“I’m not trying to stay a virgin the rest of my life. It’s just that I’ve never liked anyone enough to do that with them. But this guy, I have to literally stop myself, you know? I want to do it with him. Does that sound slutty?”
“No. Of course not.”
“But you’re, like, Miss Haven’t Done Anything,” Isabel said.
“It doesn’t sound slutty,” Rory said. “It sounds normal. You’re attracted to him.”
“So much,” Isabel said, lying back down on the floor. “But the weird thing is, I don’t really know that much about him. I mean, I know his last name, and I know that he works for his dad, and I know that he goes to Stony Brook, and I know little things, like that he really likes reggae and that he hates mushrooms, and stuff like that, but I don’t really know him. And here I am thinking about sleeping with him, which is something I wouldn’t even think of doing with a guy who I know everything about. That’s weird, right?”
“Not necessarily.”
Isabel sighed. “Sometimes you sound like a shrink.”
“Ha-ha,” Rory said.
Isabel yawned again. “I guess I’m falling in love.”
Rory lay her head on the pillow. She couldn’t even imagine how it felt to actually be in love. At least, with someone who might possibly love you back.
“What about you?” Isabel asked. “There has to be someone for you to go out with around here. Let me think.”
Connor, Rory thought, willing the name to come out of Isabel’s mouth. Think of Connor.
“Wait, I’ve got it!” Isabel exclaimed, sitting up. “What about one of Mike’s friends? He has all these surfing buddies. And they’re totally single!”
“That’s okay,” Rory said. “And we should probably get to sleep.”
Isabel sat up and got to her feet. “Thanks for listening. I can’t really talk to my friends about this. In case you couldn’t tell,” she said, smiling.
“No problem.”
Isabel nodded. “Well, g’night.”
“G’night.”
Rory watched her tiptoe down the hall, then closed the door and got back into bed. It would have been hard to believe only a few weeks ago, but it seemed as if she and Isabel Rule were actually becoming friends. Except, if they really were friends, wouldn’t Rory have been able to tell her that she liked her brother? Was that always going to be weird with a friend? And did it even make sense to tell her? Rory turned out the light and let the questions vanish as she closed her eyes.
The next morning, she woke with an antsiness in her legs, like she needed to run or do sprints. The morning was gray and chilly, and there was the scent of recent rain in the air. Not exactly Fourth of July weather, she thought. If she were home, she’d be going to Trish’s family’s house for a barbecue today and then fireworks at Lake Hopatcong. She’d call Sophie or Trish today and say hi. She missed them. Maybe this time she’d reach them on the phone.
She got up and changed into sweatpants and sneakers in her dark bedroom, then threw on a jacket. She was pretty sure that she’d have the beach to herself this morning.
But when she opened the door, Trixie was waiting there, head cocked and eyes imploring. “Okay, let’s go,” she whispered.
They slipped out the back door, Trixie trotting at her heels. Steam rose from both of the pools as they walked across the patio, toward the American flag. From the dunes, the ocean looked greenish gray and bearded with foam. She bent down to pick up a small stick. Trixie bounded down the walkway toward the sand, too excited to wait.
Down on the empty beach, Rory began to run. “Come on, girl, get it!” she yelled, tossing the stick of driftwood toward the water.
Trixie raced up the beach as fast as her little legs could carry her, then clamped the stick between her teeth as she plucked it out of the wet sand. Rory ran alongside the water, faking left and going right, letting Trixie chase her with the stick in her mouth.
Then she saw the jogger with his dog. The two of them were still far away, half the distance to Main Beach, but she could see that the dog was large and muscular and dark, and not on a leash. It had something in its jaws that the man kept trying to wrench away, and every time the man got close enough, the dog ran ahead, taunting him.
Trixie dropped the stick at Rory’s feet, eager for more. Rory threw the stick a few more times, letting Trixie get sandy and wet as she ran up and down the length of the beach. Her lungs burned, and sweat lined her brow. At one point, she felt cool water rush over her sneaker and seep in all over her foot.
