Working my foot into my own suit, I nod and point out to where the waves are breaking in an easy, predictable rhythm. “You’re not going to get much better conditions than this. And those guys out there are mostly beginners so we don’t have to worry about anyone getting too aggressive.”
She blinks. Half under her breath, she asks, “Aggressive?”
“Well, surfers can be territorial about their breaks, but out there,” I say, lifting my hand and pointing to the dozen or so people out on the water, “no one looks very serious. They’re just having fun.”
“How can you tell?”
“Trust me,” I say to her. “These waves are too mushy for anything intense.”
She scrunches up her nose. “Mushy?”
“It means that they’re soft and moving slow—perfect for learning.”
“Okay.” Her voice is full of uncertainty, but she starts to wiggle her foot through the leg of her wetsuit.
“Here, let me help you. Actually, if you turn it inside out, it’s a lot easier to pull it up over your feet.”
Gemma looks at me like I’ve just given her instructions in Mandarin. “Turn it inside out? How do I get it on if it’s inside out?”
I laugh and move toward her. “Like this.”
There’s no way to be delicate about this. Wetsuits are intended to be tight, like a second skin, and putting one on is very physical. As I help her squeeze into the thing, my hands have to touch her. Everywhere.
Carefully, I slide my palms up her long legs, tugging the supple neoprene over the fine rise of her ass and smoothing it over her hips. I bite back a groan. The material is slick—cool black oil masking her pale, creamy skin.
When her arms are in place, I gather her dark hair in my hand and push it over her shoulder. My fingers gently brush along the nape of her neck, touching that tiny, sensitive place where her jaw meets her ear.
Gemma sucks in a tight breath and releases it slowly. I do the same.
“Thanks,” she says over her shoulder, attempting a crooked smile.
“No problem.” I zip her up and step back. My chest is rising and falling more than it should—more than is normal.
Pull your shit together, assclown.
I bend down and hoist both of our boards from the sand. I cradle the Driver under my arm, but stand the longer board—the one I brought for Gemma—upright. “I’ve got you on the longer board for stability. That’ll keep you from bogging even on waves that are moving at this speed.”
Now she turns to look at me fully. Her face flickers. “Bogging?”
“It’s basically the same thing as sinking. In surfing, the slower you’re going, the more likely you are to bog under the water.”
Her eyes pull together. “But—”
“But,” I stop her. “You’ll be on a longer board with thicker rails. One—because it’s less squirrelly when you’re trying to learn how to balance. And two—it’ll hold more weight at a slower speed.”
“Landon, I can’t even remember all the terms you’ve taught me. I don’t know if I’m ready for this.”
“You’re ready,” I tell her in what I hope is a reassuring tone. “And you don’t have to know the terms to surf. Just try to keep your arms alternating when you paddle and stay far enough back on the board so the nose stays flat on the water. My suggestion is not to even attempt to get all the way up the first couple of times. Stay on your knees.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I cringe. Nice sexual innuendo.
Luckily, Gemma doesn’t pick up on it. She croaks, “And if I fall?”
“If you fall? You mean when you fall.”
She buries her face in her hands and mewls like a cat.
I laugh and say, “You’re going to fall more than you stand for a while. When it happens, try to move back and away from the board so you don’t hit your head. And keep in mind that it’s just water. At the speeds we’ll be going today, you have nothing to worry about.”
Gemma peeks at me through a slit in her fingers. Damn, she’s cute.
“And where will you be throughout all of this?” she asks me warily.
She doesn’t need to be scared or stressed out about anything. I’m finding that I want her to have fun. I want her to love this as much as I do.
I bend so that our faces are level because she needs to know that I’m serious, that I mean what I say. Gemma blinks, her clear, attentive eyes locking onto mine. I have to stop and swallow hard because it feels like my chest might explode. “I’ll be right where you are. The whole time.”
CHAPTER NINE
Gemma
Three days later, I’m still whirling.
I’ll be right where you are. The whole time.
Look, I know I’m a woman or a girl or whatever you want to call a clueless twenty-one year old going through a life overhaul, and maybe that means that I’m prone to fits of vapors and I’m a sucker for a good line, but that’s great dialogue. Truly.
Right where you are.
Be still, my beating heart.
Julie points to me. “You are out of control, Gem. You might be on the verge of salivating. I swear, you haven’t acted like this since you discovered A Room with a View in the ninth grade.”
“You’re the one who wanted me to go for giddy,” I say, patting my chest emphatically. “Or have you forgotten that you told me I was disillusioned and needed to start flying or whatever that was?”
Julie looks me over with an appraising eye. “I know what I said but you were supposed to be looking for a rebound. Just a simple rebound.”
We’re standing at the counter of Starbucks. I’m adding a packet of sugar to my cappuccino. Julie is sprinkling cinnamon into a cup of hot chocolate.
Nodding, I say, “That’s what I’m doing.”
“Are you sure about that? Truthfully, we barely know anything about Landon. You refuse to drill Claudia and Smith for information and you won’t even look for him on Facebook,” she says, indignant.
“Because I cancelled my account. Anyway, I know better than anyone, all that stuff is crap.”
