Eighteen
‘IS HE STILL WATCHING?’
‘Huh?’ As the man kissing me within an inch of my life reels back, I blink quickly, a little dazed.
Gaze caught on swollen lips, on the tiny, dark freckle just slightly off the middle of the top one, it takes three tries before I even realize he’s mouthing something – it’s another couple before I make out a single word.
‘Oh.’ Glancing in the direction Heath discreetly jerks his head, I swallow harshly at the sight of my ex, exactly where he was ten minutes ago, still glaring. At the reminder that all of that kissing had an objective, I wilt, just a little. ‘Yeah.’
Wriggling his left hand free from where it’s trapped between the bed of his truck and my ass cheek, Heath slips beneath my sweater to palm the small of my back. His other hand, he wraps my ponytail around, stealing it from the whipping coastal whip. ‘You okay?’
I nod. ‘Just, uh, thinking about the meet tomorrow.’
‘Damn. Not my best work then, huh?’
I drop my gaze, hiding a flush, biting my bottom lip to stop a disagreement from spilling out.
As usual, his ‘work’ is just fine. Perfectly distracting.
Too distracting. To the point where I genuinely completely forgot he wasn’t kissing me just to kiss me.
That, only a little while ago, we pulled into the beach parking lot and found Ben and some of his buddies already here, zipping themselves into wetsuits, presenting a perfect opportunity for some of that getting him back I’m supposed to be hell-bent on doing.
Except it didn’t feel perfect. Heath smiled at me the same way he’s smiled at me too many times to keep track of, that devious glint in his eyes, revenge written all over his face, and instead of the hundreds of other things I typically feel when bearing the brunt of his full attention, an overwhelming wave of ick washed over me.
Leaving his wetsuit stuck around his waist, he hoisted me onto the bed of his truck, one-handed.
I wrapped my legs around his waist, my arms around his neck, and I kissed him, and, before his very own personal brand of anesthetic washed my common sense away, it just felt .
. . wrong. Forced. Which is ridiculous, I know, because this whole thing is forced.
This isn’t the first time we’ve made out for show.
It is the first time it’s felt so . . . obvious. It’s the first time it’s bothered me.
I don’t blame that night. The pool incident.
I refuse to. I won’t be that girl. Unraveled by a single real taste of Heath fucking Belfort.
I can like him, fine, but I can’t like him.
Not in any serious way. It’ll ruin everything.
Things are . . . well, like I told Heath, I really like how things are right now.
I don’t want anything to change; I sure as fuck don’t want to be the one to change them, to ruin them.
I’m just in a weird mood, I guess. Seeing Ben when I wasn’t expecting it, in possibly the last place I expected it, just threw me off.
It was supposed to be just me and Heath, hanging out, friends, me proofreading the first draft of his final essay while he frolicked in the waves.
I wasn’t prepared for the whole fake relationship song and dance, and that’s my problem.
Fucking Ben.
Hopping down from the truck, I cast a glare his way. ‘Why is he even here?’
Heath snickers as he slips his arms through the long sleeves of his wetsuit. Turning around, he gestures for me to zip him up. ‘Hmmm. I don’t know. What could possibly have instilled a sudden love of surfing in your ex-boyfriend?’
Deciding not to point out he can do his own damn zip, I grab the long cord attached to the tab and drag it upwards, tucking it away before securing the Velcro at the base of his nape. ‘You think this is an ego thing?’
‘I think the majority of Ben’s entire existence is an ego thing,’ Heath quips as he faces me again, and I don’t disagree. ‘This, though, I think is a jealousy thing.’
I snort, arms crossed as I lean against his truck, watching him slide free a board so light blue, it’s practically white. His favorite. ‘You think he’s jealous of your rad skills?’
‘Please never say rad again.’
My eyes roll.
‘He’s jealous of us, Dani. I’m pretty sure this is him trying to win you back.’
‘Well, that’s just silly. How is embarrassing himself and drowning gonna win me back?’
‘You got better suggestions? I’m sure he’d love to hear them.’
I pretend to think about it – I do not enjoy that, with each passing second, the set of Heath’s jaw grows more and more stiff. ‘Build a time machine,’ I eventually drawl, before molars start cracking. ‘So he can go back and decide not to dip his dick elsewhere.’
Surprisingly, that tension goes nowhere. ‘You think you’d still be with him?’
That, I unfortunately don’t need to ponder. ‘Yeah, I do. Not because I loved him that much or because I was happy, but . . . I don’t know. I was comfortable.’
