping that worked with bravery, too.

  “All right. We'll do it your way.”

  He tossed his shirt back on the ground, toed off his sneakers, and tossed his socks next to them.

  He undid the button of his jeans, his hands pausing there, holding the top just a bit apart.

  “Bridget, you plan on getting an eyeful?”

  The
blood rushed to my head so fast I thought I was going to pass out. I whirled around, pretty sure he wouldn't have cared if I didn't. To be honest, I didn't need my first experience with a naked man to be an uncomfortable striptease from some guy I’d met while hiding almost underneath his truck.

  I mean, he was still going to be naked in the water, but water was one step away from clothes in this situation.

  I heard him chuckle followed by the sound of denim crumpling in a heap. Then, before I could begin to wonder what was going on behind me, a loud whoop followed by a splash broke the silence and sent the heat ratcheting up my neck again.

  “Okay, you can turn around.”

  A part of me was afraid to, like he might be playing a joke on me and I was going to have that first naked guy moment anyway.

  Taking my chances, I peeked over my shoulder to catch him standing about ten feet from the shore, the water lapping halfway up his chest.

  Jake pushed the dark, wet hair back from his eyes with one hand. “Alright, darlin'. Your turn.”

  It suddenly dawned on me why bad boys were such a draw. He was hot. Very hot. Probably very dangerous. And of course, way out of my league…which negated the dangerous, most likely.

  Guys that dangerous didn't walk on the sunny side of the street with law-abiding good girls.

  I forced myself over to the blanket. He watched me untie my tennies and stuff my socks inside them.

  Then I reached back and unzipped the dress, keeping the straps on my shoulders, waiting for him to turn around. I wondered how long I'd stay daring as I slipped the strap off my t-shirt covered shoulder.

  Yup. That's about how long.

  “Jake.”

  “Can't blame a guy for trying.” He dove under, his rear-end flashing white against the water's dark blanket, and then breaking the surface farther out facing the other direction.

  As fast as I could—afraid I'd lose my nerve as much as I was afraid he'd turn around—I stripped everything off, down to my bra and panties. With my hand on the bra’s clasp, I considered leaving them on. I knew he'd give me a horrible time. But he didn’t even think I’d go that far.

  I thought about the list and my life and the fact that I'd never done anything—anything—worth telling people about one day.

  I had no stories beyond went to school, had a boyfriend, got cheated on. Nothing I had done.

  I reached behind me and undid the hooks of my very plain, very boring white bra, suddenly sad it didn't have little blue embroidered flowers or some other cute underwear thing. It was just your typical white undergarment from JC Penney. Same type I'd been wearing since Mama had driven us over to the mall to get the first one.

  I stood there, watching the back of his head, my bra loose but still held in up front of me. Closing my eyes and hoping for the best, I let it drop to the ground and yanked my panties off. Without letting myself think about it, I sprinted toward the creek, the sharp pebbles bruising my feet before I hit the water at full speed.

  Before Jake could turn around, I dove under, surfacing several feet from him.

  I sucked in a breath, surprised how cutting the air felt against my skin, the water touching me everywhere. My braid was weighed down and half falling over my shoulder. I considered undoing it and trying to use all that hair as some type of shield, but even I knew that was cheating.

  I treaded water, glad to be out past where I could touch the muck-covered bottom.

  Jake pushed through the water to face me and, with one stroke, glided through the night-dark water to hover just in front of me.

  That grin, that trouble-flagging grin, came out. “I didn't think you'd do it. I thought I was out here getting goosebumps for no reason.”

  He was too close—physically—and too overwhelming in general. I was trying to tread water and use my hands to cover my breasts at the same time. It wasn't going so well, and it dawned on me that if I drowned, he would see me naked when he pulled my cold, limp body out of the creek anyway.

  I let my hands slid down and paddle. And then, after just a moment of floating there, it dawned on me.

  I was skinny-dipping.

  Bridget Anja Larson was swimming naked in a farmer’s creek with the hottest guy she'd ever seen under a—thankfully—not quite full moon.

  I pushed away, sending a stream of water toward him as I swam farther out.

  Jake Moore was an enigma. There was nothing about him that didn't scream “dangerous.” From the way he drove, to the attitude he wore like an old, broken-in denim jacket, to that grin…and now the tattoo on that lean cut body.

  And yet, I wasn't worrying.

  “How many girls have you brought here?”

  He made a choking sound as I faced him. “What?”

  “How many girls?”

  He stilled just watching me a moment.

  “One.”

