by Angel Lawson
“Oh yeah. Every time. Girls like a guy with a filthy mouth.”
“If you say so…then what?”
“Then I’d flash you a smile.” He flashes me a killer, stomach-twisting smile. “And ask your name and where you were from. All while checking you out.”
I remember the day we met at the camp ground. The way his eyes roamed over my soap and shampoo-covered body.
“Then,” he says. “I’d chat you up a bit and start to make my move.” Like a cat, Justin moves fluidly from his seat across the table and slides in next to me. His arm snakes over my shoulder and I find myself drawn to his smell and his warmth, instinctively moving into his side.
“And then, we’d spend the rest of the night making out in that corner over there.” He points to a darkened spot behind the video games.
I sit up and make a face. “Are you kidding?”
“Nope. I mean, you said if it was raining. Normally I’d take a girl to the beach or something and try my luck. But here? That’s the spot.”
“Gross,” I say, but I already know if he asked me to make out in that corner I’d probably go.
“You know, I’m not really that guy anymore.” His eyes are on my lips and I can feel his fingers touching the skin on the back of my neck. “None of us are.”
“No?” I swallow hard and then say, “Because I’m totally that girl who would let you make out with me pressed against the wall of a stinky arcade.”
He breaks into the most glorious smile and among the kitchen noises, video games and shouting kids, I lean in and kiss him.
It’s not quite a make-out and it’s definitely PG, but his lips are soft and salty from the fries and I lick them for the taste. It’s a moment I can’t describe, probably caught in time; the thunderstorm outside, the blinking lights from the game. I feel like a normal girl kissing a normal guy in the middle of summer vacation.
It’s the best feeling I’ve had in a long, long time.
* * *
The rain is long gone the next day when I stand idly to the side while my mother signs a book. Mrs. Green, #172, invited us over for tea (the cold, sweetened kind) and homemade snickerdoodles. Just when I thought we could escape, she pulled out four of my mom’s recent books for her to autograph. This delighted Julia, of course, and sent her into a spiral of story after story about each one. I’m one second from slipping off to beg Justin to leave work early and come save me when she wraps it up with, “I’ll be sure to send you a copy of my new book, about Donald Gaskins, when it comes out.”
“Don’t you ever get tired of talking about it?” I ask on the way back to the camper. The rain from last night blew away and we’re back to the same sweltering heat.
“Talking about what?” she asks.
“Murders and murderers. It’s depressing.”
Mom steps over a hose lying in the pathway. “There are stories of triumph in there, too. Those who fought back. The people who put them in jail.”
“I guess,” I say.
“Who’s that?” Mom asks, nodding to our camper.
I stop short when I see who she’s talking about. To my shock, Mason stands under our canopy. Mason in his plaid short-sleeved shirt and jeans, despite the heat. I can’t help but notice his beard has grown in full and his square hipster glasses are new. And he’s here. He’s right here.
“Summer?” my mom asks, touching my arm. My hands start to tremble. “Do you know him?”
“That’s umm…” My teacher? Boyfriend? Ex? I have no idea where to start because I haven’t even told her he exists.
Tired of waiting for me to explain, she starts toward him, leaving me alone on the gravel path. “Looking for someone?”
Her question is enough to spring me to action. I rush forward, tripping over the rocky driveway, in the process.
“Summer!” Mason calls, rushing over to me, bypassing my mother entirely. “Are you okay?” He lifts me off the ground.
“I’m fine,” I say, pushing him off. My mother makes an impatient gesture implying she wants an introduction. I sigh and rub my forehead. “Mason this is my mother, Julia Barnes. Mom, this is Mason Lowery, someone I know from, uh, back home.”
“Nice to meet you, Mason,” she says, offering her hand. I can see the wheels turning as she takes in the scene. Nancy Drew, remember? I try to see it through her eyes and it doesn’t look good. Why is a twenty-four-year-old man driving to the coast of South Carolina to visit an eighteen-year-old? A man she has never heard of before.
