Chapter 5
Chapter Five
I am an idiot.
What the hell did I do the other night?
Around five a.m. that morning I puked my guts out, and that’s when memories of the evening battered my head along with the sledgehammer that is hangover brain. I’m considering moving to another country. It seems a better alternative to showing my face.
Did I actually nuzzle Lewis’s neck, or imagine it? He must think I want him. He’s the last person I want—need. Both.
I take back every disparaging remark I’ve ever made about people who can’t hold their liquor. I could have stopped at, oh, I don’t know, five or six shots. That would have been the wise choice. After the first few, I lost count.
Looking back, I wonder if Mira played a hand in my supply.
No one was as intoxicated as me, and I drink two-hundred-pound men under the table.
Mira pushed so many shots my way I’m convinced she gave hers up as well.
My bad for consuming them, but still, why would she do that? To get me to embarrass myself?
Success.
Utter mortification achieved.
Nessa doesn’t realize it, sitting next to me in the car, but our lunch date is a welcome change from the mental flagellation I’ve subjected myself to these last couple of days. The general chaos going on in my house isn’t helping my stress level.
“I can’t believe they let her go,” Nessa says.
Out of nowhere, Cali lost her job. She effing got fired.
She said the casino didn’t give her a solid reason for why they did it, only that she wasn’t a good fit.
What kind of corporate lie is that? Cali is the smartest person I know, and she’s charming.
It makes no sense. A bar busboy asked me about it, and when I told him, he said it’s happened before—girls getting fired for no reason.
“It’s ridiculous,” I agree, and turn my car down a side road. Nessa lent her car to a friend, so I’m driving today. “She’s pretty upset, but our friend Jaeger has been cheering her up.”
“Cheering her up, eh?” Nessa grins suggestively.
“Exactly.”
There’s something going on between Jaeger and Cali.
They seemed highly suspect when I walked in after work the other night.
They weren’t doing anything at the time, but I sensed I’d interrupted a moment.
She hasn’t offered up information on the situation and it confuses the heck out of me.
Cali doesn’t hide her relationships. She’s listed in the Urban Dictionary under TMI when it comes to her boyfriends.
It makes me wonder if things with Jaeger are different, like she’s treading carefully because she really likes him.
If so, I’m glad. One of us needs a healthy relationship.
“She’s out with him today, as a matter of fact.” I pointedly raise my eyebrows at Nessa, nose turned down, as if to suggest all manner of things I’m not actually saying.
“Um-hmm, I see how it is. Keep me posted. At least someone is receiving love from the opposite sex.”
My shoulders tense. What would Nessa think if she knew the thoughts I’ve had about Lewis?
Sniffing and telling him he smells nice when he has a girlfriend is totally inappropriate, and cranky as Mira is, she’s still Nessa’s friend.
I feel like at any moment I’ll get called out for my lusty thoughts about him.
The Beacon Bar and Grill comes into view at the end of the road.
I’ve wanted to check out the Beacon since Cali and I arrived in town, and coming today might be the only thing capable of taking my mind off my shame spiral.
But as I ease my beater sedan into the packed parking lot and glimpse the lake, I start to rethink my clothes.
Tahoe nights are cool, but the days heat up quickly and it’s already in the low seventies.
Nessa came prepared. Black straps from a halter swimsuit show above her shirt.
The restaurant is on the beach; I should have worn a bathing suit beneath my outfit.
Instead, I’m in a faded navy T-shirt with linen shorts and slip-on tennis shoes.
I grab a towel I keep in the trunk and throw it in my tote. I’ll have a spectacular farmer’s tan (make that sunburn) if we lie out in the sun, but I’d rather enjoy the weather and beach than worry about it.
We choose a patio table overlooking the Beacon beach and dock.
No clouds fill the sky and the lake is this sapphire blue my gaze gravitates to every few seconds.
Granite-peaked mountains cradle the water in an otherworldly embrace and I remember why this place is so special.
For a few minutes, I forget why I felt like crap earlier.
Nessa skims the menu. “We have to get Rum Runners.”
My throat convulses. Alcohol. And too much of it. That’s why I suck and why, outside of work, I holed up the last few days.
“What?” Nessa says, taking in the look on my face. “Rum Runners are a tradition at the Beacon.”
