Chapter 7
Chastity
The sudden jarringmotion of the kayak is as shocking as these people’s determination to make both me and Hank uncomfortable.
I’m constantly stunned at the mean-spirited nature of some people.
But nothing is as stunning as the moment my body falls into the cold water.
I would scream, but I can’t because I’m partially submerged and all the wind has been knocked out of my lungs. I kick to the surface and break, sputtering and shoving my hair back. The life vest kept me from sinking, so I’m bobbing and kicking and trying to recover.
There is pandemonium from the other kayakers. Lots of yelling and paddles thrusting outward, and Janie’s commands for calm.
Hank isn’t visible, and as I grab onto the side of the kayak, I’m starting to feel alarmed. Did he put his life vest on? I don’t think he actually did. He tipped the kayak on purpose, that was obvious. To what purpose, I’m not exactly sure, but a little warning would have gone a long way. Goosebumps appear all over my flesh, and I’m shivering.
Then Hank is between my legs, and I’m launched up into the air, screaming. He has me on his shoulders, arms wrapped around my legs.
“What the hell?” I blurt out, frantically trying to steady myself.
He must have swam underneath the kayak to reach me.
I almost topple over, but I grab his head and hold on by his hair.
When we were kids, all of us used to square off two and two like this. The goal was to knock the other person off their partner’s shoulders. Once I reached middle school age, my parents forbade me to participate, not liking that my legs were wrapped around a boy’s head. Of course, that meant that at every pool party in high school (all of which my parents were unaware of), I had wanted to play this game.
Because I’m just over five feet and was a cheerleader, I had all kinds of tumbling and balancing experience as a kid. I loved to be on the top of the stunts until I got too muscular and big-chested and became a base instead. I had liked being up in the air, the freedom of that feeling, and trying to outlast an opponent.
The day before we’d hooked up, I had actually been partnered up with Hank, and we had taken out couple after couple. We were a chicken-fight power team. But that was then.
Now, I’m just up in the air, freezing my tits off, while the other kayakers stare at us in astonishment.
“Is the view better up there?” Hank asks.
“Absolutely,” I say, because it is, even if he’s insane and I’m on the verge of hypothermia. I can see deep into the swamp. Which makes me slightly concerned there might be alligators around, but I reassure myself they wouldn’t have kayaking tours here if there were.
Once I relax a little, I ease my death grip on his hair, which I’m just about tearing out at the roots. I also release the tension on my thighs, which have him in a chokehold. “I’ve always wanted to be tall.”
“You’re perfect the way you are.”
I’m guessing he’s complimenting me for the benefit of the group, who seem to have inspired protectiveness in him. Did their petty little digs bother me? Not really. It’s more annoying to me than anything else. When I was younger, it would have sat on me for days, but now I’m too busy and generally happy with my life to worry about malicious gossip. Besides, they had come for both of us. They were unilaterally rude, which makes me feel better.
But I wouldn’t mind ditching this little group who seem to have written the book on passive-aggressive digs at strangers.
“Did he call me an asshole?” Otis mutters, as if it just sunk in that he’s been called out.
“I think so,” Red says.
Hank’s arms are wrapped around my calves, and I’m impressed he’s able to balance us both. But then I realize his feet actually can reach the bottom. He walks us to the water’s edge and sets me down.
“We’re going to head on back,” he tells the group. “Since we accidentally got wet.”
Everyone is too astonished to say anything. Janie makes some noise about the kayak, but Hank is already righting it and vaulting himself into it.
“Come on,” he says, paddling over to me. “Give me your hand.”
I wade out a few feet and get in the kayak with very little grace. I basically tip myself over into it.
Hank hands me his sweatshirt. “Put this on, sweetheart.”
I do so without hesitation. It’s warm from the sun and smells like Hank’s cologne. It envelops me in cotton, and I flip the hood up and pull the drawstrings tight. It’s almost eighty degrees outside, but the water was cold. Hank doesn’t seem to look bothered by it. He doesn’t even have goosebumps.
“You two be careful getting back,” Corky says, and she sounds genuinely concerned, which seems a little ironic.
We’re only a five-minute paddle from the launchpad. “We’ll be fine,” Hank says with a wave.
He paddles us with hard strokes that give me the impression he’s angry.
“Those people suck,” he says harshly, confirming he is not happy.
“You probably shouldn’t call people assholes when you’re about to open a restaurant in town.” I’m worried that these people know people who know everyone, and then suddenly Hank is blackballed.
“I don’t give a shit,” Hank says. “I don’t want that prick eating my food anyway. If he wants to say stuff about the stupid crap I did when I was a teenager, fine. But he crossed the line with that last comment.”
He’s seething.
I’m melting inside. He can be a really sweet man. “Thank you for standing up for me,” I say. “I appreciate it.”
“Why didn’t you tell him to fuck off?” he asks, glancing at me over his shoulder.
“Because it doesn’t matter. You can’t change anyone’s opinion. I learned that a long time ago.”
“But you can teach them a lesson,” he says. “And it”s called mind their own damn business.”
Only Nevaeh and Miss Loretta have ever really stood up for me before. It makes me feel things I have no right to feel for Hank. “What is my dating lesson out of all of this?”
He lets out an exasperated laugh. “Fly solo for the first few dates. Having other people around takes all the fun out of it when you’re just trying to get to know each other.”
