by Rose, L. A.
He shrugs. “It seemed more appealing this year.”
“Better weather? Felt like getting some sun?” I press.
“Something like that.”
Why am I nervous? I should not be nervous. It’s not like I’m falling love with James and that new facet of our relationship is a lot more difficult to navigate than enemies-turned-friends-with-benefits. It’s definitely not that at all.
He smiles at me differently, now.
He came to that beach party because he thought Sigrid had done something to me.
I’m starting to suspect that I mean something to him, and I hate how unspoken it is. I want things to be blunt and clear and outspoken, always. I drown in murky waters.
We hit the buffet first. There is unlimited soft-serve ice cream, which I discover at the same time that I discover my unlimited capacity for soft-serve ice cream. Iris, who is evil, dares me to eat four cones and I do, because I’m an amazing individual with many talents. Afterwards I have to moan on my bed for a little while before I can rejoin the others, but James does rub my back. Silver linings.
The gossip of the day—Sigrid and Amber getting kicked out of Phi Delta Chi.
They say she was caught with drugs.
They say she was caught with a professor.
They say she was caught hanging a freshman by her ankles from the top of the Social Sciences building.
Nobody seems to know that I’m the reason she’s gone, and for that I’m grateful. After dinner, Brooklyn pulls me aside. She made sure Sigrid knows that if she tries to slander me to her father, the whole of Phi Delta Chi will stand beside me. With only Amber to back her up, even Sigrid can’t get me kicked out. At least, according to Brooklyn. I’m still waiting for the inevitable knife in the back.
But on this ship, for now, I’m safe.
The other passengers—a few middle-aged couples, a family or two with some screaming kids tossed in, one pair of grandparents—didn’t realize what they’d gotten themselves into. I’ll never forget their expressions as the entirety of Phi Delta Chi minus Sigrid plus thirty hot guys swarmed the pool on the deck for the first time. The expressions of people who stared into the abyss and the abyss spilled its beer on them.
Iris claims a chaise lounge on deck and stretches out to tan. Mags spends the next two hours in the hot tub, even though it’s warm out. James and I steal some grapes from the dining hall and see how many we can toss into each other’s mouths from a few feet apart, only hitting one of the middle-aged couples twice. A few of the older girls stare at us in bald amazement—James has probably never been seen doing something so uncool since he was a year old and had to eat mushed carrots—but I’ve decided not to hide our friendship anymore. At this point, if Sigrid and her minions are going to drive me into the desert and leave me there, they’re going to do it no matter what kind of fruit I throw into James’s open mouth.
There’s a bar by the pool. Because I am endlessly classy, I wait until four o’ clock before ordering my first drink. They have mojitos, margaritas, and sangrias. I dance absently to the live reggae group as the shirtless guy behind the counter makes my drink. Then, since the air’s cooled off and I no longer run the risk of heat stroke, I wedge myself into the oversized hot tub along with Mags and three sophomore girls.
One of them, a girl with long braids, leans toward me through the bubbles. “Can you get James to come in here?”
“Yeah!” whispers a girl in a bright yellow bikini. “You guys get along now, right? I heard you got stuck together doing some school project.”
“I guess I could call him over.” I preen for a moment, enjoying the thought of myself as the James-whisperer, before leaning over the edge of the hot tub. “James! Come join us.”
He glances over from his spot by the bar, an extremely doubtful look on his face, but after I beckon him so wildly I crack my elbow on the side of the tub, he peels himself up and walks over.
The fact that James Reid has deigned to join a group of girls in the hot tub quickly becomes relevant information to everyone on the ship. We’re joined by several others until we’re packed like sardines, two girls fighting over who gets to be the one to sit next to James. I wish I had a pair of broadswords to toss them.
James frowns at me, and I wink at him.
“Nobody pee in here,” I warn the group at large.
Soon people are babbling questions at James. Most of these girls have never even spoken to him before, but I was the one who broke the ice and gave him a human face.
