Frayed

by Kim Karr

  She squishes her lips together in displeasure. “No. Just because I date someone doesn’t mean I sleep with him.”

  My blood pressure is boiling. Yeah, I guess I already know that. I look up into the night and stare at the stars, taking deep calming breaths. “I should be going,” I say.

  She grabs my wrist. “Don’t be mad. Don’t go. Isn’t it still early?”

  Her hand slides to my hand, but I don’t grab it. “Yeah, it is but I took tomorrow off and I’m hitting the surf at sunrise.”

  “Really? I’d love to join you.” She takes my hand in hers since I wouldn’t take hers, and electricity jolts me.

  I let my annoyance with the jackass go as best I can and grin at her. “Don’t you have Ivy’s release party?”

  “Yes, but not until later.”

  “Are you sure? You’ll have to get up really early.”

  She nods. “I’m sure. I’ll be there,” she says, standing up and staring at me for the longest time.

  I kiss her on the cheek, letting my lips linger and start for the gate. I turn around. “The main beach at six thirty,” I say. “In the morning,” I clarify.

  “I know that,” she calls before reaching her top step and then disappearing around the corner.

  I stay where I am, buzzing from the high of knowing the walls she’s erected between us are crumbling. She has never agreed to come to Laguna—to come to me. Tomorrow should be a whole lot of fun.

  • • •

  Breathe in. . . . now exhale. Feel it. Enjoy it. Don’t rush it. Prolong the awesomeness for as long as possible because while it’s happening you experience only one thing—pure joy. It becomes an addiction . . . you can’t help wanting to do it over and over again. There’s no greater feeling in the world than being one with her. And in that single moment she becomes everything you want and everything you need rolled together. There’s a weightlessness that exists between us as I move quickly—up and down, hovering over her. I gain speed and it’s thrilling, exhilarating, liberating even. I can feel her everywhere—the salty, tangy taste she leaves in my mouth, the way my feet shift to accommodate her size, her cold spray on my body. I break through her ledge and position myself on her peak. She’s large and hollow and I have to move forcefully to stop from getting caught in her lip, but I do it and just like that—I’m riding the best fucking wave.

  The sun rises on this anniversary of sorts and there’s a haze hanging in the air as I enfold myself inside the wave’s whirl. I look ahead and can’t help thinking that for the first time in a long while I’m focused, I have no doubts, and I know where I’m going. It hasn’t been easy. It’s been a long road. I wince at the memories of how poorly I acted—how badly I handled everything. Blinking my sad thoughts away, I look up as the swell emerges from more than one-hundred-foot depths and watch as the silver-tinted waves of the Pacific roll in at a lightning-fast rate. Then I ride her out like a master. When I know my time is up, I take a full breath, all the way from my stomach to my chest, tilt my head back to open my lungs, and take in more air until it happens—the water cascades all around me and I’m completely submerged. Time stands still while I swim through the blur and toward the light. I reach the surface and blinking, I see the clear day that is beckoning on the horizon.

  Chest to board, I paddle in and watch the shore come alive in the early morning hours. As I scan the beach, my eye catches a reflection of sorts in the sand. I strain to see what it is and that’s when I see her. Cupping the water faster, I pick up speed and hit shallow water. I can’t help grinning at the sight of her. Last night I was pissed as hell at her, but now seeing her—it all just slides away because the sexy, sassy, and funny-as-hell girl that won’t let me call her mine is waiting for me. Waving a hand in the air, I shake the water from my hair and tuck my board under my arm.

  “You made it,” I yell as I emerge from the water.

  “I did,” she says, shading her eyes with her hand.

  “Where’s your board?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t have one.”

  “All right, then—it looks like we’ll be taking turns.”

  My gaze sweeps the length of her and once my body stops humming in desire, I curl my fingers over my mouth to stifle my laughter at what she wore to surf in—a flowered green bikini with gold strings at the neck and hipbones, earrings, and even a necklace. She looks fucking beautiful, like Miss America. She’s even wearing sparkly sandals. And even though today isn’t about winning a beauty pageant, I can’t help approaching the unrivaled winner with a cheerful smirk.

