by Angel Lawson
Two hours later I’m lying on my bed, staring at the too-close ceiling of the trailer. My mind is a swirl of the altercation with Mason, the hot kisses from Pete, the curiosity of where my mother had gone off to and a million other things.
I reach for my phone.
Hey.
…
Hi.
Are you up?
I’m texting you, right?
I can’t sleep.
You okay? Is this a booty call?
I’m fine. Restless and no it’s not a booty call.
But you do want to come over, don’t you?
Maybe.
And see my booty.
Jesus.
Come on. I’ll turn on the light.
My mom’s car is still here, which means she either got picked up or is hanging with one of the neighbors. The SUV starts with a loud roar, announcing my activities to all the neighbors, I’m sure. I drive slowly, the late-night roads quiet and dark. I park away from the house, not wanting to wake up Richard. I climb the steps to the cottage and I’m not exactly surprised to see Justin eagerly waiting for me at the door.
“You came,” he says.
“Did you think I wasn’t going to?”
“I thought maybe I dreamed those texts. I mean, late-night booty call from a hot out-of-town girl are a townie fantasy.”
“Shut up.” But I can’t help but smile at his adorable fact and welcoming grin. Moths hover around the doorway, attracted to the light from inside. He swats one away as he pulls me into the tiny cottage. I take a moment to absorb Justin’s home. The cottage has a half college boy-half beach house theme going on. The furniture looks new and fairly expensive but contradicts with the surf posters on the wall. I eye a stack of laundry on the kitchen counter. From my spot by the entry, I can see the entire house, other than what’s behind the two doors flanking the back wall.
“Whit’s asleep,” he says quietly, pointing to one of the doors. He runs his hands through his damp hair. He must have just taken a shower. “This is my house.”
“It’s nice,” I tell him. “It’s bigger than the camper.”
“Technically it’s about the same. Kitchen, living room, bathroom. I do have a bedroom of my own, though.”
“And a door.”
“Yep, I have a door. Wait.” He frowns. “You don’t have a door?”
“Nope, just a curtain.”
“Interesting.” He walks over to the couch and sits down, leaving room for me next to him. I sit and he picks up my hand. “So what happened?”
“Why do you think something happened?” Had Pete told him?
Justin raises an eyebrow. “You’re restless and drove all the way over here in the middle of the night. As much as I joke, I don’t think it’s for a booty call.” He touches my cheek. “You look tired.”
I take a deep breath, ready to spill it all, but then stop. I don’t want to tarnish the moment with the drama from back home. After my mom and Pete, I’m done talking for the night. “I just got some news from someone back home. It’s nothing big—just a surprise.”
He’s sitting next to me on the couch, knees touching mine, fingers entwined. “You sure? I’m happy to listen.”
I grimace. “I just had a mother-daughter heart to heart and anticipate another tomorrow.” I squeeze his hand. “But thank you for giving me somewhere to escape.”
He doesn’t look convinced but says, “Any time.”
I reach out and push his hair out of his eyes. He smells clean, like soap. Justin Hawkins is handsome. And funny. And a really good friend. I look from his mouth to his eyes and say, “I kind of thought maybe you could distract me.”
Justin nods slowly. “I can probably do that.”
I shift closer and tilt my head, kissing him under the jaw. He responds by grasping my face in his hands and kissing me back on the lips. The raw emotions from the night wash over me and I rise up, trying to get closer. Instead, he pushes me into the couch, cradling the back of my head with one hand and clenching the hem of my shirt with the other.
“You’re pretty good at this,” I tell him, squirming when he pushes my hair aside and concentrates on my neck.
Barely stopping, he asks, “What specifically?”
“Distracting me.”
“Summer,” he says, my name rolling off his tongue with a sweet and southern twang. He runs his fingers down the side of my leg. “I can do more than distract you.”
