Austin shakes me, jarring me from the fog. “Anyway, thanks for looking out for her until I could get here. I’m taking her to my family’s place in Malibu, so we better get on the road.” He looks down at me and winks. “Ready, baby?”
I stare into bright blue eyes twinkling with false affection, and my stomach clenches.
What would it be like to have a boy really look at me that way?
A cough pulls my attention back from my melancholy thoughts, and I find Reid watching me intently. “See you at rehearsal tomorrow?”
I nod. “I look forward to it.”
Austin grumbles something under his breath and pulls me toward his hastily parked red truck. The driver’s side door is ajar, and the engine is still running. As I climb in the passenger seat, I realize his truck is another example of the duality that lies inside this complicated, clearly intelligent boy. Cat told me that although she and Austin are in the same grade, the school held him back due to insufficient grades two years ago. Unlike her, he doesn’t have to worry about bothering parents or hiring kind drivers when he desires to go somewhere—he is free to take me in his own car wherever he’d like.
On his own, without the need of a chaperone.
Stamping down the unfamiliar burgeoning heat in my core, I risk a glance back at the theater, knowing Reid is watching. His lips lift in a mischievous grin and he waves. Twisting fully in my seat, I wave back and Austin slams on the gas pedal, reversing abruptly. My head lurches toward the hard dashboard.
“Oof!”
As I rub my temple, I glare at him with everything in me, sending forth as much venom as I can muster.
To which he replies, “Oops,” and attempts to look innocent, but fails miserably.
Any lingering heat in my veins from his shocking kiss turns to red-hot fury. I know he drove in such a manner on purpose—I only wish I understood boys better as to know why.
Sinking into my seat, I vow to ignore Austin for the rest of the trip. If he can be maddening to the point of complete exasperation, well, so can I.
I see him look at me from the corner of his eye, and his lips give an infuriating twitch. Then he pulls the truck forward, whistling a happy tune, as though he has not a care in the world. I clench my teeth to keep from growling.
As we drive pasts the front of the theater, I glance out my window to meet Reid’s friendly gaze….and notice the gentle smile that graced his face before has grown.
…
The Michaels family beach house in Malibu has been transported from the pages of a storybook, adding only the wonderful modern convenience of electricity. Perched on the bluff over the ocean, the house is framed by towering trees and elegant stone work. The crashing sound of waves greets me as I step from Austin’s truck and the scent of the salty air erases all the tension and confusion from the interminable drive. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and cannot contain a small squeal of excitement.
Austin shakes his head and tromps to the front door. He unlocks it and walks through, and after a short pause on the threshold, foolishly waiting to be escorted or at the very least welcomed inside, I kick my shoes off at the entrance—as I have learned is a polite thing to do when entering someone’s home. Truly, twenty-first century-people have no issues with ankle viewing—and follow in his wake.
The atrium opens up into a long, wide corridor, filled with elegant touches. As I walk, I lift my head to the soaring ceiling and accidently brush against a vase of flowers atop a polished mahogany table. It wobbles, then rights itself again. Up ahead, Austin turns right at the end of the hall, but I choose to take my time, soaking in the energy and sweet scent of the space and marveling at its secrets.
Family photographs line the walls, but it takes me a moment to recognize the boy who brought me here. The frames tell a story of a different Austin, one with close-cropped hair who wore suits and collared shirts. Who won awards—lots of them—and who appeared very close with his family.
There is his father, interchangeably wearing a stern expression in a handful of photos and an inauthentic smile in others, and then an attractive, frail woman I assume is his mother. Her gentle spirit seems to leap out from behind the frame, and I softly touch the glass. And, of course, I recognize Jamie right away. Unlike Austin, she looks almost the same as the girl I left an hour ago, except possibly a few years younger, and appears as smiling and jovial as ever. If I had to guess, the most recent photographs are a glimpse into Austin’s world about three years ago—a time when he clearly had a much different approach to school. And fashion.