“Come on, girl,” she yelled to Trixie, who was searching for her stick in the shallow water. “Time to go home!”
Trixie stood in the shallow water, hunting for her stick.
“Come on, Trixie!” she said.
Trixie looked up with the stick in her mouth, but the faintest sound of a jingling collar grabbed her attention. She saw the other dog. Almost instantly, she dropped the stick and took off down the beach, straight toward the jogger and his dog.
“Trixie!” she yelled. “Trixie, come!”
Trixie only ran faster, so fast that Rory couldn’t hope to catch up with her. The black dog began to run toward Trixie, leaving his owner far behind. Maybe this isn’t a big deal, Rory thought. Maybe this is nothing to worry about. But the adrenaline coursing through her body said otherwise. She started to run.
“Trixie! Come back here, now!” she yelled again, willing her legs to run faster.
But it was too late. As soon as the big dog was near enough, it lunged forward and snapped its jaws, just missing Trixie as she jumped back. Trixie danced around in front of it, trying to play, but Rory could tell that the other dog had no intention of playing. The dog lunged again.
“Trixie!” She reached down and grabbed her, just as the other dog lunged forward and snapped its jaws.
“Ow!” she yelled, feeling a stab of pain. She saw the bite marks on the back of her hand.
The dog lunged for her again, baring its teeth, just as someone ran up from behind her and stepped in front of her, shielding her with his body.
“Hey!” Connor yelled. “Off! Off!”
The dog reached up to bite him, but Connor pushed it away with one hand on its chest. “Off!” he yelled firmly. Then he let out a startling, bloodcurdling growl.
The dog lowered its head and forelegs to the sand.
“Stay!” Connor yelled.
The dog stayed in its crouch for a moment, then trotted back to its owner, who jogged up to them, panting.
“Don’t you have a leash?” Connor asked.
The jogger reached for the dog’s collar and held on to it. He was a stocky man, and his hoodie framed a face with large, startled green eyes. “I thought he’d be okay without one.”
“Dogs are supposed to be on leashes here, man. It’s the law.” Connor turned to Rory. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
She looked down and saw some blood oozing from the bite marks. “It’s just a little nip.”
“Hey, your dog bit her!” Connor said to the jogger. “I could call the police. I should call the police.”
“He got his rabies shot a few months ago,” the jogger said, showing the tag on the dog’s collar. “Sorry, man. I guess he’s just a little protective.”
“Whatever, just don’t come back here with it not on a leash.”
It was jarring to hear Connor speak so firmly to someone, but it was also exciting.
Connor let go of his protective grip around her waist and stepped beside her. “Let’s go clean this up, okay?”
He looked down at Trixie. “You okay?”
Trixie licked Connor’s hand happily, as if nothing had happened.
At the poolhouse, Connor rinsed her hand with cold water from the hose, then wrapped it in a fluffy white towel.
“But it’s white,” Rory protested. “I’ll get blood all over it.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said gently. Then he dried Trixie with another towel, scraping off the sa
nd and sending her curls up all over the place. “I think there’s a first aid kit in here somewhere,” he said. “Hold on.” He disappeared into the poolhouse for a moment and then reappeared with a small box.
“That was pretty impressive,” she said as he sat beside her on the chaise. “I’ve never heard anyone growl like that. Cesar Millan would have been proud.”
“It’s not that hard,” he said, opening the box and unwrapping a gauze pad. “You just have to say it like you mean it. Dogs can understand when you mean business.”
“Well, I almost rolled over,” she joked.
“Good to know.” He squeezed some clear liquid onto the gauze and began to dab at the bite. “So I’m starting to worry about something.”
“What’s that?”
“That between my mom and her craziness, and my sister and her craziness, and this, you’re going to want to get on the first jitney home.” He stopped dabbing at her wound and looked warily into her eyes. “Do you?”
“No. Of course not.”
“So, you’re having fun here?” he asked.
“Absolutely. I love getting bitten by dogs—it’s one of my hobbies.”
