Chapter Seventeen
seventeen
adrian
248k views.
High numbers should make my heart soar, but with every upward tick my mood trends downward. Each view represents another person behind the screen who might spew venom at Hope. Something that she’s strong enough to endure, but I’m not sure I am.
The idea of bringing another scientist onto the team made me wary, and that was before I knew it was Hope. With her here, there’s more at stake than ever. She’s brave to seize this opportunity, and I’d never stand in her way, but just because she’s onboard for this doesn’t make it easy to stand by and watch.
Jaw clenched, I minimize the browser window. Around 4:00 a.m. I gave up on sleep and brought my laptop out to the sofa, where I’ve sat navigating between work and the video. Dinner was a success, but what’s kept me up is the memory of our legs pressed together underneath the table, her bare skin against mine. How I held my breath, waiting for her to shift away, and instead she pressed just the slightest bit closer, uncoiling the rope of professional distance between us, until I had to bite my cheek to keep composure.
Such small touches, compared to the passion we used to share, yet enough to have my fists bunched in the sheets, wishing she were here in my bed and not on a damn air mattress across town. Seems like a waste, but the whole thing is really. What we threw away. What we lost. But I didn’t trust her enough to come looking for her. I’m still not certain she wanted me to, and it’s too late now to make a difference.
All I can do is work hard to ensure this summer is a success for both of us. For a while after I went viral, I was sucked into social media in an unhealthy way, mindset tied to the comments and how I’d be perceived. Being the new kid countless times taught me the importance of making a good first impression. I didn’t have the luxury of years to build friendships.
But my followers aren’t friends, and their esteem isn’t tied to my self-worth. To keep the distinction clear, I had to set clear limits. Treat social media like a job and not an extension of my personality, but launching Hope into the cyber ether has yanked me right back into the toxic cycle of worrying over comments and likes.
She’s strong, but I know firsthand how trolls worm their way into your mindset, screwing with your self-esteem even when you try to brush them off. The urge to scour the comments to delete any negative replies has my fingers itching, but so far the reaction’s been positive, and I force myself to close the tab.
My phone chimes from the side table and I stretch over to check it, knocking a stack of books to the floor in the process. A calendar notification covers the top of the screen. TURTLE SHIFT. I dig the heels of my hands into my eyes. How is it time to head to the beach already?
Still, it’s a welcome interruption. Fresh air and a task will help me stop worrying. Hope is committed to seeing this through, and I need to focus on supporting her, not protecting her.
I grab two protein bars from the kitchen cupboard and click off the lights. The seafood platter from dinner is a distant memory and breakfast is a long way off. The porch light flicks on when I step outside. Crickets chirp in the long grass and the low thrum of a bullfrog comes from down by the river. I take a moment to breathe in the serenity, letting my stress seep away.
Twenty minutes later, I pull into the beach lot. I arrived ahead of schedule and am surprised see another vehicle parked in the darkness, though soon enough, the parking lot will fill up with beachgoers and other volunteers. The sea turtle patrol is led by scientists with the aid of trained volunteers who work to protect and monitor sea turtle nesting sites. We also help raise awareness about the importance of protecting the marine reptiles.
Hope got me involved in volunteering down in Florida during the internship where we met, and I connected with a local group the spring after I moved here. Filling my free time helped keep my mind off her in the early days after our relationship ended.
I convinced Marissa to volunteer with me this summer, and we filmed a series highlighting the work of the sea turtle conservation group. But I’m not sure if she’s signed up for this shift, since I swapped last-minute with Helena, a chatty retiree who’s out of town for the birth of her first grandchild.
The tang of salty air hits me the moment I step out of my SUV. A low dune stretches in either direction, the hiss of waves audible in the darkness beyond. I blink to let my eyes adjust, but my cell phone stays in my pocket. Artificial light disturbs the nesting turtles and can disorient hatchlings.
The light breeze stirring the sea oats is cool on my cheeks as I make my way toward squared-off wooden posts marking the access point for beachgoers. My intent is to sit on the steps for few minutes in silence before the others arrive and let the ocean settle me.
But once I reach the landing, my shins bump into something large and solid. I stumble backward and my heel slips on the top step.
A hand shoots out and grabs my wrist, steadying me. “Adrian?”
Recognizing her voice in an instant, I find myself staring into the face of the woman with a knack for knocking me off my feet. Once again, Hope’s turned up where I didn’t expect her. But this time, instead of chaos, her presence brings a profound sense of equilibrium. Like my life has shifted into balance. Or maybe realignment.
Her hand is still around my arm, her fingers cool and slender, damp with the mist rolling in off the waves. My forearm flexes involuntarily and she lets go in an instant. Takes a step back. The sense of rightness fades but doesn’t disappear.