“You too, ma’am. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
I feel like vomiting. My whole life, the secret I’ve been keeping. The lies I’ve told. They’re crashing down. “Mom, can Mason and I have a minute?”
“Of course,” she says, but I already know my days as a secret keeper are over. The next time she and I come face-to-face I’m going to be the one spilling my life stories. Before she can even close the camper door, I say to Mason, “Follow me.”
He does, dutifully, which is a surprise. At one point I would have sold my soul for him to show up at my house during the light of day and meet my mother. That was never an option for us, with his reputation and job on the line, and obviously more, but now, as he walks down the boardwalk to the shore, I realize I don’t want all of him to taint this world. Not this place.
Once we’re away from the campers, I face him. His skin seems so pale out here in the warm summer sun. “What are you doing here?”
“You look beautiful,” he says. “You’re tan and your hair looks a shade lighter, and god, you’re almost glowing.”
He reaches for my face, to touch the skin he’s so fascinated with, and I block his reach.
“What are you doing here?” I ask again.
“I came to get you,” he says with confidence.
“What?”
“For France.”
I groan. “Mason…”
“Summer, I saved your spot and itinerary and I know you still have your ticket and passport. There’s still time for you to come and for us to fix all of this. Come to France with me. If we leave now, we can catch the flight out of Charlotte and you’ll have a week to pack.”
I’m dumbfounded, enough to realize my mouth is hanging open, and I snap it shut. He waits for a response. I can’t keep the incredulousness out of my voice when I ask, “You want me to what?”
He steps forward and places his hands on my shoulders, bringing me into an embrace. “I told you that I’ve ended it with Nicole. I should have ended it a long time ago, before you and I got together. And I never should have lied. It wasn’t fair to you—or to us. Our relationship was complicated. Complex. We shouldn’t have caved to our desires, not while you were in school. But now that you’ve graduated we can try again. A more mature relationship.”
“You thought I was mature enough when you kissed me in your storage closet. You thought I was mature enough when you took me to your house and we made,” I swallow, “had sex in your bed. You had no qualms about taking my virginity, about telling me you loved me.”
“Summer, I don’t regret any of those things. The timing…it was bad. I could have been fired—or worse. I couldn’t stay away from you. You have no idea how tempting you were.”
The world shifts under me. What he’s saying…it strikes home. He wants to blame me for being too enticing, not for him being weak and foolish. “You’re saying it’s my fault you couldn’t keep it in your pants?”
“I’m not going to deny that you’re beautiful, sexy, and incredibly seductive.”
I’m so confused. So lost. It’s why I didn’t want to see him. Mason does something to me. Makes me stupid. Dumb. He’s saying all these things, the right things, but none of his words connect from my brain to my heart. He’s saying them in his preppy outfit, standing on a strip of beach by the inter-coastal waterway, next to a trailer park. My trailer park. He never said them where it counted, in front of my fellow students and his co-workers. Because he couldn’t, he still can’t, because at
the end of the day this entire relationship is wrong—and not just because he’s my teacher. Because he is wrong for me.
I wiggle out of his arms, using my hands to push his chest. “I’m not going with you.”
He looks shocked. “What? Are you serious? You wanted some kind of gesture—this was it.”
“You don’t get it. I wanted a gesture from you when we were sneaking around. I realize now that was to save your job and to keep the peace with your girlfriend. You just want a fuck-buddy on this trip to France. I can’t be that person.”
He frowns at my language. I may have picked up a few choice words from hanging out with four guys all the time. “You mean more than that to me and you know it.”
His eyes are all sad and a tiny spot in my heart tugs for him. I shake it off and say, “You meant more than that to me, too, but in the end, you rejected me to save your skin.”
I race to the boardwalk, hoping to get back to the camper before he reacts, but he’s hot on my heels. He catches me at the top of the stairs. “What’s better here? Mooching off your mom? That trashy camper?” His eyes narrow and he tosses out the question he already asked on the phone, “Did you meet a guy?”
