Two
I CHANGED MY MIND.
There is something less enjoyable than spending time with my stepmother – descending a freaking cliff in search of a college beach party teeming with people I don’t particularly care for, and who don’t particularly care for me either, as the setting sun casts my impending death scene in pretty, golden light.
‘Seba,’ I hiss in my brother’s wake, as he skips down the sketchy path like a freaking mountain goat. Meanwhile, I struggle like a dumbass, rocks scraping my bare feet as the Birkenstocks dangling from one hand severely impede my ability to balance. ‘Slow the fuck down.’
Like the show-off he’s always been, Sebastian turns to walk backwards, flashing me a smirk. ‘Por qué? Nervous?
I scowl. ‘To break my neck? Yeah.’
‘To see your new man,’ he corrects, in an irritating sing-song tone. ‘God, this is gonna be good.’
I disagree. Wholeheartedly. I have the distinct feeling that this is going to be an absolute nightmare.
I’m going to eventually reach the bottom of this godforsaken cliff, people are going to notice me and wonder what the hell I’m doing here, and .
. . well, shit, I’m not easily embarrassed, not by a long shot, but this might be too much, even for me.
Contrary to popular belief, I’m not a robot.
I have the capacity to feel real, human emotions – other than rage and irritation, of course.
Like trepidation. And unease. Both of which I feel right now, with a little nausea added to the mix as I anticipate the looks of pure and utter shock I’m about to be on the receiving end of.
And Sebastian is going to witness everything.
He’s going to know I was lying, because Heath fucking Belfort is not going to come bounding up to me, delighted by my presence.
He invited me as a joke, as a way to rile up Ben, I know that, but it won’t look like I know that.
It will look like I took it seriously. Like I showed up here expecting . . . God knows what. ‘Listen, Seba—’
Too late. It’s too goddamn late. His feet have already hit sand, he’s already scurrying toward the group of twenty-something-year-olds sprawled across the shoreline, each of them toting an alcoholic beverage of some description – each of them looking in my direction, because my loud-ass brother easily captures their attention with his arrival.
Unlike me, Seba is extremely likeable. Like, chronically.
He was on the cusp of his final year of college when we moved here, an entirely shitty position to land yourself in, yet he had zero trouble falling in with the popular crowd.
Just like he has zero trouble finding them now.
He’s swept up before I even make it to the sand, a drink shoved at him and a phone screen turned his way as he’s commanded to add to the playlist being whipped along the beach by a coastal wind.
No such thing happens to me. Unsurprising, but still a little . . . I don’t know. Demoralizing, I guess. I’m a big girl, a tough girl – chingona, my mom used to proudly call me – but still. Fuck. Talk about uncomfortable.
Seba doesn’t even look back at me, and I guess that’s kind of the way our relationship has always been. That’s the kind of hold I’ve always had in his life. Fleeting and loose.
I don’t let it get to me. Never have, and certainly not now, when I’m the center of freaking attention.
It takes no more than five seconds to find a pair of familiar dark blue eyes, squinting as they train themselves on me, blatantly confused and a little pissed.
Which is, once again, unsurprising. Even when our relationship was actually good, I never wanted to party with Ben.
I rarely let him force me to go out, and on the rare occasions I did, it was only when his pleading started giving me a migraine.
I bet me being here – at Heath’s request, no less – is killing him.
I wonder if it’s killing Sienna, how intently her boyfriend peers at me while she frowns up at him.
God, I hope it is.
Karma, bitch.
Flicking my hair over my shoulder, I smile. My version of a smile, at least. Terrifying, I’ve heard it described as more than once, and that suits me just fine. That’s what I’m going for. That’s—
‘You came.’
Head swinging abruptly to the side, I reel back just a little when I find turquoise eyes far closer than I anticipated. ‘Jesus.’ My hand flies to my chest, my smile already gone. ‘You need a bell.’
‘Kinky.’ Mouth stuck in that perpetual grin, Heath winks before smoothing out his expression – softening it. ‘Guess all that “thinking” worked in my favor.’
I cross my arms with a huff, brows knitting together in a forced frown. ‘You think I’m here for you?’
Heath glances over one broad, muscular shoulder, then the other, before fixing those damn ridiculous eyes back on me. ‘Who else, Daniela?’
Jesus. I shift as something that’s not quite discomfort wiggles in my belly. ‘I’m here with my brother, actually.’
When I nod in his direction, Heath follows my gaze and lets out a soft, unconvinced, slightly smarmy, ‘ah.’ ‘You joining him?’
Eyeing Sebastian as he chugs a beer while single-handedly cracking open another, I repress a grimace. ‘You got a better offer?’