A hood is pulled up over her head, curls framing her face, the strands stirring in the breeze. She eyes me up and down and I feel exposed, bare underneath her gaze. “You’re not a five-foot-one elderly woman,” she says. “And where are the promised treats?”
“Treats?” Even though I’ve been up all night, I’m fairly certain Hope is talking nonsense.
“Last night Marissa got home late and was complaining about having to wake up to volunteer at dawn. I offered to take her shift because who would turn down a chance to see baby sea turtles?” She sounds affronted at the notion, and I chuckle, the sound carried away by the wind.
“The organizers okayed it since I’ve done this before,” she says. “But Marissa told me I’d be paired up with someone named Helena who always brings along a giant tub of homemade baked goods.”
“Ah.” That explains the question about treats. Grateful I’m not losing it, I empty my pockets and hold out the contents. “I traded shifts with Helena, sorry to disappoint. Will protein bars do?”
Hope boos, jabbing both thumbs down, her hoodie slipping over her knuckles. “Why’d you swap shifts?” She narrows her eyes. “Please tell me this isn’t Marissa trying to set us up. I told her I’m capable of handling my own life.”
Interesting to know Hope shares my suspicions about Marissa’s misguided matchmaking, but my cousin is in the clear on this one.
“Not unless she can induce labor. I ran into Helena yesterday in Publix. She mentioned she was about to ask for a trade in our volunteer text thread, but I offered to take her shift so she wouldn’t need to bother.”
“I guess Marissa’s off the hook, then.” Hope sounds faintly disappointed, and knowing she puts no stock in fate, I’m guessing she doesn’t like that there’s no logical explanation why we ended up here together. “Can’t very well blame her for my insomnia.”
A thought occurs to me, and I duck to get a better look at her face. Even in the darkness, the worry in her eyes is impossible to miss. “You read the comments, didn’t you?”
Last I checked, the response was wholly positive, but it only takes one nasty comment... My hand automatically goes to my pocket before remembering we need to preserve the darkness.
She shakes her head. “I didn’t. Won’t.”
Won’t? I never advised her not to, though that’s a good idea.
“But I saw the views count and now I’m pretty sure I’ll never sleep again.” She pushes both palms back over her head, dislodging the hood, and grips the roots of her hair. “Hundreds of thousands of people have seen us joking about baby sharks. That’s almost a quarter of a million humans, Adrian.”
I let out a laugh, then turn it into a cough at her side-eye.
She glares at me, eyes glinting, and it’s hard not to smile again at her ferocious expression. “Why is this funny to you?”
“It’s not, it’s just that—” I gulp down my words in a hiccup. I was about to say that she’s adorable when she’s indignant, but that’s not a workplace appropriate comment. Even if we aren’t at work, we’re supposed to be functioning as colleagues. Not people who used to make love—
“I know posting a video is just another day’s work to you,” Hope says, pulling my mind back on track. “But this is a big deal for me.” Her voice is trembling, and on impulse, I pull her into a hug.
It only takes a moment to realize my mistake, but before I can let go, she burrows into the embrace, arms tucked around me, holding tight. My eyes pinch closed at how amazing it feels to hold her again.
Her cheek is pressed against my chest, and I tip my head down toward her ear, her shea-scented curls tickling my nose. “Do you want me to take it down?” There’s absolutely nothing wrong with the video, and removing it will raise questions, but I’d do it in a heartbeat to protect Hope, to hell with the consequences.
“Mm-mm.” She makes a small sound of negation, then turns her head, tipping her forehead into my chest, and groans. The vibration cuts through the thin fabric of my shirt and ignites something dormant in me.
She pulls away to look up at me, arms still around my waist. “Why do you always smell good?” Dodging her eyes down, she frowns. “This is the same shirt from last night.”
Embarrassed, I pull away. “Figured today might get messy, so I just threw it on when I got up. Since I sleep pretty much—” I break off, horrified.
“Pretty much naked, I know.” Her eyes fly wide, outlined in white. “Wow. This has become wildly inappropriate in a heartbeat.”
“My fault.” The magnitude of my mistake begins to sink in like loose sand at the shoreline, dragging me down into remorse. “I shouldn’t have hugged you.”
She wraps her arms around herself, drawing my attention to the logo on her hoodie. I squint... Is that my hoodie? The one I thought got lost in a move?
“I didn’t mind,” she confesses. “But I shouldn’t have mentioned how amazing you smell. Or what you wear to bed. God.” Burying her face in her hands, she groans, then reappears with a loud exhale. “Can we chalk it up to muscle memory?”
“Something like that.” My voice is hoarse, and I clear my throat. “We should probably...” I gesture vaguely toward the deserted beach.
The sun’s still below the horizon, but I need to get moving, to put distance between us. I step down into the sand and start walking as fast as the darkness and caution will allow.
Hope is a few steps behind, and after a moment, she asks, “Any new policies I should be aware of?” Her voice is even, with no vestiges of our encounter, and I exhale in relief. This is neutral ground.