He smiled as he taped a piece of gauze over the bite. “Well, as long as you’re not gonna leave or anything.”
Rory felt her heart do a somersault.
“I mean, as long as you’re still having a good time,” he said quickly. “And tonight should be fun. You know, the fireworks and everything.”
“Where do you guys go to watch them?”
“The club. But there’s just as good a view from the beach right here. It’s almost better.”
“Really? Then who knows? Maybe I’ll stay here.” She became aware of his hand still holding her own, not in any hurry to let go, and his eyes looking into hers. He liked her. She could feel it now with certainty. And then a creak sounded and the back door opened, and Steve walked out onto the patio. Rory dropped Connor’s hand. “Well, thanks for that,” she said awkwardly.
“Yeah, feel better, Rory,” he said. He reached out and touched her bandaged hand, sending a shock all the way up her arm. “Have a good day.”
“You, too,” she said. “Come on, Trixie!”
She turned to walk back to the house, unable to stop smiling. But when she saw that Steve was waiting for her, she made sure to look as nonchalant as possible. “Hey,” she said as she approached him.
“What happened to your hand?” he asked. His voice sounded flatter, more toneless than she’d ever heard it before. His wraparound shades hid his eyes.
“I got bitten by a dog on the beach,” she said. “Connor helped clean it out for me.”
“Be careful,” Steve said. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“Well, I think it’s a little late for that.”
“I don’t mean about the dog bite,” Steve said, taking off his sunglasses. His expression was serious. “I’m talking about you and Connor. I know it’s none of my business, but it’s a weird situation.”
“It is?”
“Not for you guys, but for everyone else. And you are working here, you know.”
“I know that,” she said, starting to get irritated.
“Take it from me. I’ve gotten involved with people before. Maybe it’s different for a guy, but—”
“Nothing has happened,” Rory said.
“I know,” Steve said. “Which is why I’m telling you now. Don’t do anything that you might regret. You’re in the vulnerable spot here, not him. This is his house. Not yours.”
Rory stepped backward, away from Steve’s stern eyes. “Wow. Thanks for the support, Steve.”
“Rory—”
“Whatever,” she said. She walked away from him, feeling like she’d just been slapped in the face. Steve had teased her about Connor. He’d seemed excited about it. He’d been on her side. Now he was telling her that she was going to get hurt. It didn’t seem fair. And somewhere inside her, she wanted Steve to think that she was good enough for Connor Rule. Someone had to.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Hi, there,” she murmured, feeling the stubble on his jaw scrape against her nose. Her fingers played with the wet hair on the back of his head. “You smell good,” she said, lightly kissing his cheek.
“You smell better,” he whispered.
Her lips traveled down the side of his face, breathing in his salty smell, until he raised his chin and his soft, pillowy lips were finally on hers—
The car behind them honked.
“Move!” yelled the driver, sticking his head out the window. “You gonna sit here all day?”
“Fourth of July,” Mike said. “It brings out the best in everybody.” He put the car in drive and turned out of the Main Beach parking lot. “Stupid weekend people.” Then he grinned at her. “No offense.”
“Uh, don’t worry about it,” she said wryly, taking his hand and squeezing it.
She was starting to love the drive from East Hampton to Montauk. Mike would plug in his iPod and put on Jane’s Addiction, and she’d look out the window at the quaint shops and farm stands of Amagansett, then the roadside seafood shacks painted bright colors with their 1950s era signs, then the lush state parks on either side of the road. With each mile east, the Georgica and her parents and Thayer and Darwin faded farther and farther away.
Except it was becoming harder to lie. So far, her mom had been too busy with paddle tennis to notice when Isabel wasn’t at the club during the day. But this morning, she’d had to make up a story to get out of going to the Georgica for the fireworks.
“The Bayliffs,” she’d said, looking at her mom across the breakfast table. “You know Melissa Bayliff, her parents have a place out in Montauk? They’re having a party.”
“I thought you didn’t see her anymore,” said her mom, stirring her coffee.