I pull his face to mine, clasping my fingers in the thick, soft hair at the back of his neck. I kiss him again, harder, tugging on his lip before letting go. When I look up, he’s grinning and my chest heaves in clichéd anticipation. I know that this is the moment where things go from fun with Justin to something a bit more. I know that I should stop and tone this down. Instead I ask, “How so?”
I know the answer already, I can see it in the way his jaw clenches and feel it as he presses against me, but I want to hear him say it.
Before he speaks, he hops off the couch and picks me up and carries me toward the bedroom. With his back pressed against the closed door and my legs around his waist, I see the mischievous glint in his eye. “I can make you forget.”
* * *
If there’s one thing I learn that night, it’s that Justin Hawkins is true to his word. Once we’re in his room, I forget about Mason. The second he peels off his shirt and tosses it on the floor next to his bed, all thoughts of him and the fight are gone. All the bad things are wiped away with the feel of the fuzzy, scattered hair trailing between his belly and his waist. So soft and sensitive, he flinches under my touch. The disastrous end of the year vanishes when I run my fingers over the smooth skin on his hips, where the muscle dips and my thumbs fit perfectly. He’s sweet and gentle and doesn’t even try to take off my tank or shorts, but he does more than make me forget when he touches me in return, dragging his hands down my sides. Kissing me between my breasts. The past becomes foggy and lost when he uses his fingers, slow and skilled, to make me question any desire I ever had to go to France.
And later, in his dark, quiet room, he tells me about his life. School and friends. He explains how the water feels under his surfboard and how hard it was to leave Ocean Beach for that first year of college. He tells me about his high school graduation and how proud his brothers were. How his mother wasn’t there. He reenacts the day he landed in the hospital from wiping out on his board, while pointing out the awards and prizes tacked to his wall. He guides my hands and lets me feel the scar behind his ear and he kisses me long and slow, over and over until there is nothing left but us.
* * *
I feel like I’ve only been asleep for a minute when I hear the quiet beeping of an alarm. The bed shifts and heaves and a groan comes from the dark. I crack open a heavy eye. It’s not even light outside.
Justin rolls back in bed, wrapping his arms around my waist and burying his face in my neck. “What time is it?” I ask. I attempt and fail to open my eyes.
“Five,” he mumbles into my hair.
“Who gets up at five in the summer?”
He wiggles closer and I feel him behind me. The hard, awake part of him behind me. “People who work.”
“Oh, those people.”
“You don’t have to get up with me. Stay as long as you want.” His breath is hot on my neck and it takes a lot of strength not to pick up where we left off the night before.
I roll toward him and rest my head on his chest. “Thanks for letting me hide out for the night.”
“Thanks for letting me distract you.”
He kisses my forehead and sits up. I prop up on my elbow and say, “People are going to think we had sex.”
In the lightening room I can see him nod his head and rub his face, trying to wake up. “What people? No one knows you’re here.”
“There’s probably a write up on it in the Campground Gazette already,” I grimace. “Speaking of, exactly why didn’t we have sex?” I ask. I’m okay that we didn’t. Relieved even, b
ut things were pretty intense the night before and definitely felt like they were headed that way. Justin managed a level of control that surprised me.
“Because you were too vulnerable and I’m a gentleman,” he laughs. “Plus, those other things we did were kind of awesome, too.”
My cheeks warm under his compliment and I feel his hand on my stomach, trailing under the hem of my shirt. Everything with Justin is easy. Fun-easy, I think. He agrees, I know it, because nothing like this has ever happened to me so fast and he seems just as willing to take the ride. My mind begins to race a million miles a minute with thoughts of school and Mason. I force myself to ignore them and my morning-breath to lean over and kiss him. Because that’s what being fun-easy is all about.
* * *
There’s nothing worse than The Walk of Shame. Everyone has done it. Sneaking into the dorm or back to an apartment before classes start for the day. Tell-tale signs: Messy bedhead. The same clothes as the night before. Smeared make-up. Oh, and don’t forget the purplish bags under the eyes from lack of sleep.