  As I close the distance I feel something shifting between us. It’s in the way she’s looking at me. Her alluring features come clearly into focus—the long strands of her red hair blowing in the wind, her full breasts popping out from beneath her tiny top, the curvy shape of her hips, and fuck me, she has a belly button ring. I try to tame the thudding of my pulse, but it isn’t easy. It’s been hard enough keeping my hands off her, well, semi off her, with her clothes on—this is going to be hell.

  Kicking the sand up beneath my feet, I lift my gaze upward, where I notice the sparkle in her emerald green eyes. A slight sense of pride overtakes me because her eyes are shimmering. I think they might even be dancing with anticipation. It thrills me that she’s here this early to surf and happy about it. Just a few short weeks ago I wasn’t sure what I saw when I looked into her eyes. At first I thought maybe hate, anger, disgust—or possibly a combination of just about every negative emotion. But it was fear and I’ve been taking the time to make it clear that she’s mine. I’ve been doing it subtly, but I will do it.

  When a cool breeze presents itself on the shoreline, I stop on my heels and dig my board into the sand. I move a little closer but know I should keep a healthy distance between us. Although it doesn’t seem to matter how close or far away she is, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her. She bends down to rub some sunscreen on. When she does her breasts spill out farther from her top and I have to suppress a groan. I take a deep breath and sure enough, it’s there—that lemony citrus smell that’s everywhere when she’s around.

  I lean down and reach for the bottle. “Here, let me help you.”

  My guess is she’ll say no, so when she hands me the bottle I’m shocked.

  She stands straight and turns around, lifting her hair as she does. “You can do my back.”

  “I was thinking I’d start with the front,” I say, my voice going deep all on its own.

  I notice her stiffen before she hands me the sunscreen over her shoulder. It’s cool in my hands and I rub my palms together to warm it. My fingers cover her shoulders and the back of her neck. I knead her skin ever so slightly and slide down under the strings in the front a little. She gasps and I’m pretty sure it’s not from the chill of the lotion. Her skin is soft and I notice a few faint freckles I never knew she had on her shoulders—they’re sexy as hell. Her head drops as I rub down her back. When I get midway I caress the skin spilling out from the sides of her tiny top, and again a slight shiver rocks her shoulders. I grin to myself like a Cheshire cat.

  “You’re full of tension. You could use a massage,” I whisper in her ear, moving down her back a little more until my fingertips rest on the fabric of her bottoms. I let them slip inside teasingly and pull them back out.

  She jumps and turns around. “I’m good. That’s enough,” she says, sounding a little flustered.

  I grin and hand her back the bottle. “If you say so. I just didn’t want you to burn.”

  “I won’t,” she says. “It’s not that hot today anyway.”

  As the words leave her lips and I’m just about to tell her the temperature has nothing to do with the strength of the sun’s rays, I notice she’s wearing makeup and I have to try hard to suppress my laughter.

  Squinting, she puts her hands on her hips. “What is so funny?”

  I shake my head. “Nothing.”

  She purses her lips and narrows her eyes.

  I jus
t smile at her and pull her sunglasses from atop her silky soft hair and place them on her face. I let my thumbs linger for a few short seconds and caress her cheek.

  “There, now you don’t have to squint.”

  She touches their sides. “Thank you,” she says, and I can see her nipples protruding in hard nubs.

  I’m not sure if it’s from the water I dripped on her or my touch, but I’m going with the latter. I’ve behaved myself for much longer than I ever thought I could. But I know she wants me and if she won’t admit it, I’m going to have to push her along a little. The old me would already have done that. Hell, the old me would never have allowed a girl to call the shots.

  But I’ve made too many wrong decisions in my life and have too many atonements to make. And she deserves one of them. The fact that she’s even talking to me is enough reason to stick around.