“We’ve sort of been in touch. She just invited me.”
Beside her, Connor was quiet as he ate his scrambled eggs.
“Will there be supervision?” her father asked.
Isabel nodded. “Well, it’ll be at their house.”
“That’s not the same thing,” he said.
“Yes, there’ll be supervision. Her parents are the ones throwing it.”
“What’s their number?” her father asked.
Isabel almost laughed. “Seriously? You’re going to call them? How old do you think I am?”
“Larry, I don’t think that’s necessary,” said her mother.
“Fine,” he said, getting to his feet. “Whatever you think is best.” He left the table, whistling loudly.
“He’s in a good mood,” Connor said.
Her mom twisted open one of her bottles of supplements. “He’s just mad at me because I don’t want to sell this house. Go to the party,” she said to Isabel. “Just be safe getting home. There’ll be lots of drunk drivers on the road. Maybe Rory can go with you and take the Prius?”
“Or maybe Rory can come with us to the Georgica,” Connor ventured.
Mrs. Rule tipped some vitamins into her hand and froze. “Why would she do that?”
“Well, because we’re all going tonight and I just thought it would be the nice thing to do,” Connor said.
Isabel realized that this was her cue to leave. She didn’t want to wind up having to ask Rory to a party that didn’t exist. “Can I be excused, please?” she asked, standing up from the table.
“Fine,” her mother said. “You’re excused.”
She left just as her mother began to explain to Connor that Rory would be much happier going out with the staff tonight to Sag Harbor. As Isabel headed back to her room, she rolled her eyes to herself—deep down inside, her mom was such a hypocrite. She didn’t mind having a girl around the house to get her dry cleaning, but she would never actually let her be part of the family.
Now it felt like a lucky escape to be sitting next to Mike in heavy traffic, headed to the very farthest tip of Long Island.
“What do you want
to do when we get out there?” he asked. “Hit the waves or hang out?”
She knew what he meant by hang out. They’d been doing a lot of that lately. Possibly too much, she thought. She was going to have to slow it down, even though it never worked. Somehow they always ended up at his place, to have a soda or grab a snack, and then somehow they would wander down the hall to his bedroom. She’d lie down on the creaky bed with its thin burgundy bedspread and he’d turn on the oscillating fan that did nothing to cut the humidity that swept in from the lake. And soon things would get passionately, deliriously out of control, until hours had passed and the light outside had dimmed, and her hair and skin were damp with sweat and she’d know that she’d have to leave.
“Let’s go to the beach,” she said. That was safer. She’d still need to go to his house to pick up her wet suit, but she knew he’d stay in the car.
“Cool,” he said. “And then after, we could meet Gordy and those guys. They’re going to the Ripcurl to see the fireworks.”
She’d met Gordy a few days earlier at a party at Mike’s house. He’d gone to high school with Mike. He was loud, abrasive, and weathered-looking. Isabel had instantly disliked him. “Okay. Will I be able to get in?”
“Leelee works there. She’ll make sure you don’t get carded.”
She still remembered the way Leelee had looked at Mike that first night a few weeks back—like he was number one on her list of prey. “Are you sure?” she asked. “I thought you hated places like that.”
“If it’s lame, we don’t have to stay,” said Mike. “It’s either we go there or we do the lighthouse, which is even more of a scene.” He looked over at her from behind the wheel. “You are so beautiful.”
“Liar,” she said, and then leaned over and kissed him.
The waves were almost blown out by the time they got to Ditch Plains, but there was just enough curl for them to paddle out. She was getting more confident on the board in front of Mike, though it was still hard to keep her mind on the waves. They surfed until the sunlight turned golden, and when they walked back to the car, she felt exhausted and content in a way she hadn’t felt since she was a child.
She changed out of her bikini in the car and pulled on a tunic dress. She’d forgotten to bring a comb, but hopefully her hair would dry in nice waves from the salt water. “Wow,” Mike said as they got inside the car. “You really do look gorgeous.”
Rules of Summer Page 15