“Still—” She breaks off. “I worry that you’re falling for him.”
“I’m not falling for him,” I contend, a fishy feeling swirling in my gut.
“So just sizzle and sex and no one gets hurt, right?”
I mask my uncertainty and throw up a little salute to her. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Okay. I know what you said, but I was thinking that it’s time to talk to Claudia and cultivate a more detailed plan.”
“No! You promised,” I remind her fiercely. “I’m not one hundred percent sure he likes me. It could all be in my head.”
“Gem, that’s the self-doubt talking,” she says, taking a sip of her hot chocolate.
“Jules, this could potentially be more humiliating than finding Ren and the waitress. I could go for it and Landon could be like, ‘Um, what do you think you’re doing, crazy girl?”’
“Or he could be like, ‘Yes ma’am, and thank you very much. I’ve been waiting for you to make a move.”’
“If he likes me.”
“Trust me. Landon likes you.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do. What could he possibly not like about you?”
“You have to say that. You’re my bestest friend on the planet therefore you’re required by law to love me and think I’m wonderful,” I reply. “Guys like Landon…”
“You just dated a super-hot actor. I think you can handle a bartender.”
“Because things with the super-hot actor turned out so well?” I joke.
Julie’s face sobers. “Stop being crazy, Gemma.”
I sigh and look down at the coffee cup in my hands. “After everything with Ren, I guess I’m sensitive because I wonder if he wasn’t just with me to feel—”
“Oh my God!”
It takes me a second to realize that I’m being spoken to by someone who is not Julie.
“Excuuuse meeee!”
&
nbsp; I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn my head to the side. A broad-faced girl about my age is staring at me expectantly. I look down, thinking that I must be standing on her foot or something. Her feet are just fine and I notice she’s wearing hot pink ballet flats with glittery purple bows on the toes. Interesting.
Squealing gleefully, she starts jumping and spewing her excitement all over me. “I-I totally thought it was you! But I wasn’t sure and then I heard what you were saying—and I—Oh my God! I’m right, aren’t I…?”
I blink, grappling to understand. “I’m sorry?”
She’s a little embarrassed now. Her cheeks flush and she snorts a gruff laugh. She twirls a piece of her hair in her fingers. “You’re the girl? From—you know—from that video? The video with Ren Parkhurst?”
Kill me. Really. If someone out there has a chainsaw or a cyanide capsule handy, I call dibs.
“You’re the girlfriend, aren’t you?”
“Umm…” My body is frozen.
Her hands go to her face, and she starts smiling again. “This is crazy and I have so much to ask you. You lived with Ren so you must be familiar—”
Julie pokes her head over my shoulder, nailing this girl with a death glare. “Let me stop you right there.”
The girl blinks and takes a step back but she keeps talking. “I just was going to—”
“Nope,” Julie interrupts again.
The girl tries again. “That I had—”
But my best is not having it. “Nope.”
“—a very similar experience with this guy I dated—”
“Nope.”
“—from my chemistry class so I—”
Julie steps in front of me. “Look, Twinkletoes! You need to stop talking and walk away. I mean it.”
The girl huffs and puffs and shakes her head in exasperation. “I can’t even…”
“You can’t even what? Believe that my friend and I have the nerve to enjoy our drinks without being bombarded for extremely personal information by a total stranger?”
“Well, I never—” She shoots me an awkward look before making a speedy retreat.
In the next instant, Julie is picking up her hot chocolate and gliding to the door. She casually continues our earlier conversation. “As I was saying,” she starts.
I stay where I am. I’m so stunned that my mouth is hanging open. “As you were saying?” I’m not shouting but I’m not being quiet either. I feel numb all over. “Are we not going to talk about what just happened? That I was just recognized at a Starbucks in downtown San Diego?”
She rolls her shoulders back and pulls her purse up her arm. “We’re not going to talk about it.”
“What?” I squeak, disbelieving.
“We’re not going to talk about it, Gemma. I know you and if we start analyzing this, next you’ll end up freaking and stressing out about stuff that you can’t even change.”
Now I’m running to catch up with her. “You’re just going to ignore what happened back there? You’re serious?”
“I’m serious.” Her voice is low. She darts a quick glance at me. “That was an isolated incident. She overheard you use Ren’s name and that’s all. It’s not the norm. Okay?”
Feeling dizzy, I shake my head in disbelief. “Okay?”
“So, as I was saying, up to this point, everything with Landon has been completely platonic, right?”
I take a steadying breath and force my gaze forward. “Right.”
“In my expert opinion, you and Landon are in a bad holding pattern.”
“A holding pattern?” I ask, sipping on my coffee, focusing on the way the slightly bitter liquid feels as it moves hot and fast down my throat.
“Yes. Neither of you knows how to make the first move so you’re just maintaining the status quo,” she says smiling. “Work is the key.”
“Okay?”
“So if Landon is there when you get to work tomorrow, you need to dazzle him with your crop of sexy moves.”
“I hate to break this to you, but my field of moves is decidedly barren,” I say with a sad shrug. “You know this about me.”