  She smooths one last squirt of sunscreen over her chest and my eyes drop again to her hard nipples beading through the fabric of her bikini top. Fuck, now I’m sure I’m popping out too.

  Averting my eyes in a useless attempt to tame my dick, I have this sudden realization. “Red?” I ask.

  She looks up at me.

  “Have you ever surfed before?”

  She scrunches her brow. “No. But how hard can it be?”

  I try not to choke on my laughter. “Maybe just a little harder than you think.”

  “That’s why I’m here. So you can teach me.”

  “Right,” I say, scratching my head because it’s just that easy.

  She smiles.

  I take a deep breath and rub my hands together. “Okay, let’s do this.”

  “Yeah.” She beams at me and does a slight jump into the air. Her earrings bob and her necklaces jangle as she heads toward the water.

  I love how excited she gets and really hate to disappoint her, but I grab her hand and pull her back. “Whoa, where are you going?”

  She whips her head around. “To surf.”

  “Yeah . . . not quite yet.” I give her a serious look.

  She looks at me, confused. “Okay, what is it?”

  I step toward her and even with the chill in the air, a heat flares between us regardless of what “guidelines” have been set. Today the attraction feels stronger than ever. But now that I have a mission, teach S’belle Wilde how to surf, I have something to take my mind off it—for now. I push forward and answer her question. “You can’t surf with your jewelry on. You have to be able to move without restraint,” I tell her.

  “Oh,” she says, shrugging before circling her hands around her neck. The wind catches in her hair, and the necklaces seem to get caught in it.

  “Look down,” I say.

  She does without question and I carefully untangle the necklaces from her hair and remove them from around her neck. When she raises her head, her eyes lift to meet mine and we stare at each other for a few short moments. My heart is beating wildly and I have to cut my glance sideways to slow its pace. With the necklaces gripped firmly in the palm of my hand, I step closer and pinch my fingers around her earlobe to gently remove the hoop from her ear. “These too.”

  Her breathing quickens, I can see it in the rise and fall of her chest. With almost no space between us, her eyes meet mine again and we speak to each other clearly without words. We seem to be able to communicate best that way, or maybe we are just more honest about our feelings with our silent acknowledgments? I’m not sure. But our relationship began with unspoken words and has moved painfully slowly in the very same manner.

  The sun beats down, but that’s not where the heat I feel is coming from. When the rays become even brighter as the morning clouds burn away, I blink rapidly at the sudden abundance of light shining on us. The magnetism between us is undeniable and I have to remind myself of what I am doing. Glancing down, my eyes hit my board. Yes, right, getting her ready for our surf lesson. Shifting my gaze, I catch the sparkle in the sand and grin before saying, “One last thing.”

  She watches as I drop to my knees. I let my fingertips trail down her legs on the way and notice the deep breath she draws in. I motion for her to lift her foot and set it on my leg. When she does she braces her hand on my shoulder and her touch sears me, makes me ache for her. I try to catch her gaze, but my eyes dart to the gleam in her belly button. The ring pierced inside it is a four-leaf clover fabricated with gold and green emeralds.

  Glancing up, I ask, “Are you Irish?”

  “A little. My grandfather was Irish.”

  “Is that the significance of this?” I point to the clover.

  She stiffens. “No, it’s not.”

  My eyes are pulled back to it. I want nothing more than to run my tongue around it: it takes every ounce of control I have not to. I have to keep reminding myself I’m supposed to be teaching her how to surf. Focusing on the task at hand, I glide my fingers across the top of her foot as I slowly unbuckle the sandal strap. Her leg quivers slightly from the contact. I run my palms up the back of her calf. Her skin is soft and smooth and feels so good. I grip her calf tightly as I raise her leg slightly and slowly remove her sandal. Brushing some of the sand off her perfectly painted toes, I drop my knee to the ground and to steady herself she rests her other hand on my bare shoulder. Her body cages my head. With her stomach so close to my mouth, I let my lips skim the ornament. Nothing that seems obnoxious, just enough to let her know that I want her.

  Her whole body trembles and she quickly stands up straight. “I can do the other one.”

