Chapter Fifteen #2
His gaze slides my way now, his eyes narrowing. Then he flicks water at me, and I spin away with a shout of protest, covering my face.
“Very mature,” I say, moving to splash him back, but Jamie catches my elbow, making me freeze.
His fingers are warm against my skin as he turns me. “What’s that?”
“Nothing!” I twist out of his grip.
“It’s clearly something—okay, ow?” he complains when I roughly push his face away.
“Maybe I have acne, and you’re embarrassing me.”
“Or maybe you’re having an allergic reaction.”
“Maybe you should mind your own business.” He looks ready to protest, so I hit him with what I know will be an argument ender. “And stop looking at my body.”
Jamie’s gaze slides skyward, his jaw tightening.
I’m suddenly deeply aware of how exposed I am in my two-piece. I’ve spent so much time in the pool and at the beach in my life that wearing a bathing suit isn’t something that normally fazes me, beyond the discomfort of my thighs chafing or, occasionally, lewd comments about the size of my chest.
But the way Jamie refuses to look at me now makes me angry and embarrassed.
Because when he took his shirt off earlier—yeah, okay.
I stared for a second. Sue me for checking him out.
For trying to catch a glimpse of that tattoo I still haven’t fully seen yet, no matter how many times I’ve tried.
For wondering how he has only the barest of tan lines where a T-shirt would normally hit, and how much time he must spend shirtless in the sun to get that kind of all-over color.
I can admit Jamie is attractive—that’s a fact. It’s like looking at art. He may as well be roped off in a museum.
Now I just wish I hadn’t given him the opportunity to prove he doesn’t think the same about me.
It shouldn’t matter. I don’t need his approval.
And it’s not like my self-worth is defined by how many people think I’m hot or anything, but my ex was never shy about telling me how much he liked my body.
But then Jamie lowers his chin, and I see his cheeks are flushed. My heart picks up speed as his gaze drops and then skitters away.
Was I wrong? Is he… is he trying not to look?
I hate the way it makes me swell with pride, as though a boy’s appreciation—especially this boy, of all people—should matter.
“You looked first,” Jamie says, his voice rough. He takes my wrist, catching me with the element of surprise as he pulls my arm from the water, exposing my hives. “I knew it.”
My face goes nuclear. I turn my head away, forcing down a calming breath. Do I… do I like this?
I’m sun-fried. It’s the only explanation.
“I’m fine,” I snap, wrenching my arm from him and crouching until the water is up to my neck again, cool on my flushed skin.
I want to dunk my head under and scream.
“It’s just hives. As long as I keep it out of the sun, the salt water is good for it.
My mom used to pop me in salt baths all the time.
I’m sure Sawyer told you all about her holistic phase. ”
This was right after her split with our dad, and even though I was young, I remember it vividly.
My allergy meds and creams were traded for a neti pot and essential oils, and my increasingly frequent hives outbreaks were treated with sea-salt baths.
My stress levels spiked higher with each passing year, so I spent a lot of time soaking.
More often than not I’d bring my homework in there with me, and I’d return to school with worksheets flecked with water spots and textbooks with wrinkled pages.
During this brief period of our lives, Mom made Sawyer and me go outside and face east for five minutes every single morning, even on weekends.
Since these were pre-Victor days, we got along okay, though we were prone to fighting during those five minutes out of sheer boredom.
But mostly we just stood there and suffered in silence while enduring the long stares of our neighbors as they left for work.
It was easy to imagine them shaking their heads, going, “There are those Milligan kids standing in the driveway again.”
Thankfully, the holistic stuff stopped as soon as Mom met Victor, and once we moved out of our tiny, rundown house and into his much nicer one, all those bags of salt and the oils and the neti pot disappeared.
Mom stopped doing yoga and switched to Pilates, and now I couldn’t even tell you which way is east unless I’m at the beach.
“I still think you should take a break,” Jamie says, running a hand through his hair. “UV rays can penetrate water.”
“Please don’t say penetrate.”
“Jesus Christ, Blair.” His cheeks burn scarlet, and he turns his head away. “Grow up.”
“I’ll get out of the water if you show me something.”
He freezes, turning back to face me with his brows arched high. “Excuse me?”
“Ew, what is with you today? I meant your tattoo!”
He blinks at me, shoulders pulling back.
“Oh.” He looks down at his side, almost like he forgot it was there.
Then he lifts his arm, turning his ribs toward me.
It’s no larger than my palm, black and white—a winged man falling, leaving a trail of loosed feathers, one arm stretched out toward a fine-line circle.
“Icarus?” I glance up at Jamie’s face, which is unreadable as he lowers his arm again.
“Yeah. It was supposed to be a reminder.” He doesn’t look at me as he delivers this line, his gaze straying to the shore where the others have gathered on our towels.
“Of what?”
He runs a hand over his hair, a long moment passing before he meets my eyes. “Let’s go for a ride. You need to get out of the sun.”
I don’t bother acknowledging the change in subject. If Jamie wanted to answer the question, he would.
“I told you, I’m fine.” But I don’t pull away when he takes my arm. I let him lead me up to our towels, where the others are sharing a bag of potato chips we picked up on the way. Andres’s new friend has joined them.
“This is Jenna,” Felicity says pointedly, motioning to the girl.
Jamie stares at Andres. “Of course it is.” He picks up my towel and tosses it to me, then grabs his own.
Jenna laughs. “Why do you all keep saying that?”
“It’s nothing,” Andres says quickly.
“Blair and I need a break from the sun,” says Jamie, shoving my clothes into my hands. “We’ll be back in a little while.”
I try not to warm at him saying we need a break, rather than putting it on me.
“Try not to kill each other while you’re gone,” Andres calls as Jamie starts toward the parking lot, leaving me to follow.