“It’s easy, Gem.” Julie shakes her head and makes a dismissive whistling sound through her teeth. “Move your ass. Squish your boobs together. Pout your lips. Do whatever it takes to seal the deal.”
“Whatever it takes.” I nod slowly like I’m taking all of this in.
“And remember, you’re supposed to tag ‘em and bag ‘em, not get yourself all mixed up. This is supposed to be fun and easy. Grow your butterfly wings or whatever you want to call it, but keep in mind that this is not A Room with a View.”
I raise my eyebrows and tease, “How do you know? Maybe I’m really Lucy and he’s really George.”
Julie snorts. “Get a grip, Sayers!”
“It is fate that I’m here,” I quote the book just to get a bigger rise out of her, “but you can call it Italy if it makes you less unhappy.”
“Oh my God!” She tosses a napkin at my face. “You’re such a dork.”
I smile a shaky smile. “At least I’m not crying, right?”
She laughs but it’s a worried kind of laugh. Her soft blue eyes flicker. “At least you’re not crying.”
Landon
I rub my eyes with my thumb and forefinger and look around the police station.
In front of me is a small window that slides open and closed. An older man in a black uniform is slouched behind the counter speaking on the phone. To my right is a vending machine that ate my last dollar twenty minutes ago. To my left is a stack of blue plastic chairs and a thin white bookshelf holding brochures about driving safety and drug use. A kid, no older than sixteen, is curled up asleep against the farthest wall with a green backpack under his head.
It smells like mildew and sweat and coffee. I’ve been here for over two hours and no one’s been answering my questions. All I get are generic throwaways. Fill this out. Sit there, sir. We’ll be with you in a moment.
Finally, Abby walks out of the processing room in wrinkled clothes. Her mascara is smeared halfway down one side of her face. A beaded silver purse is hanging off her arm. One strap of her black tank top is ripped at the seam and dangling limply down her back.
She barely acknowledges me as she brushes past and pushes through a rattling glass door into the thinning night. Nice to see you too.
I look over my shoulder and make eye contact with the desk sergeant, who is still on the phone. “Are we done here?”
A quick head nod. “She should have the paperwork she needs for her arraignment.”
Great.
Abby and I don’t speak until we’re in the car, a few miles down the road and she tells me she wants a milkshake.
“It’s three in the morning,” I point out. And you were just arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct.
“So what?” she asks, an arrogant tilt to her chin. She pulls out a cigarette and a lighter. I don’t say a thing. I gave up the ‘don’t smoke in my car’ argument a long time ago. “I want a milkshake. I haven’t eaten anything in over a day and I’m starving.”
“And whose fault is that?” I mumble, but I turn the car into the drive-thru of an all-night fast food restaurant and order a vanilla milkshake with whipped cream. I even add fries and a hamburger to the order. She’s always been too thin, but right now she’s almost skeletal.
“Where am I taking you?” I ask as she opens up the greasy to-go bag and puts a French fry in her mouth.
“Bay Street,” she says over the food. “I’m staying with a friend.”
“Anyone I know?” I ask, feeling like an uncool parent.
“No,” is all she says.
While I drive, the car remains quiet except for the sound of her slurping the milkshake, chewing and wiping her mouth with a paper napkin. I don’t ask about the arraignment. I don’t ask if she’s still high. Maybe I don’t want to know. Maybe I don’t want to know anything about her anymore.
“It’s here,” she says, po
inting to a driveway.
Even through the dark, I can see that the place is a shithole. The grass is brown and overgrown. Thorny vines are creeping up the left side of the garage. The paint around the windows is chipped and faded. Propped against the front steps is a bike that’s missing its front wheel.
“Nice place,” I say blandly.
She ignores the comment and reaches for the door handle. “Thanks for the shake and fries. I’ll call you.”
I exhale through my nose. My arms are stretched out in front of me, my hands fisted on the steering wheel. I say, “Abby, you know you can’t keep doing this to yourself.”
She sneers over her shoulder. “I can do whatever I want to do.”
“Then you can’t keep doing this to me. This is not my life anymore.”
This time she doesn’t respond. She steps out of the car, slams the door behind her, and disappears into the night.
CHAPTER TEN
Gemma
“I can’t believe you haven’t heard from him,” Claudia says as she places a fork and a knife on one side of an open napkin and begins to roll them like she’s making sushi.
Unfazed, I shrug my shoulders. Yes, early last week I was upset that Ren hadn’t even made an attempt to reach out to me. But I find myself thinking about it less and less with each day that passes.
“I emailed him yesterday with Julie’s address and asked him to ship more of my things.” I hold back that these things include a massage chair, a set of solar powered patio lights and a three-pack of embroidered holiday sweaters. “But other than that, we’ve had no contact.”
“You’re definitely a bigger person than I am,” she observes as she picks up another fork. Aunt Zola’s is in a post-lunch lull and Claudia and I have been prepping tables and making silverware bundles for the better part of an hour. “After seeing that picture of him making out with that hussy, Sierra Simms, I probably would have hauled ass back to L.A. just so I could snip out the crotches of all his underwear and scrub the toilet bowls with his toothbrush.”
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