Seventeen
I SPEND A LOT OF TIME RAKING THROUGH MY MEMORY, searching for more of the little moments I must’ve missed. Forgotten because I deemed them unimportant at the time – because I deemed Heath unimportant.
I’ve always liked you.
My bottom lip already chewed raw, I click the back of my pen against an almost blank page of my notebook relentlessly.
I scan the scarce scribbles, and I laugh beneath my breath.
Instead of the notes I should be taking for the lecture I’m currently more than halfway through, I wrote a list. A meager, pathetic list. The few instances I can recall that made it very clear that Heath didn’t just view me as the surly girlfriend of his sworn enemy.
That he didn’t interact with me for the sole purpose of pissing off someone else.
The Little Prince incident tops the list. I was alone.
No one around to witness our conversation.
God, I was hiding, wasn’t I? Tucked around the back of a building after sneaking out the service entrance.
He would’ve had to be actively looking to find me.
He had no reason to talk to me other than he just fucking wanted to.
I can recall at least half a dozen times when he was trading quips with Ben but looking at me – and quite a few more when he was looking at me, just leisurely looking, like he had all the right in the world to do it, and all the time too.
He knows my drink order. He knows what I like to eat. He knew to bring earplugs on a night out. That night on the beach, that very first night, he brought me rum, and he knew I might not want it.
Pool is etched in teeny, tiny, barely distinguishable letters.
Because it doesn’t count. Fondling me in a pool a couple of weeks ago provides approximately zero insight into how he’s felt about me over the past couple of years.
Everything that happened after, though; how he treated me, everything he told me . . . well, that’s friendship, isn’t it?
And then there’s freshman year. The Cove College and HCU swim teams held a joint welcome mixer for prospective new members, and a buzzcut blond who smiled bright enough to blind a girl was the very first person to welcome me.
My first meet, he shot me a thumbs-up from across the room – now that I’m really thinking about it, I don’t even know why he was there.
We weren’t swimming against Cove College.
To anyone else, it would’ve been obvious. To me, it wasn’t even noticed, and, fuck, that’s sad. All this time, someone was in my corner, someone wanted me, and I didn’t even fucking see it.
It won’t do me any good to dwell, though. I definitely shouldn’t be dwelling right now. I should be listening to my professor, taking notes as studiously as the rest of my class, focusing.
Tucking my hair behind my ears, I roll my shoulders back and resolve to do just that.
Except the very second my pen touches paper, a sudden jostle to my chair sends the inky tip flying.
Clucking my tongue at the skewed black line cutting a horizontal path across my page, I shoot a glare at the feet propped on the back of the seat beside me.
I don’t bother turning around. I’ve already wasted an hour and a half thinking about a man – I’m not going to waste the extra minute it would take to reprimand whatever asshole in the row behind me desperately requires a footrest all of a sudden.
I do, however, waste a couple of seconds flipping to a fresh page with a little more vigor than necessary.
I also make sure my huff is extra loud. And maybe, maybe, I scratch the nape of my neck with my middle finger.
But after that, I re-focus on the professor as she discusses . . . Fuck. I have no idea.
Busy clicking through the lecture slides pulled up on my laptop until I find the one that matches my professor’s warblings, I almost don’t register the creak of wood as those intruding feet fall away.
I definitely do register the hand that clutches the back of my seat instead.
Without turning around, I hiss, ‘Not interested.’
‘God damn.’ My quick rejection earns a whispered husky laugh – my brows furrows at the slightly distorted familiarity of it. ‘Got a boyfriend or something?’
‘Uh-huh. Big one. Real scary.’
‘I’m not scary.’
For a split second, I freeze. Just long enough for a muttered no fucking way to make its way into the world, and then I whip around, jolting, not because I find the literal last person who should be in here lounging behind me, but as a last-ditch attempt to escape the flashback that comes hurtling toward me like a metaphysical fist.
Can I? Please. Fuck, Daniela.
A long moment passes before I manage to get ahold of myself, and I know it was a moment too long. A moment too obvious; a mere inch away from my face, Heath’s grin reduces me to glass. Makes me feel entirely transparent, as if he can see everything, every last nasty reminiscence.
‘What the hell?’ I pray I don’t sound quite as husky as I fear I do, glancing at the droning professor, who’s apparently oblivious to the intruder invading her class – and finding a handful of students who are the very opposite of oblivious, much to their thinly veiled chagrin. ‘How did you get in here?’
‘It’s a university, baby. Not a prison.’ In my peripheral, I watch a hand rise. Calloused fingertips graze the underside of my chin, closing my gaping mouth. ‘Get your stuff. We’re kind of on a time crunch here.’