But as I stand before the wall of photographs, gaping at the transformation and wondering what could have caused it—along with why the timeline appears to stop three years ago—I notice another difference.
It’s in Austin’s eyes.
Their usual lightness, their playfulness, the sarcasm they naturally exude…it’s all gone. The hints of vulnerability I have seen mere glimpses of are there, only magnified, as well as a palpable anxiety. When the family of four is posed together, Austin is seldom by his father’s side. And when he is—like the one of them in front of a Michaels for State Senate 2008 sign—the tension in his shoulders and jaw is unmistakable.
“Alessandra?”
I jump at the sound of Austin’s voice echoing off the wood surrounding me. Twisting around, feeling guilty for being caught poring over something so personal, I breathe a sigh of relief when I discover I am alone.
“Are you coming or what?”
This time I realize his voice is carrying from down the hall. Leaving the surprising peek into Austin’s past behind me, I dash around the corner and find the boy in question standing in the center of a room filled with luxurious white fabrics and a wall of windows highlighting a spectacular, deep blue ocean view.
It’s all so beautiful…
So open…
I look back at Austin.
So…secluded.
A nervous giggle escapes.
“Th-this is enchanting, Austin,” I say, taking a step toward him. My feet sink into the soft white carpet beneath me, and my toes practically sigh in response. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
“This isn’t a date, Alessandra,” he tells me rather sharply, squelching any benevolent thoughts I may’ve had for him after seeing the family photos. “I don’t do dates. This is a challenge.”
“Of that I am well aware,” I say, forcing a smile. If I were Cat, I would toss back a witty retort, but instead I ask, “And for my first unsheltered test, what am I to do? Ride a bike? Rollerblade?”
Both of these are activities we passed on our drive through the neighborhood and Austin had to explain, adding to his opinion of my sheltered life. Although I’m unsure how I will manage riding a bike in a skirt, I am eager to try.
The corners of Austin’s mouth twitch—my first sign of fore-boding—and then he tilts his chin at the open water beyond. My eyes widen in horror.
Not possible.
He would not dare to take me into the ocean…would he?
My cousin has assured me, repeatedly, that water is safe now, and though I’ve been taught entering a public pool of any kind is equivalent to asking fate to bestow the plague upon you, I accept that things have changed.
But they haven’t changed that much.
As scandalous as this century has proven to be, this is not Sodom and Gomorrah. Surely bathing with a boy who is not your husband is still considered highly inappropriate?
Then a photo flashes in my mind from Jenna’s sweet sixteen albums. It’s the one Lucas found so amusing, a party with a “beach” theme where the guests arrived in bathing suits. Realizing that must be what Austin intends for us to wear in the water—not going in nude—only slightly eases my stress.
The vivid image of the guests displaying so much flesh burns brighter in my memory.
And I’m scandalized at the thought of showing my elbows!
Staring through the window at the endless water, I know I cannot simply back
down from this task. The challenges will stop, and this is what I want. Adventure and excitement. But since bathing suits appear to be a modern social convention, I cling to the possible out with everything that exists within me.
“Sadly, Austin, I am without a swimsuit.” I sigh dramatically. Acting really does become easier with practice. “I thank you for the idea, however, as it does look refreshing. Perhaps another time?”
I offer a sweet smile, knowing that another time will never occur but not sharing that aloud. Austin smiles back. “Not a problem.” He opens a door and steps back, folding his arms. “Dad’s assistant stocks this place with guest suits, in every color and size you can imagine, all complete with the overpriced tags still on.”
He pauses, and even from my distance away, I can see the muscle throbbing in his jaw. Then he blinks, and the look from outside the theater is back in his eyes, daring me to give him another excuse. “So I repeat, not a problem.”
My head begins to throb. Fine, I think, even as ice shoots down my back. I can do this. Inhaling deeply, I briefly close my eyes. Forgive me, Mama.
With a nod and walking tall, I push past him into the room. The door closes behind me. Not even the thick wood can hide the rich tones of Austin’s laugh.
