Nine
IN MY ENTIRE COLLEGE CAREER, I’VE FREQUENTED the local watering holes of the cove exactly five times – every single one of them involved peeling my drunk ex-boyfriend off the sidewalk.
Salt Lane was almost always the scene of the crime.
Something of a neutral ground in our town, Cove College and Haven Cove University students co-exist there peacefully.
Somewhat. Or at least that’s what I’ve heard.
I’ve been here, but I’ve never been here.
I’ve never sauntered past the bustling outdoor area and into the pale green building for the pure pleasure of having a drink with friends.
I’ve never been all dolled-up with a girlfriend hanging off either arm – I’ve never had girlfriends, full stop.
And God knows my boyfriend has never been lounging in a booth waiting for me, never lit up at the sight of me, never clambered over the back of the leather seat and elbowed his way through the crowd to get to me.
For a second, just before Heath reaches us, as Imani and Matilda coo in my ears, as I get my first glimpse of a student night out, I feel something like grief.
Loss. Not quite regret for missing out on the typical college experience – how can I regret something self-inflicted, something I know I didn’t actually want, that I wouldn’t enjoy?
– but something. Something that makes me sad, for all of five seconds, before eyes the strangest, deepest, most oddly calming shade of cyan distract me.
The girls melt away as strong hands bracket my hips. Both throw me winks that I barely see, that are eclipsed by the smile that sears my cheek.
‘Wow.’ Thumbs trace the curve of my ribcage, digging in just barely as Heath reels back to rake an appreciative glance down my body. ‘You actually listened.’
‘Curiosity got the better of me.’ My fingers flex at my sides before fingering the navy A-line dress I finally settled on – that the girls finally settled on, I should say, after making me try on every blue item of clothing in my wardrobe.
And, now, I guess I know why this little number was the chosen one.
Coasting a hand up his chest, I tug on the collar of an indecently unbuttoned shirt the exact shade of my dress. ‘So we’re that couple, hm?’
‘You’re lucky I didn’t wear a dress too.’ Flashing a goofy grin, Heath leans in close enough to completely envelop me in the scent of salt, sea, and something purely him. ‘Like this one a lot, by the way.’
‘You wanna borrow it?’
‘Do I get to take it off you first?’
The basest, most pathetic facets of my psyche squeal, just a little. ‘Down, boy.’
‘Can’t help it.’ He tugs on one thick shoulder strap, his thumb scraping my collarbone. ‘You look beautiful.’
‘As opposed to usual?’
‘Take the compliment, witch.’
‘Now that’s a compliment.’
Heath laughs, shaking his head as he leans in to kiss my cheek again. ‘C’mon. Let’s get you a drink.’
Nodding eagerly enough to drag another chuckle out of him, he takes my hand and maneuvers me through the crowd.
We reach the bar and he moves to stand behind me, arms wrapped around my waist, forearms stacked across my ribcage, a chin digging into my shoulder as I lean over the sticky counter to yell a non-alcoholic order.
Heath flashes two fingers to indicate he wants the same, and I start to tell him it’s okay, he can drink if he wants to, but warm lips dragging along the slope of my neck dry the words right up.
They travel across my skin, mapping a route from the curve of my shoulder to the nape of my neck. While fingers sweep my hair away, a nose brushes my hairline, an inhale makes me shiver, a low groan and a husky murmur accomplishing the same. ‘You smell so fucking good.’
Do I normally stink? I start to quip, but a grunt and a tightening grip cut me off.
‘Compliments,’ he sighs, mouth moving to where my pulse flutters. ‘Need to work on those.’
‘No one’s even listening.’
Heath stiffens. His breath misses a beat before releasing in a sigh. ‘Don’t look, but Ben is watching.’
‘He’s here?’ I start to turn only for teeth to catch my earlobe, to catch my breath too.
‘I said don’t look.’
‘I wasn’t looking at him.’ Lifting my chin, I tilt my head to the side until I find Heath’s warm gaze. ‘So is this your big plan? Matching outfits?’
‘Think you’re underestimating your ex’s possessive streak. And no. Not all of it.’
‘The suspense is killing me.’
A dry smile. A warning pinch. ‘An article came out today. Collegiate Swimmers to Watch. Guess who was in it?’
‘Seriously?’ I pull back a little further. Smile a little harder. ‘Heath, that’s amazing.’
