32. Daisy
32
DAISY
T he problem with swim trunks is that they’re so easy-access. Even on the days when we have agreed in advance that we are heading straight out to surf as soon as he gets home…those roomy swim trunks demand a very different outcome.
And thus we are racing to get to the break tonight before we’ve missed high tide entirely.
“If I haven’t mentioned it yet,” he says, grinning over his shoulder at me as we paddle out to the lineup, “I’m grateful you so ruthlessly blackmailed me when you came back to California.”
I laugh. “Do you mean that, or is it the hand job talking?”
“The hand job certainly didn’t hurt your case.”
“I actually have a great deal of experience blackmailing older men,” I reply, straddling my board.
His eyes darken. “This conversation is taking an unpleasant turn.”
I lean back on my hands. “Liam was the first…non-sexy blackmail of course. He was sleeping with one of my teachers an d also sleeping with my soccer coach. It’s not like he was lying to anyone, but they wouldn’t have been pleased.”
He grins. “Is that how you weaseled your way into his home?”
I wave a hand. “I’m delightful. I don’t have to weasel my way into anyone’s home. Okay, I did have to weasel my way into yours, but you were drinking too much to realize how delightful I am.”
“I fully realized how delightful you are—I was just trying hard to forget.” His gaze drifts over me in a way that leaves me clenching my thighs. “So what did you get out of Liam?”
I shrug. “He had to sign something saying I had counseling every Friday and could leave at eleven for the day.”
He raises a brow. “And did you have counseling?”
I nod at the board beneath me. “If this counts as counseling, then yes.”
A wave is approaching. We both lie down and turn to face the shore. “And how long did that go on for?”
“All four years of high school. Liam dated a lot of women. One day you’ll have to compare blackmail stories.”
I regret the words the moment I utter them. Did I really just forget that he and I have to stay a secret? That next month, when I leave, all these weeks with him will be a moment in our shared past, one neither of us can even allude to?
I did. But based on the way his smile wavers, he hasn’t forgotten for a minute.
That night, he orders in dinner and brings it to his room where I’m lounging, naked and wanting more.
When soy sauce drips down my stomach, he leans over to lick it off. “I’ve never eaten naked before, but I’m starting to see the advantages. ”
I raise a brow. “You’ve never eaten naked?”
He raises a brow right back. “You have?” His eyes are dark. I suspect he won’t be happy with my answer.
I lean over the sushi to kiss him. “Not with anyone who made me come three times first.”
“Well, I guess there’s that,” he grumbles. “It had better not have been with the guy you dated at age fourteen.”
I laugh. “It was not. And please don’t tell me you’re jealous of a high school senior I dated seven years ago.”
His grin is sheepish. “It’s a guy thing. We always want to believe we’re the first to land somewhere.”
“It’s a people thing, not a guy thing. But it would be pretty hard for me to believe I was your first when I know the last person you were with. Or…was she?” I wince at the line of questioning I’ve introduced—I’m not sure I want the answer—but persist with it anyway. “Did you not even have, like, a one-night stand?”
He blows out a breath. “I thought about it. I thought about it a lot . But I knew I was going to be a little fucked up over the divorce for a while, so I didn’t want to give someone the wrong idea.”
“The wrong idea?”
He shrugs. “The impression that it meant something.”
I swallow and pretend I’m focused on swirling wasabi into my soy sauce so he doesn’t notice how much that hurt. It’s not supposed to hurt. We both know this will end in August, and I guess that’s the perfect situation for him: time-limited, without expectations.
But I’d thought he was going to be the one guy I didn’t have to play a role for, and it isn’t true.
I’m playing the role of someone who doesn’t mind that this is going to end, and I do.
I already do.