Gritting my teeth, I stand before the small open closet and survey my options. Austin is right—every color of the rainbow is represented, all in various styles, and all of them incredibly tiny. I remember noticing in Jenna’s book that a handful of girls wore one long suit (in lieu of the itty bitty scraps of cloth the others did) and thinking if I were ever forced, at the consequence of death, to clothe myself in such a costume, that would be the style I’d choose. Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, that is not an option today.
I cautiously take down a pink bikini and hold it against me.
Fear and an intense loathing for the man who created this form of clothing churn in my stomach. I cannot wear this in front of Austin. But just when I feel tempted to give up—before even embarking on my first challenge—or give in to a dead faint, Reyna’s words from the tent ring in my ear: You clearly crave adventure, Alessandra. But I have to wonder if you are brave enough to grasp it.
When I emerge from the changing room, cold and drafty, I cannot feel my feet, yet somehow they carry me onto the plush carpet. Austin is leaned against the counter, fingers flying on his phone. I must make a noise because he abruptly lifts his head, instantly causing my suit to feel as though it is shrinking on my body. My nails pierce the flesh of my palms, fighting the urge to cover myself…but then I notice Austin’s slow appraisal.
His eyes skim over my exposed skin, heating it where a moment before it felt numb, and the muscles of his neck work as he swallows. Although he is careful to keep any emotion from his face, his approval radiates from his tense shoulders all the way to the fingers twitching at his sides. The realization emboldens me.
I wanted adventure. I wanted a taste of more, of what confident women like Cat experience every day. And here it is.
I straighten my shoulders and sashay forward, even venturing to add a sway to my hips as I do so. When Austin’s eyes finally widen, I want to do a dance of triumph. Instead, I grin and let myself perform my own assessment. I’ve been so caught up in worry about my clothing that I did not pause to consider what Austin would wear. Now I know…a pair of long shorts molded to the thick muscles of his thighs, and that is all.
His strong, contoured chest is utterly and altogether bare.
I pause midstride.
Austin shirtless is a glorious sight.
My mouth goes dry, and an irrepressible grin springs upon my lips. I force my gaze to meet his, now back to aloof and unbothered, and begin to chide myself for my wanton behavior. But then I remember this is a challenge. And although I am certain the main test lies in the water itself, I am equally sure my behavior now is just as vital.
Recalling the impudent wink and saucy grin he tossed his admirer Friday, I give him the same and repeat the words he asked me. “Like what you see?”
Perhaps my voice shook during the delivery, but I give myself an internal hug at the evident shock my audacious words create. Austin’s mouth opens slightly, and his gaze sharpens as if seeing me for the first time.
But alas, my victory is short-lived. He recovers and moves toward me, closing the distance between us with quick, determined footsteps. He stops so close, I have to look up to meet the predator’s gleam in his eyes. Running a callused fingertip along my collarbone slowly and seductively, his minty breath fans across my lips as he says, “Yep.”
And time goes still.
Oh, Signore in heaven, now what do I do?
If it was not evident before, it is now—I am not meant to flirt. All I can do is stand here, breathing in the smell of his warm skin, with no clue how to react, what to say, or how to fight the extreme need to take at least a dozen steps back to a safe distance.
The silence stretches. Austin watches me, no doubt seeing every insecurity highlighted on my face. He lifts his hand and begins to reach out, and I forget to breathe.
His hand hesitates near my shoulder…and then shoots past it.
And he laughs.
Opening the glass door leading to the patio, he grins and walks out, leaving me alone. Again. Frustrated—and if I am to be perfectly honest, disappointed.
He was teasing me, testing me. And I failed.
But I will not fail again.
With renewed purpose, I march through the door, close it behind me, and gain speed to catch up with Austin’s retreating back. I follow him down the stone path to the private beach and a weird object near the waterline. He turns and gives me a knowing look. “I thought we best start easy—ever been on one of these before?”
Not even knowing what this is, I shake my head.
“Didn’t think so. Alessandra, this is a Jet Ski.”