I stop cold. “You don’t get it, do you? You can’t see what a complete and utter prick you are. You need to leave. No one asked you to come and I’m not leaving with you.”
He grabs my arm and I can feel the anger rolling off him in waves. “I left Nicole for you. Do you understand that?”
“All I understand is that we’re over.”
Mason opens his mouth to speak but I push past him and march back to my camper. Halfway there I find Pete standing on the boardwalk, tool box in hand. He watches me and Mason carefully. From his expression I have no idea how much he heard.
“Is everything okay?” he asks in a gruff voice.
“It’s fine.”
My nose is running. My eyes are puffy and red. There’s no way I’m fine and there’s no way he’s going to let this go. But I can’t deal with him now.
Mason has the good sense not to engage him.
My mother is on the patio when I get back and all I say is, “I’ve asked him to leave.”
She may not understand what is going on but it’s enough. Mason rounds the corner of the camper and she steps between us. “Have a safe trip,” she says, unable to say nothing, but points in the direction of his silver sedan blocking our driveway.
His car kicks up gravel as he drives recklessly out of the campground and more than one neighbor steps out to see what the squealing tires were about. I can’t stand to face anyone else. “I’m sorry,” I say to my mother the minute she walks inside.
She frowns and pulls me into a hug. “For what?”
I choke on the words, but it doesn’t matter. She knows enough and without question she gathers me in her arms and rocks the pain away.
Chapter 13
“When you’re ready,” Mom says, “I’m here.”
“You’re going to get mad.”
“That’s not true.”
“Then disappointed.”
She sighs and leans on her elbow. We’re on my bed and I’ve been crying for so long that there’s nothing left. Just exhaustion. “Summer, I can’t help you unless you talk to me. Who was that man?”
She called him a man, and that’s the first problem with this whole thing. I’d been playing games out of my league and it’d finally caught up to me. “I was dating him,” I confess.
“He seems a little old.”
I can’t tell her the rest. I just can’t. It’s too humiliating. And if she goes to the school…I can’t handle all this being dragged out again.
“Did he…did you…” I know what she wants to ask. It’s what Catherine had asked me. And Irene. That’s what this boils down to, isn’t it? This man having sex with a teenager. A student.
“We were close,” I tell her—protecting him for some inane reason. “But he broke it off at the end the school year. It’s why I backed out of the trip and why I came with you here.”
She steadies herself. My mother asks questions for a living. She investigates, but at this moment she’s at a loss for words. “Did he…did he hurt you?”
Fat, traitorous tears fell down my cheeks. “No. I mean…I thought I loved him, you know? Turns out I was just dumb.”
“You’re not dumb. Men and hormones and all that other stuff make us do stupid things.”
I fall into her arms and we hug, because wow, how lucky was I to have a mom that got it. Got me. Maybe we could get past all of this while we’re here. Maybe this little slice of beach had the ability to heal old wounds.
“I’m here for you when you’re ready to tell me the whole story.”
“Thank you.” I wipe away my tears and say, “I think I’m going outside for some air.”
I step into the night, the lightning bugs and crickets in full song, and pause when I hear the strains of music coming off the small dock over the waterway. The music is warm, simple, and curiosity tugs at me and I walk closer. The water laps against the pilings and the faint lights around the railing cast a glow over the musician.
Pete sits on a small bench, knee up, weaving a beautiful tune on his guitar. I stand beneath a tree, tucked away in the shadows, and watch his nimble fingers run up and down the chords. There’s a confidence, an ease I haven’t quite seen from him. Pete surfs with the others but he’s not a force in the water like Whit or Justin. He doesn’t have the brute strength or quiet intensity of Nick. He’s goofy. Fun, but right now, holding the neck of the guitar with such grace…a chill runs down my spine. I imagine his fingers running over my skin with the same dedication.
