Chapter 16 #2
“You’re thinking of Salt Lake City.” He’s enjoying this way too much.
I cross my arms. “OK, fine, I’ve never been to Denver. It’s a flyover city, anyway.”
“Liar,” he huffs, but he’s grinning at me like he’s charmed rather than disgusted, so I guess it’s OK.
We pull into a parking lot along the beach. This time of afternoon, it’s crowded, but not so bad that we can’t find a spot. I hop out of the car, inhaling the salty ocean air.
“I can’t believe I don’t smell like a fish,” I grumble, annoyed. It doesn’t make sense. I should at least smell like a shark or something.
Duncan must have exceptional hearing, because I spot him watching me over the hood of the Mercedes, one eyebrow raised. “Are you disappointed?”
“I mean, kinda. I thought maybe I’d be different somehow.
” A breeze bites through the hole in my sleeve.
I wrap my arms around myself and look out over the horizon.
Miles of sand lie between us and the water, but I’m still wary, half-afraid that too much exposure to the humid ocean air might make me shift.
Even if shifters weren’t banned from Halea, transforming in public is probably frowned upon.
Then I remember that merfolk are endangered, and I wonder if anyone might actually hunt me down, hurt me, sell me for parts.
My mood sours.
“You smell sick again.”
“I’m just having a bad day,” I insist.
“If you say so.”
“Can you smell everyone’s emotions?” I say, maybe a little too demanding. I instantly want to backpedal, but he doesn’t look offended.
“Sometimes,” he says. “Especially if they’re close by.”
I guess that makes sense. I nod and continue stomping through the sand. “So what do you mean when you say I smell sick?”
He shrugs. “I guess you smell kind of, I don’t know, just different. Maybe a little more, um, acrid?” He winces when he says it.
I try not to be offended. This is scientific, I remind myself. I’m gathering data. If I’m going to hang out with him (and I kind of have to, he’s the only other shifter I know), then I should know what he can and can’t sense. “OK, but I don’t like, smell like shit or B.O. or anything, right?”
“Um, no?” His nose wrinkles. “Why would you think that?”
“No reason,” I say. “Actually, I do still have a headache.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Still?”
I point at him, accusatory. “You still have stitches in your neck.”
“Oh.” His hand flies to the bandage at his throat. “You mean… Right. That makes sense.” He squints against the waning sunlight. “You got yours out.”
I gesture to my temple, where a red scar disappears into my hairline. “They fell out.”
Sand squishes beneath our feet. A few people cast odd glances at me, probably confused by my rain boots. In his sneakers, Duncan is no more prepared. But it’s way too cold to walk around in swim trunks and flip-flops like some of our fellow beachgoers.
“Thanks for keeping me company,” I say. “And for driving.”
We’re nowhere near the water yet, but I slow my pace, suddenly nervous.
“No problem,” he says, but he sounds strangely hesitant. When I turn to look at him, worried I’ve done something wrong, he blurts, “Why did you ask me?” At my startled expression, he clarifies, “Instead of Jane.”
“Oh,” I say, and let out a little laugh. “I think I’ve stressed her out enough this week.” I don’t want to admit that I feel pulled to him, that I just can’t stay away. Because that sounds crazy, and after talking to Jeremy, I never, ever want to give someone the chance to call me crazy again.
“Isn’t she your girlfriend, though?”
I blink. “No. We’re just friends.”
His brows raise. “You’re together all the time.”
I glance around. I’m pretty sure I know what he’s angling for. We’re in public, and Duncan is relatively nonthreatening. I decide it’s fine to just say it out loud. “Yeah, but I usually date men.”
He does a good job keeping it together, but his eyes widen a fraction. “I didn’t know that.”
I kick sand at him in a way that I hope comes across as playful and not aggressive. “Probably because I didn’t tell you.”
This information must have broken him, because he’s silent a long moment.
Long enough that I’m starting to worry that maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.
(Look, he would’ve figured it out eventually if we kept hanging out.
Better to learn sooner rather than later if he’s a bigot.) “So what’s your boyfriend like? ” he asks eventually.
I snort. There’s a painful spike in my heart. I ignore it. “I don’t have one right now.”
“Any contenders?”
I want to tell him he’s being really, really obvious, but I don’t want to assume his motives. I get the impression he’s not totally straight, but I’ve been wrong before, and he’s obnoxiously unassuming. Maybe he just wants to set me up with a friend. “Nope. You?”