“Not really, but I could send you the handbook to look over if you want.”
Hope chuckles. “I’ll take your word for it, since I’m sure you read it cover-to-cover.”
“When they sent the revised PDF at the start of the season, you better believe it.”
She laughs again, a warm, throaty sound against the hiss of the waves. I follow her down onto the sand and fall into step alongside her. I’m so used to threading my arm around her waist on walks like these that I have to shove my hands into my pockets to quell the urge.
Our steps take me away from the dune. White-frothed waves sweep toward us out of the gloom, then retreat. We keep our eyes down, searching for tracks that will indicate a turtle’s journey from water to a nesting sight. Our goal is to find any nests, then alert Evan and Myra, the biologists who lead the group, and they’ll mark them.
Permits allow the scientists to approach turtle nests for conservation and research purposes, and the group’s efforts often draw crowds, which gives us the chance to explain the ins and outs of sea turtle conservation, as well as the importance of not disturbing the animals.
“Found any nests this year?” Hope asks casually.
“Yeah, lots. I’d have to ask what the official tally is.”
“Not the group, I meant you personally.” Her tone gives nothing away, but I recognize the challenge in her words.
I shake my head, then realize she didn’t notice with her focus on the sand. “Not yet. But I don’t volunteer that often.”
“Mm.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She stops and looks up. “Nothing. Just was thinking of that summer we volunteered together in Florida. I found way more nests than you. Wasn’t even close.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “You make it sound like a competition.”
“If it was, I would’ve won.” She starts walking again, head tipped down, but I see the grin lifting her cheeks, and with the memory of her earlier vulnerability fresh in my mind, I suddenly want nothing more than to keep her smiling.
“Let’s make a bet then.”
“I haven’t done this in years,” she says.
“Sounds like you started something you can’t finish.”
“There’s no way to predict who will find the most nests. It’s totally up to luck.”
Walking with my eyes downcast, I ask, “How do you know I haven’t done observation on this particular stretch of beach and noted the most common nesting areas?”
She glances over at me sharply. I haven’t, nor have I asked the biologists running this program, but her shoulders are more relaxed, and if this is getting her mind off the video, I count it as a win. Besides, we’re not crossing any lines here. Just two scientists making a friendly, professional wager.
“You’re bluffing,” she says.
“Is that a no to the bet?”
She crosses her arms, the bulky hoodie swallowing her frame, and while I wasn’t sure it was mine before, I am now. This whole situation is wreaking havoc with my emotions, bringing me back to a time and place when we were together.
“Okay, we’ll test your theory.” Hope lifts her chin and looks up at me. “Give me a number.”
I shove my locs back, out of my face. She’s calling my bluff. “It’s not that precise.”
“Every hypothesis needs to be tested.” Tingles dance along my spine at her teasing tone. We might be joking, but the connection simmering between us is very real. To acknowledge it would be crossing a line, but I can’t ignore the feeling.
“Think of the science,” she says.
“That’s all I think of.” Lies. I can recall many times when I haven’t thought of science, like when she was underneath me, lip caught between her teeth, or on top of me, fingertips trailing down my chest...
I squeeze my eyes shut. This is veering into dangerous territory. “You know what? Never mind.” I suck in a deep breath and start walking again.
She keeps pace with me, abuzz with energy in the purple predawn light. “So you’re not willing to test your hypothesis?”
“It’s not a—”
“Knew you were bluffing,” she says, and I stop in my tracks.
Planting my feet, I face off with her. “Winner buys breakfast.”
“Aren’t the protein bars breakfast?”
The stare I give her is rendered ineffectual by the darkness, so I settle for a heavy sigh. “Granola bars aren’t even a snack.”
“Then why’d you bring them?”
“Survival.”
She laughs, a loud burst of sound that she smothers with her palm, and I want to pull her against me, to feel her vibrating with suppressed giggles, to dip my nose and breathe in the dewy tickle of her curls. Laughter is not supposed to be this sexy, but everything about Hope is an aphrodisiac, from her luscious curves to her gorgeous mind.
Lowering her hand, she says, “Breakfast is a boring bet.”
“What do you have in mind?” It’s a challenge, but we don’t need a bet for what I have in mind.
“I want to drive the boat if I win.” Her answer is a one-eighty from my thoughts, saving me from myself.
Most days I’d prefer to be a passenger, so I never considered that she might want to be captain. Bet or no bet, I have no problem with it, but now that she’s brought it up, the wicked side of me is having too much fun goading her to stop now.
“No bet.” I start walking again, but she jogs to catch up, outpacing me and planting herself in my path.
“Why not?” She’s walking backward, and I have to fight the urge to take her elbow to keep her from tripping over the uneven sand. “It’s low stakes. No money is changing hands.”
“Not going to happen.”