“Do you know what you’re doing after you graduate?”
“Do you like strawberry ice cream?”
“Have you seen the new Marvel movie?”
“No, yes, no.” He reaches up to rub the back of his neck, a gesture he pulls when he’s uncomfortable, but accidentally bonks the girl next to him in the head. “Shit. Sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’m metal-plated. Pure steel.” She smiles up at him, tapping her scalp. She’s a cute blonde with a button nose and James is smiling back at her. One line and she’s earned herself a James smile. But she’s probably also eats toilet paper for breakfast, so.
“We need an activity. Who wants to blow up a beach ball and get in the pool?” I ask. There’s more room in the pool. Many glorious unoccupied feet. Metal Plate looks like she could use a few extra inches of space between herself and James.
Mags leans over to whisper in my ear. “You need to get out? You have this expression like you’re too hot or something.”
“I have a better idea!” Metal Plate claps, splashing me. “Let’s play Truth or Dare.”
This suggestion is received with general approval. I sink lower and blow bubbles.
Guess who she picks first.
“Truth or Dare?” Metal Plate giggles, prodding James’s arm.
He hooks his elbow over the side of the tub, looking incredibly bored. “Truth.”
Ms. Plate consults with her friends. “Okay. Why did you quit acting?”
It’s the one thing I’ve been burning to know lately, the one thing I hoped James would eventually trust me enough to tell me. The fact that this girl is brazen enough to ask him in front of a crowd annoys the heck out of me, even though it’s exactly something I would have done a month ago.
James is quiet for a moment, the water bubbling up over his chest. “I changed my mind. Dare.”
Everyone exhales, disappointed. Plate recovers. “All right, then. I dare you to kiss me.”
My jaw drops. So does everyone else’s. This girl really is a pre-Damien clone of me. Which, at the moment, is a distinctly not good thing. Someone elbows Plate and she tosses her hair back.
“What? Sigrid got kicked out. Everyone knows she was the only one who enforced the Games rule. Now that she’s gone, I don’t see a problem.” She cozies up to James. “How about it? One kiss won’t kill you. I’ve heard you’re pretty good at it.”
Who the hell else has he been kissing? I sink lower in the water, keeping just my eyes out like a crocodile.
James looks at me. Then at all of us, me with my murder-stare and everyone else with hopeful wide eyes, because if he kisses Metal Plate, it means he might kiss them too. His expression is inscrutable. Then, without saying a word, he hoists himself out of the hot tub.
“Oh.” Plate blanches. “I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s fine. It’s not you. There’s just something I’ve realized,” he says, and walks away across the deck, to where the reggae band is arguing over which song on their list they’ll play next. He says something to the singer, who shrugs and hands him the microphone.
He clears his throat into the mic, which gets everyone’s attention. Almost everyone who came with us on the cruise is here, swimming or drinking or lying around, and James making an announcement is on the same statistical probability rung as a Sharknado.
“I have an announcement to make,” he says simply.
“What’s he doing?” Mags whispers to me, tugging my arm.
But
I have no idea.
“I know you guys do this competition to get me to take you out on a date,” he continues. “And I’ve gone along with it for a while now. But the truth is, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t force myself to like one of you just because you had the best Halloween costume or whatever. And you shouldn’t have to hold out hope for something that’s not going to happen. What’s more, I…”
He looks straight at me, his jaw tight. I’m frozen. Everyone’s frozen.
“I can’t do this anymore,” he continues, “because I’m in love with Fiona.”
I shoot straight up out of the tub, spraying everyone around me with water. He did not just say that. I’m hallucinating. My single margarita went straight to my head. That’s the only option, because there’s no way James Reid just declared his love for me in front of my entire sorority.
The members of the reggae band high-five. The other girls in the hot tub have clumped together on the opposite side, as far away from me as possible, like a multi-limbed mass of Fiona hatred. Metal Plate looks like she might cry. I can’t look at James, but a little fire has sprouted in my heart, blowing this way and that.