  “No, please let me,” I insist with a devilish grin.

  Once I’ve repeated the process, I can only hope that it turned her on as much as it turned me on. With my heart pounding and my pulse racing, I stand up and take a deep breath. Letting it out, I let my eyes rove over her one more time—she’s so fucking sexy. When they land on her face, I pause and allow our eyes to lock. Then I force myself to shake away the thoughts of what I want to do to her and instead lift the large bag she’s got draped over her shoulder and dump everything I’m holding in it. “There, now you’re almost ready. Just tie your hair back so it doesn’t catch in the wind.”

  While she fumbles through her bag, I take a moment to pull myself together. When I agreed to this friends thing, I knew I was agreeing to take it slow, but it feels like utter torture with her standing in front of me practically naked and I can’t help blurring the lines a little. In the past if a girl I was interested in had ever thrown out the friend word, I would have deleted her number from my phone. But there’s just something about S’belle . . .

  She lifts her arms and pulls her hair up off her shoulders. She smiles at me as I watch her. Yeah, there’s something about her. Everything about her is sexy as hell—the way she moves, the faces she makes when she’s concentrating on something, even the way she stands.

  “Ready,” she says with a small bounce.

  Does she have any idea what that does to me? I scan her body again as I pick my board up, and this time I notice the hint of a scar peeking out from her bathing suit bottoms.

  I point to it. “What happened?”

  She glances down and quickly adjusts her bottoms.

  She blows some stray pieces of hair out of her eyes. “Are we going to start this lesson today or what?”

  I laugh and toss my board to the ground. I sit on it and pat the empty space beside me.

  She stares at me.

  “Sit down.”

  She does but makes sure our bodies don’t touch.

  I smirk over at her. “Let’s go over the guidelines.”

  She blinks at me without speaking.

  “The guidelines of surfing.”

  “Surfing has guidelines?”

  “More like generalities, things you should know. But I’ll call them guidelines.”

  She rolls her eyes.

  I grin and raise a finger. “Number one, the instructor must always be respected.”

  She laughs and shoves my shoulder. Again her skin against mine feels
anything but wrong.

  I raise an eyebrow.

  “Go on, I’m listening,” she says.

  “First, do you know what a rip current is?”

  She shakes her head.

  Five minutes into my guidelines, it’s apparent she has no knowledge whatsoever about surfing and there’s no way I’m letting her go out there on a board today. When she asked to come surfing, I assumed she knew how—but she doesn’t even know how to stand on a board or which end is which.

  We need to start with the basics. I find a stick to draw in the sand. She pays attention and her eagerness to attempt surfing does nothing but fuel the fire between us. I point out to the water. “She’s in charge out there. You have to respect her. Know what you can handle and what you can’t. No two waves are ever the same.”

  An hour of Surfing 101 later, we both need a break. She takes a sip from the water bottle I hand to her, and some spills from her mouth down to her chest. Immediately I have a vision of licking the drips up for her. When she bends over toward her giant purse, I follow the lines of her body and notice the sand sticking everywhere and think I should wipe it off for her. But she stands with a cup of grapes in her hand before I get close enough.

  I bite down on my lower lip instead. “Do you have a picnic lunch in there too? Because if not we need to take a break and eat.”

  She pops a grape in her mouth. “No.” She laughs. “I stopped and grabbed these with my coffee this morning, but I think I should have picked up some sandwiches too. I didn’t know it was going to take this long to learn to surf.” She blows some hair out of her eyes.

  I can’t help laughing at her. “I’m only kidding.”

  She extends her hand, offering me the cup. “Want some?”

  I flash her a boyish grin. “Yes, I want some.” I move closer and tuck that same strand of hair back behind her ear before curling my hand around hers and pinching a grape from the container.

  Our faces are so close that it’s hard to tell whose breathing is louder. But I’m sure it’s mine when she lowers herself to the ground and brushes against me before she takes a seat. She wipes her face and drinks thirstily from the bottle.