Chapter 7
This could end badly, I decide, dangling from the trellis like one of the wild roses.
Dinner at the country club took forever. Everyone there came over to our table at some point. I would have expired from boredom if not for Kit cracking jokes the whole time or Lili talking about her upcoming trip to London for a friend’s wedding.
We only got back to the house an hour ago. I think my parents are asleep, but I wasn’t willing to risk running into one or both of them. Sneaking out my window again seemed like the only option.
I swear under my breath as the painted wood creaks. I’m halfway to the ground. A fall from this height wouldn’t kill me, but it could do some damage. Equally concerning, I’d probably bring the trellis down with me, wake up the whole house, and wind up grounded for the rest of high school.
Thirty stressful seconds later, my foot connects with solid ground. I release a long, relieved breath.
“What are you doing?”
I whirl, hand pressed against my pounding heart, as if I can physically slow the rate. “Shit, you scared me,” I say, a nervous giggle slipping out.
Rory doesn’t appear amused. She crosses her arms across her chest. “That didn’t answer my question.”
“Snack run?”
My sister shakes her head. “The kitchen is fully stocked.”
“What are you doing?” I attempt offense as a defensive strategy.
Amusement flickers across her face. “You think you’re the only one allowed to stay up late or keep secrets?” Her gaze drops, surveying my outfit. “You’re going to meet Marina Guy?”
I gape at her. “How did you know?”
Rory rolls her eyes. “I saw you talking to him before we went out on Hanson’s boat. On the beach last night. And I’m assuming he was at the party you snuck out to?”
“Maybe,” I admit, impressed by her deductive skills.
Rory’s brilliant, but I didn’t think my summer fling would rate on her radar.
“You’re meeting him alone?”
“I trust him,” I say simply. Trusted him before he waited three hours to have a conversation he clearly didn’t want to have, but even more so now.
“He’s nothing like …” I hate saying his name, but that’s not why I hesitate.
I pause because I’m struck by a different word that fits better.
“Anyone. He’s nothing like anyone I’ve ever met. ”
“It won’t end well, Wren,” Rory warns.
I wave her caution away. “It’ll end after tonight. We’re leaving tomorrow.”
My sister sighs and heads for the front door. “Mom changed the alarm code,” she calls over one shoulder. “It’s Dad’s birthday now.”
“You’re my favorite sister!” I say, then skip to my waiting car.
I parked it as far down the driveway as possible earlier, and I remember to turn off my lights before rolling through the open gate. I’d make an awesome spy.
I slept during the last trip to the marina, so I start the GPS after flicking on the headlights. I’m relieved to see the arrival time estimated at 11:52, then wince at my own eagerness. If I hadn’t run into Rory, I’d have been even earlier.
I feel a little better when I see the truck parked in the marina’s lot.
I doubt anyone else is hanging around at this hour.
Also, it’s exactly what I picture Sawyer driving.
Sturdy and practical and a little rough around the edges.
The bumper’s a lighter shade of blue than the navy paint, like it was replaced more recently, but it’s otherwise in decent condition. No dings or rust marks.
I park one spot over from the truck, then glance left. Sawyer is slouched in the driver’s seat, ball cap pulled low and fingers drumming on the steering wheel.
I climb out of my car, waiting for him to do the same.
He doesn’t. Sawyer glances at me, the closer corner of his mouth curving up. I still have yet to see a full smile from him, but his little smirks give me heart palpitations, so that’s better for my cardiac health.
“You’re early,” he comments.
“So are you,” I retort, resting my elbows on his open window.
Sawyer straightens, turning the key in the ignition. His truck rumbles to life, the engine’s vibration sending reverberations up my arms. “Get in.”
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
“Why don’t we take my car?”
“Because you don’t know where we’re going.”
I consider that, then open the door.
“Finally,” Sawyer mutters.
I ignore his impatience, focused on surveying the interior of the truck. The leather seat is worn, duct-taped in a couple of spots, and there’s sand in the footwell. But it’s pretty clean overall. No trash or smelly sneakers.
I hoist myself up, shut the door, snap on the seat belt, and glance at Sawyer expectantly.
His jaw’s a perfectly straight line as he studies me, settled in the passenger seat.
“I’ve never ridden in a truck before,” I tell him.
“Why does that not surprise me?”
I roll my eyes. “For that comment, I’m not going to compliment your choice of vehicle.”
“The limo is getting serviced,” Sawyer mutters as he reverses out of the spot.
The window’s still rolled down, so I stick a hand out, letting the wind sift through my fingers as he turns onto the main road and accelerates. A minute later, we fly past the country club where I ate dinner earlier.
The cab has a bench seat. The lack of separation makes the front section feel larger.
I shift my knee a little to the left, closer to the gearshift, getting more comfortable. “I like your truck,” I tell him.
Sawyer glances over, only one hand on the wheel. Still, I feel safe.
Maybe because the road is otherwise empty. Maybe because this truck seems so solid, one step removed from a tank. Maybe because of … him.
He scans my face like he’s looking for a lie, and I squash the urge to squirm. Funny, since I didn’t flinch when I actually lied to him.
“What do you like about it?”
I slip one foot out of a sandal and slide it under me. Rest an arm on the window and recline against it. “It’s … spacious.”
Sawyer snorts, refocusing on the road. “Subtle.”
Warmth floods my cheeks. “That wasn’t what I meant.”
I assumed we’d hook up tonight. The expectation is there, and my lingerie was carefully chosen, assuming he’d see it. I’m as prepared as possible. But I’m not the experienced seductress I pretend to be, and I’m worried Sawyer is going to realize that. He already has suspicions.
He takes a left, turning the truck off the asphalt street we were on and rolling along a gravel road instead.
I peer through the windshield, looking for any clues about our destination. Waiting for some flicker of apprehension to appear when there are no signs of civilization ahead.
I never thought Third was capable of what he did.
But there were moments I felt uneasy around him.
I’m not sure what to make of the fact that nothing Sawyer does incites fear in me.
That my instincts are screaming stay when, rationally, they should be telling me to run from any scenario involving being alone with a stranger in an unfamiliar place.
The road curves. Sawyer brakes for the bend, then even more once we’re around it. Headlights sweep across an open stretch of sand, water lapping the shoreline a dozen feet from where he stops.
“What is this place?” I ask.
“Somewhere I like to come sometimes.”
Metal creaks as Sawyer opens his door. He shucks his shirt, tossing it on the seat, then walks toward the water.
I’m not wearing a bikini. I spent the past hour styling my hair and applying a careful layer of makeup to make it seem like I was wearing none.
But I know, watching Sawyer wade in, I’ll be swimming tonight.