Chapter 11 Wyatt #2
Somehow, they manage to turn everything into a sex joke or double entendre. Annaliese and Blake just laugh it off. Kudos to them for being able to do that. I grew up around hockey players and have heard every type of locker room talk imaginable, but this Clay guy is starting to grate on me.
“So, like, she says she can’t come from penetration. Fine, whatever. But guess what, babe? There ain’t always time to go down on you for forty fucking minutes before we go to pound town.”
My fingers tighten around my beer.
“Dude, if your dick can’t make her come? Like that huge hog? There’s no hope for the rest of us.”
“Yours isn’t that bad,” Clay graciously tells Preston. “It’s above the national average.”
Why do these dudes know so much about each other’s dicks? It’s weird.
“But yeah, I’ve got a winning hog.” Clay snorts. “Liese can vouch for that.”
Annaliese gives him a shove, which has him jostling Blake mid-sip, spilling pinkish-orange slush on her chest.
She mops up her collarbone with the corner of her towel, then stands. “Does anyone want a refill of LMD?” It’s what she’s been calling the cocktail, which looks more like a slushie than an actual drink.
“Hey, freckles,” I call toward her. “Maybe go easy on the LMD?”
“Don’t,” she warns.
“Just saying. I’m the responsible adult here and—”
“You are not the adult, and you’re the furthest thing from responsible. Aren’t you the one who led the charge on the boathouse roof jumping contest last summer?”
“Wait, you guys can jump off that thing?” Preston shifts his gaze to the boathouse.
I nod absently. “Yeah. You don’t even need a running start.”
“New fun level unlocked,” Kuri says happily.
Even Annaliese brightens. “Oh, right! Eddie was telling me about that. He and the Golden Boys were trying to see who could jump closest to the swim platform.”
“Hundred bucks says it’s me,” Clay declares, shooting to his feet.
The others follow suit, but Annaliese hesitates then, glancing toward me. “You sure it’s cool?” she asks. At least someone is recognizing my authority here.
I sit up and scrutinize the group to gauge their level of intoxication. But I’ve only seen the guys consume one beer each, and Annaliese and Blake have barely finished their first round of Blake’s slushy monstrosity.
“Yeah, it’s fine,” I say, and the four of them waste no time sprinting off the dock toward the boathouse.
Blake lingers, distracting me for a moment when she starts undoing her braid. At first, I think it’s for my benefit, until I realize she’s just rebraiding it to make it tighter.
“So let me get this straight,” she says. “You’ll let us jump off the boathouse, but you won’t let me have a second cup of Logan Mouth Delight?”
“Jesus, is that what LMD stands for? Also, it’s not a real drink.”
“It’s a Logan original.”
“It has a dumb name.”
“I’ll pass your feedback along to my dad,” she says sweetly.
She flips the braid so it hangs down her back, and I notice she hasn’t completely wiped the drink that spilled on her.
A pink rivulet has joined forces with a bead of sweat to roll off her collarbone, lazily travelling down before disappearing into the floral-print triangle covering her left breast. I have a vision of pulling her toward me, licking that sticky pink line until I reach her tit, pushing the bathing suit aside, and—
“Wyatt.”
I jolt out of it. Shit. It’s the weed. Weed makes some people lethargic, but it has the opposite effect on me. I get horny when I’m stoned.
“Are you doing the boathouse jump with us?”
“What do you mean us?” I say with a snort. “We both know you’re not making that jump.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Logan. Have you forgotten I’ve known you your entire life? You can’t even step onto a second-floor balcony without panicking.”
It’s no secret that Blake inherited her mother’s fear of heights. She and Aunt Grace were the ones holding everyone’s purses and packs whenever we went to theme parks as kids. One time, I suggested Grace ride a roller coaster with me, and she asked if I was on drugs.
“It’s not that high,” Blake objects, but her wary blue eyes shift toward the boathouse. Her friends are already on the roof, surveying the water below.
“Logan!” Annaliese shouts. “Come on!”
Fortitude hardens Blake’s expression as she refocuses it on me. “Stop getting in my head,” she chides.
“I didn’t get in your head. I simply reminded you of your phobia.”
“It’s not a phobia. And I go up on that roof all the time. It doesn’t count as a height.”
“I’ve never seen you get within six feet of the edge.”
“I stand at the edge all the time.”
I lift a brow. “Really?”
“Well, near the edge,” she amends. “Ugh. Oh my God. Whatever. Get out of my head!”
With an outraged noise, she shoves her feet into her flip-flops and stalks off.
I watch in amusement as she ascends the wooden staircase on the side of the boathouse to join her new friends.
Then I get distracted by the way the sun gleams off her hair.
The light brown appears almost blond in this light.
Blake approaches the edge of the roof. Her steps are extra careful, as if she’s afraid she might forget how to walk and accidentally topple off the boathouse.
I don’t mean to laugh, but a chuckle slips out.
It’s impossible for her to have heard it from this far away, yet her head swivels my way.
I don’t miss the flash of misery on her face before she glares at me.
I take another sip of beer and give her a little wave.
She peers over the edge for a moment, then turns to exchange a few words with Annaliese. I swallow my laughter as I watch Blake stride back to the stairs and stomp down them.
“Everything okay?” I call out with an innocent smile.
She stops to scowl at me. “Someone needs to be in the water to judge who jumps the farthest.”
“Uh-huh. Sure.”
I’m still grinning as she marches to the end of the pier and dives into the lake.