While Justin showers and dresses, I try my best to tame my hair and at least wash my face. It doesn’t help that he and I were up late and awake early. Not to mention my eyes have that post-ugly-cry puffy thing going on.
Whit’s in the kitchen when I walk out, dropping vegetables into a blender. Shirtless, his broad, tanned chest is exposed and his hair is tied up in a bun. He winks when he sees me.
“So much for no one knowing I was here,” I mutter.
“Stop being silly,” Justin says, kissing me on my temple. He’s in his marina uniform. Why doesn’t he look like he just spent the night doing naughty things in bed and not sleeping? “I’ve got to run. Leave when you’re ready, okay?”
“Okay.”
Part of me wants to run out the door with him, feeling awkward and weird coming from Justin’s room. I’ve kissed Whit. Had his hands all over my body. This is where the test of the Pact comes in, I guess. Are these guys really okay with it? With me being with more than one of them at the same time.
I turn to say something to Whit but the blender whirrs, mixing together the scary concoction that’s now green. The noise stops and he takes off the lid and drinks straight from the blender.
“Good?” I ask, trying to break the one-sided tension.
“Needs more kale.”
I wrinkle my nose and approach the counter. Easing into a bar stool, I say, “So how bad does it look, on a scale of slut to harlot, for me to walk out of Justin’s bedroom this morning?”
“I’m not here to judge, babe.” He licks a bit of smoothie off his upper lip. “But if you want a basic opinion, you look sexy as hell first thing in the morning.”
I glare at him.
“I’m headed out to the dock, wanna come?”
I nod eagerly. Anything to keep from skulking through the campground at 5:30 a.m.
Whit leads the way down the stairwell and around the back of the cottage. He leads me out of the yard toward the long dock that travels over the marshy wetlands between the shore and the waterway. He’s quiet, drinking his smoothie, eyes cast over the early gray morning.
At the dock, he opens a shed and pulls out a large surfboard. Bigger than a surfboard? I take it while he gets a second one out as well. “You know I can’t surf, right?”
“It’s a paddle board,” he says, handing me a long paddle. “You don’t even have to get wet.”
I’ve seen people cruising around on these—usually far out past the breakers. The waterway is smooth right now.
“I used to think this was for old people,” he tells me, moving to the edge of the dock. He lays the board flat and gestures for me to place my feet on it so it doesn’t drift away. “But this is a pretty zen way to start the day, too.”
I’ve learned to trust Whit in the water. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still terrified of the dark murkiness below and the fact I can’t see what’s down there, but I do have faith that Whit is looking out for me. I follow his directions. Or try.
“Don’t panic,” he says, when I fight against the moving water. “Just relax and ease on the top.”
His voice is calm, smooth, and soon I’m standing with braced knees. He pushes the board away from the deck with his hands and I sail out into the water.
“Oh my god,” I cry. This is going to end badly.
“Put the paddle in the water, Summer. You’re in charge.”
He’s up and on his own board in a matter of seconds, quickly coasting over the water toward me. Again, I listen to him, focus on his voice and watching the way his body navigates the water. His shoulders are ridiculously broad, lean and muscular. His stomach is well-defined and taut. Swim trunks hang over his hips and he turns my way, giving me a little smile.
“You’re doing it.”
“I guess,” I say with a little wobble, but I stay upright. But a few minutes later I am doing it and holy shit, it’s fun.
Once I get my sea legs, Whit waves at me to follow. Soon we’re off the main waterway and down a twisty creek. Tall grasses and cattails line the passage and soon trees grow out of the water with low-hanging branches. I have no idea where we’re going and the narrowing makes me nervous, but I keep my eyes on Whit’s back and follow him into the shady oasis. Just when I think he’s gotten us horribly lost, he looks back and says, “Almost there.”
“There,” is a break in the trees, a small lagoon of clear water and a sandy beach. Whit hops off his board into hip-deep water and pushes the board and paddle on shore. He wades over to me and I lower to my knees, still trying not to fall.