‘Comfortable,’ he repeats, voice as tightly wound as the rest of him. ‘Not in love?’
‘I don’t know. I thought I was. But if what I felt for him was love, then .
. . well, I don’t really know what everyone is always waxing so poetic about.
Highly underwhelming. And if he really loved me, if that’s what it’s supposed to be like .
. .’ I trail off again, not sure how to explain that even if I am hard to love, my partner shouldn’t have fucking told me that, without it coming out so pathetic.
For a long moment, he just stares at me. Brow crumpled, white-knuckling his surfboard. Lips parting, words start to come out, but I get the distinct feeling that ‘You wanna wait here?’ isn’t what he was actually going to say. ‘I’ll leave the window cracked.’
‘Like I’m a dog,’ I croon, only teasing. The passenger seat of his truck or the windswept, frigid beach? Hmm. Tough choice. ‘How sweet.’
He swats me on the ass as I climb in, waiting until I’m settled before closing the door with a playful slam. Leaning in through the open window, he kisses me, a quick peck that’s barely anything, and yet it feels more real than the mauling we just indulged in.
‘Be gentle with me,’ he says, with a nod to the printed manuscript sitting on the dashboard, a red pen on top of it. ‘Got snacks in the glovebox.’
He kisses me again, like he can’t quite resist. ‘Send up a smoke signal if you get bored.’
I promise I will. In the wing mirror, I watch Heath head for the truck bed again to grab his board.
His spine locks when Ben comes into view, a couple of guys from our team flanking him, reeking of trouble.
All that happens is a little shoulder bumping, an oh-so-coincidental slip of a board so the tail thwaps Heath’s side, something Heath just laughs off, but there I go, halfway out the window, yelling in my ex’s wake. ‘What the fuck is your problem?’
‘Not worth it, Dani.’
I huff, dropping my elbow to the roof of the truck, bracing myself with a palm against the window frame. For once, I’m eye-level with Heath. ‘Yeah, you are.’
‘I meant he’s not worth it. I know I am. But thanks for the reassurance, sweetheart.’
A soft oh puffs out of me. Tongue poking the inside of my cheek, I slink back inside the truck. ‘Go away now.’
He does it again. Dips down for a third chaste kiss, and without a soul watching.
He blows another one at me as he jogs down toward the beach, and I slump low in my seat, feet on the dashboard, chin tucked to my chest, hiding in case his long list of talents includes the ability to spot bashful expressions through rain-streaked windshields from a mile a-fucking-way.
Or telepathy. ’Cause, God, are there some thoughts in my head right now.
I have to remind myself, pretty damn sternly, that this isn’t my real life. This isn’t my new normal, and I don’t want it to be. I don’t. I’d be bored. Irritated, likely. The allure would wear off, once it stopped being some shiny, new experience. It’s nice, for now.
For now has to be enough.
A low whistle pierces my concentration, and has me cursing as I accidentally strike a perfectly good sentence with the red pen poised between my fingertips.
‘Damn.’ My head whips to the side just in time to catch a group of guys in the car parked a couple of spaces over wincing. ‘That looked bad.’
I sit up a little straighter. ‘What did?’
One of them points out to sea. ‘Wipeout.’
A couple organs in my chest simultaneously stop working for a second. ‘Do you know who?’
The guys shrug.
Cursing, I lift myself half-out of the open window again, squinting into the distance in search of the right board. I find it, but there’s no time for relief, because Heath isn’t on it.
It takes the longest damn second of my life to find him. Bobbing in the waves what must be the full length of his lead rope away, not swimming for his board at all, and I can’t tell if it’s because he’s fucking around, or if he’s hurt.
I duck back inside. Fuck. Fuck.
The truck creaks with how hard I shove the door open. ‘Fuck,’ I repeat aloud, as I hurry across the parking lot. The black boots I slipped on this morning because I didn’t think going to the beach would actually involve being on the beach sink into the sand, slow me down, but I keep going.
By the time I reach the shoreline, Heath is close enough to confirm a lack of missing extremities or excessive bleeding. He gets within earshot, and I don’t hear any choking or coughing or pained noises – just laughter.
‘What were you gonna do?’ His board tucked beneath his armpit, Heath grins crookedly. ‘Swim out and save me?’
I flinch, unexpectedly bothered by the teasing remark. Maybe because the group coming up behind him hear, and snicker. Kissing my teeth, I cross my arms and grunt, ‘You okay?’