“But you know I learned how to navigate years ago.”
Playfully, I dodge around her and catch a whiff of coconut and vanilla underscored by the tang of ocean air. My steps wobble and she’s beside me in an instant, keeping pace.
“It’s selfish not to share,” she huffs.
That brings me to a halt. “I am not selfish.” In my mind, I can almost hear her rapid breaths, the ragged brush of her exhales against my ear as I lay beside her, one hand between us...
I halt that train of thought before it goes off the rails, and look over my shoulder at her, gaze dropping down her tall frame. “I gave you that hoodie, didn’t I?”
“This—” She looks down, then her hands fly to her cheeks. “Why didn’t you mention it earlier? When you didn’t say anything, I figured you didn’t notice.”
I notice everything about her, but that’s definitely not an approved topic. Instead, I say, “That thing comes down to your knees. It’s pretty conspicuous.”
“Mid-thigh at most.” She tugs at the hoodie, and the hem slips over her shorts, making it look like she’s not wearing any bottoms.
I ball my fists. “Can we not talk about your thighs?” The words come out in a growl, and I check myself. “Sorry, it’s just...” I’m worn down from keeping up the fa?ade. “We did so good yesterday. But every time I’m with you, there’s a flood of memories. And the pressure keeps building—”
“What kind of memories?” she interrupts, eager, like my answer is the cipher to a puzzle.
“Right now, the kind that makes things...difficult.” My voice slips on the last word, and her breath catches.
“Technically,” she says, voice low, and I tip forward to listen, lean in, because I’m helpless to stay away, “this is outside working hours.”
I keep still as stone, worried if I move, I’ll do something reckless that obliterates our carefully-drawn boundary. “Technically.” The word scrapes past my bone-dry throat.
“We could call it an experiment,” she says, louder now, more certain, or perhaps trying to convince herself. “Maybe this would even make things easier. Not wondering about what it would feel like to kiss each other again.”
“You think about that?” It’s reckless to invite this moment in the dark, knowing dawn will come, and with it, a reckoning. But I’m losing the battle against years of want. Grateful to surrender, if she wants to fall along with me.
“Sometimes.” Sunrise isn’t far off, and I catch sight of the flash of white as her teeth sink into her lower lip.
“Right now?”
She dips her chin in a nod, looks up at me. “I don’t know how to stop.”
That’s it. The last sandbag rips and the dam breaks, destroying good intentions and washing caution out to sea. Her lips are on mine and mine are on hers and we’re kissing again after three long years of heartache.
Her mouth is sweet and soft, exactly how I remember her, but better, because this isn’t a memory. Lips pressed to mine, she steps closer, and I tug my hands out of my pockets and grab her waist to steady her, or maybe myself. She lets out a soft moan against my mouth, and I tug her against me in earnest, swallowing the sound. Her hips rocket up against me and a groan rips from my own throat, stoked by Hope’s hungry kisses.
My brain short-circuits and senses take over—warmth, heat, pulsing need—and then she parts her lips and slides her tongue against mine and I’m a man consumed. My free hand skims under her top, sliding along her ribs, my touch firm, the way she loves, and I’m rewarded by a quick suck of my tongue that sends a bolt of desire rocketing through me. She pulls back for a breath, and I heave in a desperate inhale at the disheveled sight of her, windblown and gorgeous in the pink light of dawn.
How have I lived without this? Without her? I slip my fingers into the tumble of curls above her nape and take charge, my lips not ready to be parted from hers, not now, not ever. Inconvenient to want this much, but the fulfillment is sweeter than anything imaginable.
Touching her, holding her...the wet surrender of her hot mouth under mine is a rush of pleasure I never thought I’d feel again, and all the sweeter for it. Her desire seems to match mine, lips parted as she lets me in, our tongues sweeping against each other, coaxing another breathless moan from her that makes my knees almost give way.
She breaks away to press a kiss to the underside of my jaw, mouth warm against the sensitive skin at the edge of my beard, and my throat bobs in a hard swallow. I skim my hands down her hips and pull her against me. She rocks up on her toes, threading her arms around my shoulders, meeting me halfway, and our lips connect again in a deep kiss.
Nearby voices startle us apart. Hope’s eyes are wide. A dart of panic shoots through me, more at the implications of the line we’ve crossed than worries over being seen. My senses are buzzing, and it takes a moment to orient myself. The conversation is coming from the parking lot behind the dune.
Hope’s hands are shaky as she swipes at her lips, like she’s trying to erase the sensation. “I’m gonna go check in with whoever’s in charge.” She motions to the first of the volunteers making their way onto the beach, and I nod, dazed.
“I’ll uh, make sure to email you that handbook.” My pulse hammers, reality dawning like the sun. Whether the experiment was a success or not remains to be seen, but one conclusion is certain: we just went and made our working relationship a whole lot more complicated.