  I found that difficult to believe. He seemed very comfortable knowing where to park the truck to get to the water. But why would he lie about the number being so low? Why would he—

  Oh. Wow.

  “Me?”

  “Oh.” He ran his hand through his hair again and I was already feeling stupid. “I meant you and one other.”

  Yeah. Because I don't count.

  Not that it mattered. There was no way I was going there. He wasn't on the list. Guys like Jake Moore were trouble. That's what the ‘Moore’ was for…more trouble.

  And while I was looking for a little adventure, I wasn’t looking to endanger life and limb. I’d already had my heart bashed in. There was no reason to put other body parts at risk.

  But I was learning. If he was willing to be my guide tonight, I was willing to let him. I was a Rebellion Tourist. Maybe there’d be a t-shirt at the end of the tour.

  I dove under the water, pushing myself through it, amazed at the way it felt so lush flowing over my body without a scrap of bathing suit wrapped around me. And I felt dangerous, for that moment, swimming to the dark side of the creek. I was the one who was dangerous. I stayed on the far side, letting myself float a bit and watch the stars.

  The cool breeze slipped across my skin, chilling all those places that had been so heated before. I swam back to where Jake was and smiled.

  I couldn't help it. If I did nothing else tonight—or for the rest of high school—I had my one thing. My one very dangerous thing.

  I'd had a beer with a bad boy and gotten naked under the (not quite) full moon. Skinny-dipping so gave me street cred. You know, if anyone knew about it. And if the ‘streets’ in question were unpaved back roads.

  He reached out, his hand snagging the end of my braid.

  “What's with all this hair?”

  My mother had been trying to get me to cut it, but I kept putting it off. I either forgot or had something else to do or worried about what I’d do to it. Leah had once told me I had really pretty hair and that guys loved long hair. I guess it had become my one nod to trying to be attractive.

  “I'd planned to grow it out and then donate it to Locks of Love.” Actually, Christy and I had planned on doing it together. That didn’t happen. “But then I realized how short it would be. So I was going to grow it long enough so I’d still have a decent length when they cut it…and then I just got sidetracked.”

  Or afraid to cut it.

  He wrapped part of the braid around his fist and pulled me a bit closer. I pushed my hands out, using the water to try to keep some distance between us.

  “Don't worry. I'm not going to touch you. I'm just looking.” He laughed when I shoved at the water again. “At the hair. I'm looking at all this hair. How long is it?”

  “When it isn't braided, I can sit on it.”

  “Bridget.” He sighed my name as if we'd been having this conversation for years and he was completely exasperated with me. “There's a world of difference between long hair and hair you can pee on. You've got to get this cut.”

  Okay, when he put it that way, maybe it was a little long. But still, I liked it li
ke that.

  “I like my hair.”

  “Do you?”

  He didn't sound like he believed me. Which was weird. It seemed like an odd thing to not believe someone about.

  “Yes.”

  “How do you usually do it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “How do you usually do your hair?”

  This is so not what I expected to be talking about the first time I was ever naked with a guy.

  “Like this.”

  “Back in a braid? All the time?”

  I wasn't seeing the point, but I nodded, feeling my head pull against where he held the braid tight.

  “You don't like your hair. You like the idea of your hair. If you liked your hair, you'd wear it loose.”

  “But...” I wasn't sure but what. I just knew that cutting my hair seemed like a bad idea. It was part of me. Long hair. I pulled it back. It wasn't eye-catching or troublesome. It was just nice hair.

  That no one could see but me.

  I wasn't sure how to put that into words.

  “I'm looking at this braid,” he held it up and ran his thumb over the fringed ends, “and I'm wondering what it's like loose. I'm wondering if it's soft, if it's as pale as it looks even wet, if it sways when you walk. Braids don't do that. Braids are for working. For keeping it out of the way when you help your mama around the house.”

  He let my hair go and threw both hands back, pulling himself through the water and away from me.

  How bad would it be to wear it loose? What would happen? There was something about loose hair that always seemed so done and sophisticated to me. So polished-on-purpose.

  Christy had once said having long, beautiful hair in front of a guy was like waving a red flag at a bull.

  I wasn't sure I could handle a charging bull.

  “You're thinking too much.” Jake’s voice carried from where he was floating. I was distracted at how the light caught him across the creek, causing his chest to stand out in the darkness. “Your hair—it's somehow one of the rules, isn't it?”

  I hated to tell him he was right, but somehow along the line, my braid had become like hiding the red flag—if no one saw it, no one would see me. And if no one could see me…