I shift my gaze from Heath to the professor and back again. ‘I’m kind of in the middle of something.’
‘Oh, please. Like you were listening.’ Leaning even closer, he whispers, ‘Whatcha writing?’
Flushing, I hurry to snap my notebook closed. ‘Nothing.’
He stacks his forearms on the thin edge of my chair, chin propped on top of them. ‘Could’ve sworn I saw my name.’
‘Could’ve sworn we already talked about you needing glasses.’
‘Hmm.’ The corners of his mouth quirked high, he moves his chin to the palm of one hand. ‘Question. What the fuck does acephalous mean?’
I blink. ‘How long have you been in here?’
He blinks back. ‘Long enough to basically have an anthropology degree.’
‘This is a sociology class.’
His hand swishes dismissively. ‘Same thing.’
My inner nerd screeches internally. A little externally too. ‘It is not—’
‘Am I interrupting something?’
Jolting again, I swing a guilty grimace toward my professor, my head shaking fervently. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘So sorry,’ Heath echoes, without even trying to sound like he means it.
He stands, and if everyone in the lecture hall wasn’t already looking at us, they sure are now.
‘But we actually have an emergency.’ Snagging my laptop with one hand, he cups the back of my neck and yanks me to my feet with the other.
Like a kitten held by the scruff of their fucking neck, I’m guided out of the row and pushed up the stairs toward the exit. ‘So sorry again.’
Before I know it, I’m in the hallway. Rushing down it. Skipping class for maybe the first time in my entire life, spluttering at the guy making me do it. ‘I’m literally gonna murder you.’
‘Later. We’re busy right now.’
‘I was busy. Now I’m being kidnapped. Again.’
‘Yeah, and you still haven’t learned to fight back.’
Goddamn it. When did I start holding his hand? Ripping mine free, I come to an abrupt stop.
Heath groans. His head flops back as he slowly turns, before it lolls to one side. ‘Did I mention we’re in a rush?’
Only just resisting the urge to stomp my foot like a petulant child, I cross my arms over my chest. ‘Where are we going?’
‘We’re meeting the others at the harbor.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s a surprise.’
‘What kind of surprise?’
‘A fun one.’
Shockingly, I don’t believe him. ‘Is it, or is it something you know I’m gonna hate so you’re not gonna tell me what it is until we’re actually doing it?’
His smile doesn’t waver. ‘It’s whatever will make you come with me right now.’
‘Do I get a hint?’
‘I already gave you one. Keep up, darling.’
‘Heath, I have class.’
‘You had class. You’re hardly gonna go back in there, are you?’
My lips thin. ‘That’s not the point. I don’t have time for this.’
‘Well, make some, my—’
‘Oh my God, enough with the cutesie nicknames.’
Abruptly, Heath straightens. ‘Daniela,’ he drones. ‘Ma’am. Come with me, pretty please?’
Stifling a defeated sigh, I look away from the pouting mouth I briefly, involuntarily consider tempting. I shouldn’t go with him. I should put my foot down. That little stunt wasn’t okay, I can’t encourage behavior like – oh my God, I sound like my stepmother.
And that thought alone is enough to have me conceding. Kind of. ‘I’m not missing practice tonight.’
‘Oh, my—’ he cuts himself off before a pumpkin or a sweetheart or a fucking pookie can spill, grinning wryly. ‘I would never do that to you.’
Haven Cove Harbor is surprisingly bustling, considering the steady drizzle of rain and the brisk November chill. Shivering as the wind nips at the skin my sweater and jeans don’t hide, I begrudgingly trudge down the dock – a stark contrast to the man practically skipping along ahead of me.
‘For future reference,’ I grumble, when Heath eventually notices my leisurely pace and slows to match it. ‘This is not my idea of a fun surprise.’
‘Duly noted.’ An arm drapes across my shoulders, stemming another tremble with its heavy warmth. ‘I left extra layers for you on the boat.’
Distracted by the sweet gesture, I make it another couple of steps before abruptly coming up short. ‘Boat?’
Over the squawk of seagulls and the low keening of hulls bobbing in choppy water, a bout of snickering announces that I haven’t come up short at all; I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be, stopped beside a small vessel with the white cursive words An Gráinne Mhaol standing out against the dark navy hull.
Crouched over one of the bollards on the dock skillfully unravelling a knot, Matilda grins at me. ‘The harbor didn’t give it away?’
My middle fingers twitch, but I keep them at bay. After all, she does have a point. Honestly, what did I think we were doing?