His condescending tone is not lost on me. Lifting my chin, I walk up to the object, flip my hair like I have seen girls do at the high school, and ask, “And how does it work? What do we do?”
Austin’s eyes flicker down my body again. The late-afternoon sun has warmed the cool January morning air, but my skin prickles under his gaze. He takes a corner of his lower lip between his teeth and then says, “You get on, wrap your arms around me, press your chest against my back, and hold on tight. I take care of the rest.”
The intimate image his words conjure steals my breath.
Picking up some sort of black clothing from the ground, he steps into it. “I’m guessing you never wore one of these before, so Alessandra, this is a wetsuit.” His eyebrows rise as he condescendingly annunciates the word and tugs the slick fabric over his muscular legs.
I try not to stare as he tugs the tight suit over his hips. He first slides one arm inside and then the other, hiding me from the view of his chest. He reaches behind, and I hear the now-familiar sound of a zipper working as the fabric molds to his body.
Austin circles his arms, stretching the fabric, and it isn’t until he stops and smirks that I realize I did not meet my goal of not staring. I shove my hair behind my ear and lean back on my heels.
“Now that you’ve seen how to do it, this is yours.” He bends to pick up a second suit. Every move of his muscles is on display, and after only a slight hesitation, I avert my gaze. “I’m guessing you’re about Jamie’s size,” he adds.
Not trusting my voice to keep secret my inappropriate thoughts, I nod and take the suit from his outstretched hand.
Since I watched every second of Austin tugging on his, this should be easy to put on. But when I step into the first leg hole, my big toe catches on the inside of the material, and I lose my balance. He catches my elbow and saves me from falling face-first into the sand. While his warm grip steadies my feet, the unexpected touch on my bare skin has the exact opposite effect on my knees.
Breathe, Alessandra.
“Thanks,” I choke out, not able to meet his gaze. I make quick, embarrassing work of
wiggling and tugging my wetsuit into place, bending and squatting for the proper fit, just wanting to be covered again. When the arms are in place, I reach around, trying to locate the string of the zipper, and feel Austin’s hand close around mine.
“Here, let me.”
He gathers my hair in his hands and tucks it to the side. My eyes close. The zipper starts its ascent up my back, and I proceed to listen to the pound of my pulse as Austin’s fingers skate across my skin. When the garment is closed, he slides my arms through a sleeveless black vest, then turns my body to him so he can latch it. His hands falter as they hover over my chest. We gaze at each other for a long beat.
Then, clearing his throat, Austin snaps it closed and backs away.
He pushes the red-and-black Jet Ski into the water, past the first few crashing waves, then throws a leg over the side. He turns to me, extending an upturned palm, but as I watch the water pound against his legs, I slowly shake my head and inch away. Forget the confusion of the past few minutes or my concern whether riding wrapped around Austin is appropriate…are Jet Skis even safe? So far, my experience with modern machines has taught me that they travel at terrifying speeds. What if I were to accidently let go and fly off?
Austin’s face gentles, and he curls his fingers, coaxing me closer to the watery death trap. “I’ve got you, Alessandra,” he says. “I promise nothing’s gonna hurt you. You can trust me.”
The sardonic guise he hides behind drops for just a moment, but it is enough.
I say a quick prayer and place my hand in his.
With my legs straddling the seat, my arms wrapped tightly around Austin’s firm stomach, and my chest and face pressed against his back, I do not need the extra layer my wetsuit provides. I am quite warm without it. Under me, the engine rumbles. Austin grabs my clasped hands, ensuring my death grip.
And then we are flying.
Fear is left behind me on the beach. My laughter is swallowed by the wind. And I hold onto Austin. The rest of the world falls away as he powers the machine forward. A whistling sound envelops us, yet there’s also silence in the midst of the roar. Out here, there’s no room for worrisome thoughts about the future or about the past. No time for concerns over when I will return or how much I miss my family. In this bubble of Austin, wind, and water, all I can do is live and breathe and smile.
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