As the music builds, I hold my breath. It’s like I’ve walked into something magical and the lure of his skill, his hands…his fingers, draws me closer.
Pete looks up, eyes sweeping over me. I have little doubt he’s out here waiting for me. His fingers come to a slow and he leans the guitar against the bench before standing. We step into one another’s orbit. His arms fling around me, pulling me into the warmest, tightest embrace.
I sink in.
“Tell me you’re okay,” he whispers in my ear.
“I’m fine.”
He pulls back and skepticism rules his expression. “Who the hell was that guy?”
“No one. Nothing.” I look into his gray eyes. “Thank you for waiting out here. You didn’t have to.”
“Yeah, I did. I wanted to make sure he didn’t come back. I also wanted to make sure you were okay.”
His arms feel like a life preserver.
“I know we don’t know each other that well, but I’m a good listener. And I know a piece of shit when I see one. That guy,” he says, “is a grade-A piece of shit. When you’re ready to talk about him, I’m ready to listen. No judgments. Trust me, I’ve made my share of mistakes.”
“I just feel so stupid. I gave him…” I swallow, “everything.”
“No,” he says, cupping my chin in his hands. His thumbs wipe away my tears. “That’s bullshit. You didn’t give him everything. Sure, he may have taken something from you but you’re not finite, Summer. You’re here.” He taps my chest, my heart, with his finger. “Your heart is here. Your mind. Your body. You’re not tethered to your past.”
I’m not sure I believe him. Not yet, but for the first time I want to. “How did you get so smart?”
He tilts his head and gives me a cocky grin. “I got a sixteen-hundred on my SAT.”
“You didn’t?”
He holds up his hand. “I did. Swear.”
“Smart, talented…sexy. I didn’t realize you were the whole package.”
His nimble fingers run down my back, playing the chords of my spine. He smiles at me again, more serious, and he pulls me to his chest. “I’ve got a few other skills, too,” he says.
“Show me.”
“You sure?” He wipes a tear off my cheek.
I nod and he doesn’t hesitate, nipping at my bottom lip,
teasing my tongue. He’s sweet. Slow and hell yes, a good kisser. When he finishes warming me up, he kisses me thoroughly, the kind that I feel deep in my toes.
The warm summer air feels heavy and our skin is sticky, but it doesn’t stop his hands from wandering down my arms. Or from me pushing him toward the bench. His heel hits the guitar and he catches it with one hand, while his other is woven in my hair, keeping my face close to his. He rests it gently aside and sits, pulling me into his lap.
Jesus, he’s hard; his length presses against my shorts. I push down, wanting more. Wanting something to replace the bad feelings with good.
His fingers skim my thighs and warm heat stirs in the hollow of my legs.
Hot kisses blaze over my neck, my shoulders, and face. I tug at his shirt, laying my own trail of fire over his collarbones. There’s no doubt about his desire, his want, but after a few furious moments his fingers smooth down my shirt.
“What?” I whisper. “Is something wrong?”
His eyes twinkle like twin stars. “No, god no.” he pushes my hair back. He glances over my shoulder. “I just don’t want us to be on the front page of the Family Campground News tomorrow.”
I think of the little newsletter Mr. Copeland puts out each day and slide off his lap. “Uh, yeah, no.”
He adjusts his shorts and leans over and kisses me. “Can we pick this up again later? In a more private location?”
“Yes, please.”
He grins and throws his arm around my shoulder, pulling me close.
“Play for me?” I ask.
For hours we sit next to one another under the stars and I listen to Pete play his music and know that there can be a better life than what I left behind. A man, or men, better than Mason. And for the first time in a long while, I have hope.
* * *
It’s nearing eleven when Bobby emerges from the shadows and tells Pete there’s an issue over on Lot #78 that requires his help. He gives me a kiss goodnight and I head back to the trailer. My mother, interestingly enough, is not at home but she’s left a note telling me not to worry or wait up. And that we’ll talk soon.
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.