Did he mean it?
Did he really mean it?
And then Brooklyn’s beside him, taking the mic away.
“I have to say this is an unexpected announcement,” she says, composed as ever. “But it’s also one that I support. I know the Games have been part of our community for some time now, but I always felt that they detracted from the real reason Phi Delta Chi exists. Competition is fun, but we are sisters first and foremost. Which is why I don’t want anyone given a hard time over this. People who show unkindness and disrespect here will be invited to leave Phi Delta Chi—as others have been.”
She passes a meaningful look over all our heads.
“The Games have never been the reason that Phi Delta Chi existed. If you joined for that reason alone, you’re welcome to leave. If you have anything to say, I ask that you direct it at me and not Fiona or James. Thank you.”
Everyone is watching me. But the only person watching me that I care about is James. He looks almost…scared? Uncertain? Hopeful?
I deal with the situation the only way I know how—by jumping out of the hot tub, running over to him, and throwing myself in his arms. He scoops me up and kisses me hard.
There’s two beats of silence. Then the singer of the reggae band starts clapping. Brooklyn joins in. And then almost everyone else is applauding, even the middle-aged couples who’ve dragged their chairs away from the pool.
“That was really romantic and all,” I tell him over the sound, relishing the feel of his skin on my skin, elation bubbling up in my chest. I’m not nervous anymore. “But right now, what I want more than anything else in the whole world is some privacy.”
Instead of answering, he just carries me away from the pool, the applause fading as he rounds the corner of the deck and brings me down the stairs.
“Soon I won’t need legs,” I laugh. I’m giddy with his words, with this night. “You’ll just carry me everywhere.”
He kisses my neck. “It’s hard not to. You’re so small.”
“In body, not in spirit.”
He brings me to his cabin and shuts the door behind us. I know we should talk about what he said back there, about what this means for us, but right now, I don’t want to do any of that. I just want to kiss him. And I want to kiss him on a bed.
He lays me down and fulfills that desire, his mouth burning on mine. I’m yearning for him. For all of him. I tug on his shirt and he yanks it off over his head, quickly doing the same to my shirt and bra.
“I need your lips,” I tell him breathlessly.
“Where do you need them?”
“Everywhere.”
And everywhere they go. He kisses the crown of my forehead, the tip of my nose, my cheeks, my chin. He kisses his way down my neck and collarbone, lavishing my breasts with kisses, indoctrinating my ribs and stomach until my skin is reacting like an electric fence.
And then he continues lower.
“James,” I gasp, reaching for his shoulders.
“You—” he kisses my hips, “are—” he kisses my knees, “so damn—” he kisses my thighs, “—beautiful.”
A shiver races up my spine as he runs his tongue over the crease in the innermost part of my thighs. I let my head fall back, unsure if the lightheadedness I feel is from the rocking of the ship or the closeness of him. When he finally licks my most sensitive place, the feeling shoots straight into my stomach.
“Damn it, James,” I groan, lacing my fingers through his hair.
“You taste so good…you know I think you always look great, but I have to say, I’m glad you picked a bikini this time. It’s sexy as hell.”
His tongue circles my clit as he fingers me. I clench the blankets and groan, sweat beading along my abdomen. He takes a moment to lick it off, tracing patterns on my skin with his tongue.
It doesn’t take long for me to come, the orgasm rushing through me, arching my back. When I finally settle back down, panting, sweat is beaded along my stomach. He climbs up and lies beside me, enfolding me in his arms.
“So what now?” he asks quietly.
“People aren’t going to be happy. You just canceled the James Games. That’s like calling off the Superbowl.” I nestle deeper into the nook between his arm and his shoulder.
“I wouldn’t say they’re canceled exactly,” he says into my hair. “You just won them, that’s all.”
“Right. Showing up naked to parties, wearing chicken costumes, that’s the way to win a man’s heart.”