He means hypothetically, of course. Yet I can’t help but be curious about the man Hank has become. I think maybe he shows only what he wants to show, but there’s a lot more going on under the surface than he’s given credit for. I don’t think he uses humor to deflect. I think he’s genuinely easygoing, but there’s more there as well.
We reach the shore, and he hops out and holds his hand out for me.
“So you flashed a bachelorette party?” I ask. “Did they throw beads at you?”
“No, they threw themselves at me,” he says with a grin.
It’s funny. I should laugh.
But now, I’m wondering if he had sex with one of them, and the fact that I’m thinking about it and feeling envious of whatever happened is just absurd. “I can’t say I blame them.” I try to sound light and friendly without being flirty.
It doesn’t sound light at all. It sounds husky and needy.
His eyes narrow, and he reaches out and wipes an errant drop of water off of my forehead.
“Let’s get you out of those wet clothes,” Hank says.
“Your place?” It just flies out of my mouth. I don’t mean it to be suggestive. I’m just asking because Josiah is at home, and I don’t really want Hank meeting him right now, without me prepping Josiah that Hank is just a friend. But of course, the words are a classic cheesy line. Come to think of it, so were his.
He laughs softly. “Don’t say it like that, Chastity.”
“Sorry,” I whisper. “I’m not trying to torture you. I just meant, well, can we go to your place? Nevaeh and Josiah are at my house right now, and that feels complicated.”
He nods. “Sure. You can borrow some clothes. Sorry about the dunk. I should have just said we were bailing on the tour.”
“It’s okay. It was quite a splash,” I say, shooting him a grin. “See what I did there?”
“Nice. Dads everywhere approve that pun.”
“I can’t remember the last time I was just…silly.”
“There’s more where that came from,” he says as he opens the truck door for me. “Did you hear those stories about me? I’m a total idiot.”
There’s something about the way Hank jokes about his choices that makes me feel like he and I aren’t so different after all. I pause before climbing into the truck. I study him. “Maybe you’re misunderstood.”
“I guarantee I’m misunderstood. And so are you.” He keeps his hand on the door handle and makes no move to walk away. “People want to see us in the simplest of terms. But humans are more complex creatures than that.” His gaze drops to my lips. “Complex creatures with simple needs.”
Before I can ask him what he means by that, he walks away, heading around the front of the truck. We both climb in.
I check my bag for my phone, needing reassurance it’s still there like I remember. “You’re lucky I didn’t take my phone with us, though. You might have seen a whole different side of me then.”
He grimaces. “I didn’t even think about that. Damn. I’m glad you left it behind.”
In ten minutes, which isn’t soon enough given my wet shorts, we’re at his apartment. I’ve been in his space before, in New Orleans, and this apartment is similar in that he isn’t a minimalist, nor is he cluttered. He has books and art and worn leather furniture that makes it feel very homey. Everything looks collected over time, with new furniture and vintage pieces mixed together. My own house is an ode to garbage picking and thrift store shopping. Nothing I have was bought new, and none of it means anything to me. It serves a function, nothing more.
“Do you want to take a shower?” he asks as he kicks his shoes off by the front door. I do the same.
I would love a hot shower. My skin still feels cool and damp. “You don’t mind?”
“No, it’s the least I can do. Besides, you smell like the swamp.”
I smack his arm. “Whose fault is that?”
“Guess I didn’t think that one through either. Surprise, surprise.” He walks across the cozy living room. “Bathroom is here. There are clean towels under the sink. Let me get you something to wear.”
“Thanks.” I step into the bathroom and peel his sweatshirt off to hand back to him.
I’m trying to be polite, but he makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. His gaze is pinned to my chest. I glance down and realize my nipples are standing at attention beneath the damp nylon of the too-small bikini top. I quickly shift the sweatshirt over them.
“Sorry.”
“I’m not.”
That makes me give a soft laugh. It’s such a Hank response.
He bends over and retrieves a towel for me. He sets it on the sink countertop. “The water takes a minute to heat up.”
“Okay, thanks.”
He’s not leaving. I wait. I watch him.
He’s just standing there in his swim trunks and T-shirt.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Torturing myself.”
And me. I really, really just want to invite him to join me in the shower. “Go. I’ll only be five minutes.”
Hank makes a face. “This sucks.”
He sounds so grumpy that I’m both amused and feel bad for him. “I think you’ll be okay,” I tell him. “For the most part.”
“You don’t know that.” But he leaves the bathroom, softly pulling the door closed behind him.
Relieved, I turn the water on so it can heat up. Then I peel off my shorts and my bikini. I’m going to have to invest in a new suit next summer if I don’t want to be spilling out at every water park and pool party. I’m already younger than the moms of Josiah’s friends, and sometimes I get the impression they think I’m a threat. Like I might try to steal their husbands, which can’t be further from the truth.
I don’t want some other woman’s husband.
I want my own man.
Sticking a hand under the spray, I test the temperature. It’s perfect. Stepping inside, I briefly close my eyes as I tip my head back under the stream.
When I open my eyes, I scream at the top of my lungs.
There’s a massive cockroach on the wall, inches from me.
The bathroom door flies open. “What? What’s wrong?”
Hank yanks back the shower curtain.
I’m caught between a rock and a hard place. A creepy insect or a hot, hard man I cannot have.
It’s not even a fair fight. Hank wins without even trying, because while I can tolerate blood and any and all medical wounds, I cannot handle bugs.
Without ceremony, I lunge straight toward Hank.