“I’m not wearing a bathing suit,” I remind him.
His eyes flick down my body, but he says nothing, skimming my board across the water until I can carefully hop off into water that only covers my ankles.
“This place is beautiful,” I say, taking it all in. “How did you find it?”
“My mother brought me here when I was a kid.” He sits on the sand next to me, our warm shoulders touching. “Now I just come when I need a little time to myself.”
“Don’t tell me—I’m the only girl you’ve ever brought here?”
He cracks a wide grin. “No, you’re not, but I do take a different path every time so no one can find their way back.”
“Sneaky.”
He shrugs and digs his feet into the warm sand.
“Thank you for bringing me out here today. You’re a really good teacher.”
“You’re just letting your fear take over.”
“The ocean is terrifying; wild and totally uncontrollable. Like—the tides and currents. And you know, sharks.”
He laughs and shakes his head. “What the hell is with you and sharks?”
“Why is this an unreasonable fear?” I retort.
“The ocean is like anything else in life. You may not be able to control of it, but you can control how you react to it.”
I lean back on my hands, in a similar pose to his, and our pinkies touch. That move alone sends a chill up my spine. Even in the rising heat.
“I’m not sure I’m controlling anything in my life right now,” I confess.
He chuckles softly. “I know the feeling. Is that why you showed up so late last night?”
“I thought you were asleep.”
“I was,” he says, “let’s just say the sound of a woman making noises like that is hard to sleep through.”
“Oh my god,” I press my face into my knees.
I feel his lips on my neck. A sweet kiss. “Don’t be embarrassed. There are worst ways to be woken up.”
“Ughhhhh.”
“You’re adorable.”
I turn my head and peek at him. The look he’s giving me. My heart thunders like a thousand drums.
“And you’re getting me wet. And sandy,” I reply, hoping he can’t tell how much I like being near him.
“So really,” he says. “Why did you show up so late last night?”
“Some shit from my past followe
d me down here and I couldn’t sleep.”
He nods. “Well if we’re being honest, I wasn’t asleep when you got there. The whole school thing is keeping me up.”
“It’s that bad?”
“It’s giving me panic attacks. Just thinking about cutting my hair. Putting on that uniform. Marching in line.” He inhales deeply.
“Can you talk to your dad?”
He laughs. “Why do you think I’m living with Justin?”
“He kicked you out?”
“Not exactly, but it’s better for everyone if we’re not confined to the same house.”
I touch his cheek. Not knowing how to make him feel better, I give him a kiss, hoping it helps soothe the pain. He returns the kiss slowly and it ignites a burning in my belly. He glances at his watch. “I’m teaching lessons this morning down by the pier. I should head back.”
“I’ve got a walk of shame to complete.”
He helps me back on my board, fingers lingering on my hips. Soon we’re back on the waterway, sun rising to the east. I can’t help but think as we paddle back to the dock, that if every morning started like this one, I’d be pretty damn lucky.
Chapter 14
No questions are asked when I emerge from the shower. It’s obvious my mother didn’t sleep here, either. She simply hands me a sausage biscuit, coffee, and a pile of files. She has a lead, a solid one, and we’re driving to Cherry Grove, South Carolina, just outside of Myrtle Beach.
“No Nick today?” I ask as we turn off the main road.
“I thought this visit may go better without a man present.”
“Oh.” Nervous about what that means, I distract myself with looking out the window at the neighborhood.
“Wow. This neighborhood is pretty nice,” I say, checking out the big homes, just blocks away from the ocean. The neighborhood has a more typically suburban feel than the touristy areas surrounding the beaches.
“When I was younger, we came to some parties down here. Most of these families are pretty wealthy.”
“Not to sound rude, but isn’t Sugar’s family kind of poor?”
My mother frowns and shakes her head. “Why would you think that?”
“Umm… the trailers? Living in this po-dunk town? The kids before twenty?”