Heath snorts. ‘Oh, Dani. Do I ever.’
Except he doesn’t offer. He doesn’t give me much of a choice at all.
Before I can really protest, he cups my elbow and guides me toward the small group gathered around a makeshift firepit.
More people I vaguely recognize greet me – a softly smiling Black girl with braids down to her waist and a vintage-looking camera slung around her neck, two near-identical redheads sitting side-by-side, and, obviously, the infamous Kai.
He’s the one who hands me a drink: a cup filled to the brim with something dark that smells like cola, but I know better.
‘It’s rum,’ Heath tells me, as he drags me down to the sand, settling right beside me, almost too close for comfort. ‘That okay? We’ve got plain soda and water and stuff if you prefer. I know you don’t really drink.’
I tap my pointer finger against my cup in an offbeat rhythm, huffing a humorless laugh. ‘Oh, you know that, do you?’
Resting his forearms against his bent knees, Heath shrugs, but there’s nothing casual about the way he looks me dead in the eye. ‘I pay attention.’
Unnerved, I look away, bringing the cup to my lips just to give myself something to do, something else to focus on. ‘I drink.’ Not often, but I do. I’m partial to rum, actually, and I can’t help but wonder if the one in my grip is simply a coincidence, or another display of attention. ‘Thanks.’
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Heath lean forward, trying to catch my gaze. ‘Be honest. It hurt you to say that?’
‘Yes. Deeply. I believe I’ll burst into flames at any moment now.’
A melodic chuckle floats toward me. ‘You’re funny.’
‘Don’t sound so surprised.’
‘I’m not.’ Heath shifts, rocking ever-so-slightly to one side so our shoulders brush. ‘I already knew you were funny.’
‘You know a lot about someone you’ve never spoken to.’
‘We’ve spoken.’
‘We’ve interacted through a third party.’
‘Hmm. Sounds so sexy when you put it like that.’
Now it’s my turn to laugh. I’m not sure I’ve ever made anything sound sexy in my life – I believe that was among Ben’s complaints. Not sexy.
Not sexual.
‘Hey.’ Once again the side of Heath’s body brushes against mine. ‘What’s that face for?’
‘Nothing.’ I kiss my teeth. ‘Nothing at all.’
I’m unsure how, exactly, I get so drunk so quickly.
I just know that it happens. I just know that I’m drunk. Obscenely so. So much that I’ve started to anthropomorphize the fire in front of me, my rum-addled brain convincing me that the flames are smiling.
I smile back. I laugh quietly beneath my breath as I wonder if fire is my only friend, as a snippet of my dad likening me to it scratches the far corners of my memory, as I sag against the person beside me – the person who hasn’t left my side.
Who hasn’t pushed me into conversation. No one around me has.
They’ve just let me exist in their presence – out of pity, I think, but I’ll take it.
For now. Tomorrow, I’m sure I’ll kick my own ass for not just getting up and leaving, but, for now, I don’t have the wherewithal.
So I sit and I listen and I don’t listen too as I get lost in my own thoughts, and every so often, I sneak a glance at Heath.
Leaning into me as much as I do him. Freaking gleaming in the firelight, sculpted features cast in shadows, flames dancing in those pretty, pretty eyes and reflecting off buzzed golden hair.
He catches me more than once, always cracking a smile, sometimes bumping his shoulder against mine.
One time, he yanks a strand of my hair, and I actually laugh – I like it.
It’s playful. Fun. Casual. Things I don’t get to be, things I’m not. Things my last relationship wasn’t.
God, I can’t even count how many times my emotions around that doomed coupling derived from stress and tension and pressure.
If I’m honest, when I realized Ben was breaking up with me – before I got the sordid details of it all – I was grateful.
Genuinely. Before the words ‘I slept with someone else’ left his mouth, I breathed an actual sigh of relief.
Relief. Honestly. Briefly, I wondered if I really was a robot like people say. I wondered why I wasn’t heartbroken, wondered what was wrong with me, before coming to my senses and concluding there wasn’t anything wrong with me. There isn’t anything wrong with me.
‘Didn’t say there was.’
I jolt, my head heavy as I lift it to frown at Heath. ‘What?’
‘I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.’
‘Oh.’ Shit. I said that out loud? ‘Thanks.’
‘Two thanks in one night?’ A long, low whistle makes me shiver. ‘I think I deserve a prize for that.’
‘Such a man,’ I drawl – slur, really. ‘Wanting a reward for someone else’s accomplishments. I’m the one being polite.’
‘Oh, so you want a reward?’
Something about his tone makes me gulp. Something about the way he dips his head, bringing us eye-to-eye, almost forehead-to-forehead, makes my stomach twist.