‘More importantly,’ he quickly brushes off my compliments – how ironic. ‘Guess who wasn’t on it?’
‘Ah.’ I risk a glance at my ex. ‘You gonna show him?’
‘Messaged him a link approximately forty-five seconds after it came out.’
‘Evil.’
‘Thank you.’
‘So we’re celebrating while he’s drowning his sorrows?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Double evil.’
A hot hum ruffles my hair. ‘Think you’re rubbing off on me.’
Snorting, I snag the soda bottle the busy bartender finally slides my way and turn in Heath’s arms. ‘Anything else? A subsection to this phase, perhaps?’
‘Just one.’
How odd, I find myself thinking, that the little things he does right before he kisses me already feel familiar.
I already know his little tricks and habits, I can already anticipate them.
Before his hands even move, I know they’re on a path to cup my face, that fingers will follow the contours of it, like he’s memorizing every indentation, each freckle.
I know that, at his own fucking leisure, he’ll use that grip to drag me closer, keep me an inch away before lowering his mouth to mine.
I know he kisses slow and sweet and firm, completely unrushed, as if kissing is the destination rather than just part of the ride. I know he likes to finish by drawing my bottom lip between his teeth, dragging it with him as he pulls away.
I know I don’t want him to pull away at all.
My hand is halfway to Heath’s mouth before I even realize it’s moving. Throat tight, I swipe my thumb along the reddened, swollen outline, smiling faintly when the pad comes away glistening pink and a little sparkly. ‘Not quite your color.’
He laughs, head shaking as he scrubs at his mouth too ‘This shit burns.’
‘It’s plumping.’
‘It’s masochism.’
‘Sorry.’
The corners of that plump mouth droop – not quite flat, not a smile either. ‘Worth it.’
How odd, my inner monologue repeats, that two flippant words might be the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.
I clear my throat – clear my mind of such a depressing thought. ‘We should go find your friends.’
‘Right.’ Heath blinks as he draws further away, dragging a hand over his head before jerking it toward the booth he vacated earlier. ‘They’re over here.’
His hand slipping into mine again, he guides me to his friends, who hoot and holler and shift to make room for us.
We end up huddled in the corner of the booth, my thigh plastered against Heath’s, warmed by his hand.
Kai boxes me in from the other side, his side flush to mine and his voice reverberating through my fucking bones as he leans across me to yell something at Imani, who lounges on the other side of the booth.
Everyone’s yelling, everyone’s loud, music and voices and clinking glasses, and, fuck, my skin is crawling.
I’m remembering why I don’t go to bars, I’m twitching and uncomfortable and my throat—
The hand on my thigh squeezes gently. ‘You okay?’
I stare at it, mentally tracing the outline of all those pretty little tattoos speckling tanned knuckles. ‘It’s loud in here.’
Heath shifts closer, and I groan internally until I realize he’s just angling himself to dig around in his back pocket.
Moving away again, he holds out his hand, palm to the ceiling, a little cube sitting in the center, the lid of which he thumbs open to reveal a set of earplugs.
Plucking them out, one hand tucks my hair behind my ears while the other slots the soft silicone into place.
An instinctive sigh of relief escapes me as the pulsing noise abruptly settles to a dull throb.
The throbbing in my chest, however, isn’t quite so dismissible. It only gets worse when, smiling softly, Heath fixes my hair, giving one long strand a tug. ‘Better?’
Swallowing, I nod.
He hums, satisfied, sweet as he kisses my cheek before retreating. As if he was never interrupted, he goes back to his conversation.
As if it’s never beaten properly before, my heart finds a new rhythm.
The People’s Prince.
I’ve heard the nickname before. Rolled my eyes at it.
Never got it, really, beyond as a joke, but now, as Heath floats around Salt Lane, I can see it.
That invisible crown slanted jauntily atop his shorn hair, glinting in the low overhead lighting, as bright and glittering as the personality that attracts damn near every person in here.
Chin in my palm, I drum my fingernails against the side of a wine glass half-full with the dregs of the bottle the girls convinced me to split. I’m not drunk, I’m barely even tipsy, but I feel oddly . . . high. Floaty. Relaxed, though I barely recognize the feeling.
Me. Relaxed in a busy bar, sipping cheap wine, socially worn out from chatting with friends who’ve started calling themselves my friends, guarding the booth whilst everyone else replenishes their drinks, watching my boyfriend charm the ever-loving shit out of anything with a pulse.