“Can we share?” I say in a wobbly voice. “I don’t think I can manage an entire rum drink.” The thought of that particular alcohol engages my gag reflexes. Stupid Buckshots. I’ll never be able to drink a root beer float again.
Nessa laughs and presses her fingers to her temples. “I was so hungover after the club.” Her hands flatten on the table and she gazes up wearily. “How many shots did we do?”
I shake my head. I literally have no clue, and if I did, it would probably scare me.
Nessa signals to a girl in a blue Beacon T-shirt and khaki shorts. She orders food and a Rum Runner from the girl, and I place my order next. I’m totally envious of our waitress’s uniform. So normal.
“Mira is dangerous,” Nessa continues. “She’s a man magnet, but holy hell, that was crazy.
And you missed the fight she and Lewis got into after we dropped you off.
” Nessa squints. “I was a little out of it, so some of it’s fuzzy.
Mira was yelling at Lewis because he walked you to your door, or something.
What did she think he’d do? Let you crawl? That girl has jealousy issues.”
There’s no reason for Mira to be jealous. She proved to me and everyone at the club that she can get any guy she wants. I’m not competition, just like I wasn’t competition for the A-hole’s affection. My ex had no problem setting me aside for his girlfriend back home once school ended.
I hate the idea that men think I’m disposable. In my quest to not be like my mother—hooking up with and discarding men at will—I’ve somehow become the opposite, staying in relationships I shouldn’t.
“Is it normal for them to fight this much?” I ask.
Nessa shakes her head. “No, definitely not. Mira had a rough upbringing and I know that’s affected her.
She can be cranky, but this is extreme. I don’t know what’s gotten into her.
From what I overheard, in between spacing out, she was overreacting or being controlling—something like that. Lewis puts up with too much.”
I wonder if it would be easier to be around Lewis if he and Mira had a solid relationship. This battle between them has my mind spinning unlikely scenarios of them breaking up. He’s with someone else. I’m not dating an A-hole part two.
Our food arrives and my burger is so good I hum in the back of my throat.
Of course I eat the entire thing, while Nessa consumes a third of hers and declares herself full.
The French fries are spiced, and dipped in sweet ketchup, the best lingering hangover remedy.
I’m feeling so good I actually consider ordering another Rum Runner, which turns out to be this orange, smoothie-style fruit drink.
There’s juice in there—nutrients. It can’t be that bad for me.
The sun beats down and Nessa slips off her T-shirt, revealing a tiny black bikini top against her slender frame. “Beach time?”
Liver, you’re getting a break. “Sure.”
We pay our bill and walk out on the sand, staking a spot near the dock where Beacon workers in blue T-shirts walk back and forth, doing…
I’m not exactly sure what. Hanging out? Guarding the dock?
It’s lively, considering the few boats coming in and out.
Most of the activity stems from canoes and paddleboats passing beneath, en route to the Beacon beach.
I’m watching people in their canoes and whatnot duck their heads as they drift under the beams of the dock, when a paddleboarder, bent on one knee, glides under. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention, my stomach tightening. I can’t see his face, but I don’t have to.
Every aspect of Lewis comes into focus one by one, as if I’m watching a movie in slow motion.
Dark, ruffled hair, bare, tanned skin, the flex of muscles as he shifts his fingers on the front of the paddleboard to support his weight while he kneels to clear the dock, his calf muscle bulging on the leg footing the board.
He passes the rest of the way, stands with his paddle in one hand, and glances at the beach. His gaze immediately narrows on me, and my breath locks in my throat. No one knew we were coming today. We made last-minute plans. There’s no logical reason why we’d run into him here, but we have.
Nessa leans in. “Oh my gosh, is that Lewis?”
I’m too disoriented to answer.
Lewis paddles to shore and I stare at his body like he just stepped out of the shower in a porno.
I’ve never seen a porno, but I imagine this is what it would be like.
Lewis without a shirt is erotic. Indecent.
His chest and arms… I couldn’t look away from those forearms the first time I saw him at the dinner party, with his shirt pushed to his elbows.
They were interesting and masculine—the bands of muscle and the hint of veins.
Now I see all the way up to thick biceps sloping into strong, broad shoulders that shift and contort as he guides the paddle.