From the way his eyebrows bounce, I know that he had a split second where he thought I was suggesting he was a contender. If the burning in his cheeks is anything to go by, he realizes quickly enough what I mean. “I am definitely single right now.”
The last time we trudged through the sand together, we were nearly naked, and he leaned heavily against me. Now, he’s keeping a respectful distance, and I’m almost disappointed.
It’s just because I’m cold, I tell myself. Not because I want him attached to my side like a barnacle.
With every step, I sink deeper into the sand. Water pools in my footprints. The tide creeps nearer. I inch closer to Duncan. If he’s bothered by this, he gives no indication; he’s stalwart as a ship’s mast, or maybe just oblivious.
For some reason, that’s kind of hot. It probably shouldn’t be.
We reach the edge of the sea. Foam sloshes over my rain boots. I shudder, brace myself. “You won’t let me wash away, right?”
Duncan closes the gap between us. Our shoulders brush, and I definitely don’t shiver at the sensation. “Of course not.”
I don’t waste any time examining why this makes me feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside, and I step into the sea.
The water races away, then returns. Bits of sand and shell stick to my shoe.
I take a loud, noisy breath. More accurately, it would be called a wheeze, but I don’t feel like being honest with myself today.
Even through the rubber of my boots, I can feel how cold the water is. The air smells of the ocean, which is just a polite way of saying that the entire beach stinks like a dead fish. It would be hypocritical to call it unpleasant, but it’s not the nicest smell in the world, either.
With the toe of my boot, I push some sand into a clump, watch as the water smooths it out. There are tiny, colorful shells hidden in the sand. I stoop to look at them, and they vanish. Did they burrow deeper? Or did the water carry them away?
While I make a fool of myself staring into the sand, Duncan stands sentry, ready to intervene should a large wave happen upon us. His presence puts me at ease, even if my entire face hurts from crying, and I still feel the ache of Jeremy in my chest.
We traverse the beach. Occasionally, I crouch to examine a rock or a bit of seaweed, and Duncan waits patiently. He’s not exactly chatty, but I don’t want chatty right now. The silence is easy, companionable.
Some of the tension in my chest fades.
People and dogs pass us by. Someone makes a joke about my rain boots that makes Duncan glare dangerously. A tiny dog that reminds me of Bruce struts by with an oversized frisbee in his mouth, and I am abruptly homesick.
Bruce hates water. Bruce would hate the beach.
I wish he was here with me, anyway, snarling at unsuspecting ankles and splashing through the waves.
God, he’d hate Duncan. It would be so fucking adorable.
We pass a piece of driftwood. More accurately, it’s a tree trunk, but it’s worn smooth with time. Duncan sits and I join him.
Eventually, the silence goes on too long and I get fidgety. “Thanks,” I say finally. “For coming with me. It’s been a shitty day, but this was nice.”
The sun is starting to set, just a wispy hint of pink in a blue sky. Dark waves glitter below.
“Yeah? What happened?”
I squirm. I probably shouldn’t talk about it. I shouldn’t open up to strangers. Duncan’s going to judge me.
On the other hand, I’ll take any opportunity I can to throw Jeremy under the bus. “Ex-boyfriend called to tell me he’s getting engaged to the guy he cheated on me with,” I grumble, hoping I sound angry instead of on the verge of tears. If I cry again today, my eyeballs are going to fall out.
Duncan’s jaw drops. “What the fuck?” he exclaims. It’s almost a growl.
I kinda dig it. The pain is almost worth it when Duncan looks like that, stunned and angry on my behalf.
“How long were you together? Did he call you just to tell you that?” he demands. I don’t miss the way his nostrils flare, the sharp downturn of his lips, the faintest hint of too-sharp incisors.
I shrug. “A little over two years. And yeah. He said he didn’t want to me to find out through social media.” I shrug again, because I’ve started and now I can’t stop. “He just wanted to gloat.”
“What a dickhead,” says Duncan with surprising vigor.
I shrug again. My shoulder is definitely glitching out.
“No wonder you smell sick,” he muses, and that gets my attention. I should probably be uncomfortable that he can walk past me and know how I’m feeling, maybe even what I’m thinking.
But it’s kind of reassuring. In time, it will probably come to annoy me, but right now, I feel kinda special. Even if he does this to everyone, he’s still choosing to pay attention to me, and it’s… nice.
Fuck.
“Listen,” he says. “I hope this isn’t weird, but do you wanna get something to eat? Or drink? Not like a date or anything, but you….” He frowns, like the words are coming out all wrong. “You look like you could use a break.”