Chapter 67
Fingers trace along my skin, drawing me from sleep. “Wake up, Rose,” Rip whispers, as his lips graze over my shoulder.
I groan, rolling to the other side of the mattress.
Ripley tears away the sheet, cold air sweeping in. “Come with me.” His words are pleading, not demanding, and that pulls me from sleep quicker than the chill shivering through me.
“Where are we going?” I murmur, trying to find the strength to leave the first place I’ve felt safe since I was a child. Home wasn’t safe after Michelle and Tyler moved in. It was a never ending panic of walking too loudly on eggshells.
“Not far, come on. Get up, get dressed.”
“In what? I have no clothes.”
“Well, that’s not true.”
“Did you happen to get a hold of my luggage from the cruise ship? Or did you steal some of my panties after your murder spree?”
“Fuck. I should have done that,” he jokes, as a pile of soft fabric smacks me in the face.
“As much as I love wearing your clothes, your pants are not going to fit me.”
“It’s a good thing they’re your size then.”
I lift up the joggers in my hand. While they are identical to the ones hanging from Ripley’s hips, they are undoubtedly my size. “When?”
“What do you think I do all day when you’re sleeping?”
“Work?”
“Sometimes. Other times I’m thinking of all the things you’d look good in.”
“And matching pants are what you landed on?”
He shrugs, as what appears to be a blush spreads across the apples of his cheeks, though it’s hard to tell in just the moonlight.
Getting to my feet, I shimmy on the joggers as he watches with this odd look on his face. “What?” I ask.
“Put the shirt on.”
“Okay…”
I slide the soft black cotton up my arms, and over my head. Pulling the shirt out so I can see the image on the front.
“I’m rexy and I know it?”
Ripley explodes in laughter, and I soak up the sound of it like a dehydrated bitch in the desert. Locking it away to replay time and time again when my head gets too dark, and I think of eating those flowers instead of Shantel.
The lime green T-rex stands out against the dark colour, and the hot pink script is impossible to miss, but I don’t give a shit. Look how fucking happy he is.
“Should I expect whatever shoes you’ve purchased to be just as eye-catching as this lovely shirt?”
“Depends what ones you want to wear,” he replies, regaining composure.
“You pick, since I don’t know where we’re going.”
He opens his mouth like he’s about to ruin the surprise.
“Don’t tell me, just pick. I trust you.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, it’s not like you’re going to come back with a pair of mukluks for me to wear on a tropical island,” I joke.
“I just might, you never know.” He turns, heading across the large room to the closet. The door slides open and he stands there, staring at the floor, for far too long.
Quietly, I pad across the beechwood floor, coming up beside him.
“I can’t decide.”
“Why?”
“There are extenuating factors, and I don’t know how you’d pick without telling you.”
His indecision is so fucking adorable. I’ve never been cared for in this way, not that I can recall, anyway. “Are we walking or driving?”
He looks to me. “Walking.”
“Far?”
“No, like fifteen minutes.”
“Okay, then I’d prefer sneakers since we have to walk back, and probably have to walk some more when we get to wherever we’re going.”
His mouth shifts, as he reaches for a box. He pulls his hand back, then reaches for a different one.
“Black is my favourite colour,” I whisper, hoping to make his decision easier.
“I know. They’re all black.”
“Oh.” I smile. “Then what’s the problem?”
“Slip-on or laces? And how many laces? Do you want lace up ones you can slip on?”
“Ripley…” I touch his cheek, turning it my way. “Something comfortable, easy on and easy off. Good with socks or without.”
He slightly nods, turning back as his eyes zip around the closet, landing on a box. He gently slides it out from beneath three others, trying not to topple the stack. Silently, he hands it to me.
The logo on the box matches the one on both our pants, and I fight the smile pulling at my cheeks. “Do these match yours as well?”
“No,” he jokes. “Well… actually…”
“Jesus,” I huff, ribbing him.
“What do you consider matching? They aren’t the same colour, but they are the same brand as mine.
I just know they’re comfortable, which is why I bought them, it’s not that I want you to match me all the time.
” I drop the box, turning to him. “I—“ he starts, but I cut him off when I press my lips to his. It’s a single moment, a flicker of time in the grand scheme of things, but I feel his tension dissolve.
“I love them, thank you.”
“You haven’t even seen them.”
“I don’t need to.”
The rhythmic crashing of the waves follow us despite the distance we put between us and Rip’s place, his modern, two-story beach house disappearing into the fog at our backs.
Even if it’s not ‘on the sand’, the view of the ocean is spectacular from the balcony in the morning, and because of the distance, the bustling sounds of families on the beach is nothing but a far away murmur swallowed up by the water’s ebb and flow.
The breeze is blowing, rustling the leaves of the palm trees. It’s still night as he leads me down a deserted road, duffle bag slung across his back, lit only by the light of the descending moon and stars.
Dipping into a darkened alley, he tugs me along, a panty-melting grin upon his face. Rip moves through the shadows with the confidence of someone who’s done this a hundred times or more, and it warms my heart to know he’s including me in something he cherishes so much.
He swings the gate open at the end of the lane without a care in the world. Breathing in deep as the brine of the ocean hits us square in the chest with its full magnitude.
I stop, releasing his hand. He shoots a concerned glance over his shoulder. Probably wondering if it was wrong to bring me here, given the shark attack and whatnot. But, no.
“This is perfect.”
Immediately, I kick off the shoes he had such a fit over, carrying them with me as I race to the shoreline. Ripley’s hot on my tail, calling after me, but I can barely hear him as the ocean’s irresistible pull takes hold. I drop the shoes, and my pants, then take off, diving into the waves.
He’s yelling my name when I breach the surface, worried eyes darting through the darkness. His now-shirtless form backlit by the singular streetlight illuminating the far off parking lot, slowly wading into the choppy water toward me.
I dip below the surface, swimming his way. When I approach, I grab his ankle. His muffled shriek causes me to break the surface, so I don’t inhale a lungful of water from laughing, as he takes a few rapid, unsteady steps back to the sand.
“You asshole,” he growls. It’s impossible not to laugh at the turn of events.
“What are you scared of? Nothing’s going to grab you like that in the ocean.” I get to my feet, brushing the salty water from my face.
“You don’t know that,” he retorts and I quirk my brow. “It could’ve been an eel, an octopus, an evil, man-eating mermaid.”
“A siren,” I interject. Quickly thinking to myself that if he believes in the mysterious and unexplainable, he just got a whole lot more perfect.
“Yeah, that. Or a sea serpent, or a kraken.”
“In the shallows?”
“You don’t know!”
“For someone so big and strong, you’re awfully scared.”
“Shut up.”
“Awe, big man, did I hurt your feelings?”
He frowns comically, not bothering to answer.
“Listen, if a sea monster attacks us and pulls you away to another dimension, I’ll save you.”
“Really?” he quirks, shocked and uplifted by my response. It’s sad he thinks he isn’t worth saving, having never been rescued before.
“Yes, you’re not getting away from me that easy.”
“Woah! You sound a little obsessed, should I be worried?”
“Nah,” I reply, advancing on him, “I think you like it.”
“Do not.”
“Whatever,” I huff. “Come swim.”
“No.”
“Scaredy cat.” I taunt, splashing him across the chest with the chilly water.
His eyes narrow to slits, though he fights to keep his smile under control.
“Pussy,” I tease, kicking more ocean water his way.
Ripley launches himself at me when the last letter rolls off my tongue, and I dart away, dipping below the surface before he can grab me.