“You won my heart by being you.” He brushes a strand of hair off my forehead. “Wild, brave, intense you. There was no competition.”
That feeling surges back into my chest, stronger than it’s ever been before. I take a deep breath. “This is scary for me, you know. I’m better at things when they’re fun and easy and shallow.”
“I know.”
“I’ll probably embarrass you, and I’ll be too loud, and you’ll have to deal with all the rumors about me.”
“I’m more than okay with that.”
“Why do you like me so much?” I whisper. “I’m just a weird girl from a weird town who tried to make up for all those years of weirdness by going as crazy as possible in college.”
“I like you for the same reason I noticed you at that concert.” He kisses my forehead. “You don’t give an inch. You claim what’s yours.”
I feel his warm skin, exploring him with my hands. How amazing it is to have permission to touch another human body. “Are you mine now?”
“Depends,” he murmurs. “Are you going to claim me?”
I sit up, rolling on top of him.
And I do claim him.
~19~
By the time the cruise ends and we’re back on campus, the memo that James and I are dating seems to have been delivered to every student’s mailbox by express mail.
A few days later, I still haven’t been murdered. Though I think some people might be plotting it. At this point, though, I’ve been stared at so often by the students of UCSD that a few more homicidal glares don’t make much of a difference.
And even if someone fired an arrow into me from a distance, I’d probably smile and blame Cupid. James is an amazing boyfriend. He brings me my favorite pomegranate juice every morning—and I don’t even throw it on anyone. I spend so much time at his apartment that Iris asks if she can turn my bed into a goat-sacrificing platform. And judging by the teriyaki salmon he made me last night, I could live my whole life on his food without ever needing a fast-food burger.
On Saturday, he decides to teach me how to surf.
“I should warn you,” I tell him on the way to the beach. “I am amazing at many things, but balancing on a small strip of wood on top of tossing waves is not one of them.”
“Luckily for you, that is one of the few things I am good at. That, and teaching.” He’s s
hirtless, and it’s immensely distracting. Good thing I’m not driving.
“I can think of a couple other things you’re good at,” I smirk at him.
It’s a gorgeous day—hot but not blazingly so. The ocean is endless and glittering, blue waves crested with white. Surfers dot the shores, most with wetsuits but some without, carrying big colorful boards over their shoulders.
The second we hit the beach, I pull my cover-up over my shoulders and bask in the sunlight hitting my shoulders. James comes up behind me, hands sliding over my waist. “Could I volunteer to put some sunscreen on you?”
“Submit a resume and a video application and then we’ll talk,” I tell him.
“I learn better hands-on.” He squirts sunscreen into his hands and massages it into my shoulder blades, down my thighs. I quiver under his touch and he laughs.
“Don’t get too excited. We have surfing to do before anything else.”
We rent two surfboards, mine green and his blue, and hit the waves. The water is icy cold. I shriek as soon as it touches my ankles.
“No way, no way no how. It’s way too cold. I’m not going in.”
“Let’s go,” he coaxes. “You’ll get used to it. You did before. You just need to take the plunge.”
I’m about to tell him that submerging myself in refrigerator water was a hell of a lot easier when I was drunk, but he doesn’t give me the opportunity. He slings me over his shoulder and runs in. Should have expected it. I howl, pounding his back with my fists as he drops down, submerging me. I pop back up immediately.
“You are so dead,” I shriek, leaping on his back. As it turns out, I am nowhere near heavy enough to drown James Reid. He simply stands up, lifting me so that I’m on his shoulders. I laugh and cover his eyes so that he stumbles and falls in the waves.
“All right,” he says when he straightens again, the water plastering his hair to his forehead. “Surfing time.”
‘Surfing time’ mostly means me sitting on the back of his board, my arms wrapped around his waist while he takes us over the tiniest swells he can find. Every time I try to stand up, I immediately fall off. Eventually he gives up and pulls me around on the surfboard while I lie with my arms out.