‘Tell me,’ he croons, eyes flicking between both of mine. ‘What’s your reward, Dani?’
I have an idea. A wild, rum-fueled idea that does not align with reality, that can’t possibly be something I’d actually want. A slightly spiteful notion that I quickly swat away, shaking my head as I draw backwards. ‘Stop that.’
Heath follows my retreat, refusing to relinquish our close proximity. ‘Stop what?’
‘That.’ I flick my hand at him. ‘Being all . . . Heath.’
‘Being all Heath,’ he repeats, with a laugh, crooking a brow. ‘What does that mean?’
I shoot him a dry look. ‘You know exactly what it means.’
‘Humor me.’
‘Listen, pretty boy. I’m not the one, okay? All that,’ I gesture to . . . well, all of him, ‘is wasted on me. I’m a waste.’
Heath simply stares for a moment, silent until one corner of his mouth lifts smugly. ‘You think I’m pretty?’
Of course that’s what he took from that.
‘Okay.’ Huffing another laugh, and shaking my head again too, I plant both palms in the sand. ‘I’m gonna go now.’
Or at least I intend to. I try to, but the moment I push upright, gravity yanks me back down. In a true feat of grace, I topple onto Heath, get caught with a grunt and an exhale that brushes . . . my mouth.
His breath brushes my mouth.
Because that’s how close we suddenly are.
So close that when his tongue darts out to trace his bottom lip, I practically feel it on mine.
I certainly feel his gaze, bouncing from my eyes to my mouth and back up again, as tangible as the steadying fingers that graze my bicep on an upwards path until a thumb traces the protrusion of my collarbone.
Head tilting to one side, Heath drawls, ‘A waste, huh?’
I swallow thickly, unsettled by the sudden . . . energy floating around us. ‘Uh-huh.’
‘Hmm.’ He nods slowly, thoughtfully. ‘Better try harder, then.’
I have to look away.
Except my quest for turquoise-free peace only grants me a different kind of torture.
At some point, Ben has found his way to the firepit. Settled directly across from me, the new love of his life relaxes in his embrace, but he watches me intently. With his mouth set in a rigid line, he wears an expression I know all too well, one I’ve been on the receiving end of so many times.
Somehow, the jackass thinks he still has a right to be pissed at me. He thinks he can be mad that I’m talking to someone he doesn’t like. He thinks I give a flying fuck about what he thinks.
Frustration itches beneath my skin. Averting my gaze, I’m once again bombarded by unnaturally bright irises that suck me in, draw me forward, make that itchy feeling calm down just a little.
Vaguely, like muffled noise in the background of a phone call, I register a voice abruptly getting louder, seeking attention.
A voice I recognize because I heard it every day for almost two years.
A voice that, only a few months ago, worked so damn hard to rip me apart.
A voice that showers me in spite and spurs me to lean forward and press my lips to Heath’s.
Part of me – the deeply insecure part that I mostly manage to keep under lock and key – expects him to push me away. To yell or laugh or quip something mocking, or do some combination of all three.
Except he doesn’t. He hesitates for a moment, an awful, mortifying moment, and then .
. . fuck, he kisses me. He really kisses me.
Like, one hand cupping my neck, the other gliding across my cheek before burrowing in the hair at my nape kind of kissing.
Using his grip to tilt my head back and grant himself better access kind of kissing.
Dizzying, discombobulating kind of kissing that makes me forget who I’m kissing, where I’m kissing him, why I’m kissing him.
Even if I remembered, I don’t think I’d care. I only care about the mouth on mine, the tongue tangling with mine, the groan that rips from his throat that I answer in kind as greedy fingers drag me closer.
Until, suddenly, they don’t.
‘Fuck.’ Reeling backwards, Heath blinks rapidly, chest heaving with panting breaths that match mine. ‘You’re drunk, Daniela.’
‘So are you.’
He doesn’t deny it, just like I can’t deny it, because, yes, I am drunk. Jesus Christ, I really am. Drunk and stupid and oh my fucking God, what did I just do?
This time, when I attempt to get up, I succeed. Swaying a little, I press a hand to my forehead, squinting in the direction I abruptly start walking, unsure if it’s the right way and not caring – I just need to get away.
When someone shouts my name, I ignore it.
When someone abruptly grabs me, I stumble and spin around, expecting to find Heath, only to be faced with Ben.
A furious Ben. Two furious Bens because I’m seeing double, I’m hearing double – I hear Ben ask what the fuck is wrong with me so many times it makes me feel even dizzier, and I’m suddenly really nauseous, and I’m really, really not okay, and . . . ‘I think I’m gonna be sick.’
And then, I am.