Eighteen #2
‘His dramatic ass is fine,’ someone answers for him.
Some girl. A beautiful, eye-rolling, surfing girl, prancing through the waves and flipping her long hair like a freaking mermaid.
I don’t know her, I don’t even know if Heath knows her, but I know damn well how she’s looking at him – with snarky fucking hearts in her eyes.
‘Your girlfriend can’t handle a little wipeout, huh? ’
‘She doesn’t surf.’
The girl makes a noise that has my hackles rising. ‘And you put up with that? Shit, I wouldn’t.’
‘Did he fucking ask?’
Heath gasp-laughs my name. Twining my ponytail around his fist, he tugs. ‘Claws, baby.’
I ignore him, gaze locked on fucking Merlilah, and she returns the damn favor until one of the guys she’s with catches her attention.
‘Who is that?’
‘Hazel?’ Heath asks more than answers. ‘I think? Dunno. Think she’s in my marketing class.’
He thinks. Yeah, right. A girl like that is in your class, you fucking know it.
‘We surf together sometimes,’ he adds, and I really, really don’t like how that little admission makes me feel. The same way fucking Hazel’s little comment did. Icky and incompetent and inferior.
And irrational, apparently. Impulsive too. Without my permission, my mouth asks, ‘You have a spare wetsuit in your truck, right?’
‘Yes,’ he mouths slowly. ‘Do I want to know why you’re asking?’
‘I just added something new to my list. I wanna learn how to surf.’
‘I don’t know about that.’
‘What, you think I can’t?’
‘Oh, I’m pretty sure you can do anything.’
I simper, just for a second. Tuck my hair behind my flushed ears like some kind of shy ditz and look away – look right in Surfer Barbie’s direction, and promptly snap back to my senses. ‘You would teach me, right? If we were really dating?’
‘Yeah,’ he reluctantly admits.
Jesus, does his hesitance hit a nerve. A particularly unhinged one, fueled by jealousy I have no right feeling and whatever else the fuck is wrong with me today.
‘We can make out in dark corners and lie to your friends and hump in a fucking pool, but this is where you draw the line? This is your boundary?’
‘Did you just say hump?’
‘That is not the point.’
‘Humping should always be the point,’ Heath jokes, but it’s muted, falls a little flat, as wonky as that not-quite-smile.
Assessing me for a long moment, he sighs.
And then, without denying my request or granting it either, he drops to his haunches.
‘Dani, honey, I’m not gonna take a beginner out on a day like this. ’
Though I can’t quite distinguish between relief and disappointment, I can pick out my confusion easily.
‘What are you doing?’ I ask as he starts to unlace my boots.
A hand on my calf guides my foot upwards, and I brace my palms against his shoulders as he slides my shoe off.
He does the same to the other foot, and then he tosses both boots further up the sand, leaving me in just my socks.
A little spark of heat rushes through me when, still holding my calf, he lifts his chin to dazzle me with sparkling eyes and a Cheshire cat grin. ‘I owe you a race, remember?’
My stomach tightens – I remember what we did after he forfeited the last one.
Heath hitches a breath like maybe he’s thinking about that too. When he rises, though, there’s no heat in his expression. Just that smile, bright and encouraging and so fucking easy. Holding out a hand, he wiggles his fingers invitingly.
As if diving headfirst into the crashing waves wasn’t my own damn idea, a flare of panic smacks me in the chest. ‘I wanted to surf. Not swim.’
‘A good teacher makes sure their students can swim before chucking them in the deep end.’
‘I can—’
‘In the ocean, Dani.’
I run my tongue over my teeth. Not quite scowling, but something close – first at Heath, then at his beloved ocean. I could change my mind. He would let me; he’s looking at me like he’s expecting it, like he’s hoping I will.
For that reason alone, I don’t.
Disregarding the ten-pound weight sitting heavy on my diaphragm, I turn to Heath, start to demand that wetsuit, coming up short when I find him closer than I expected. A mere inch away, his breath scalding my forehead before he dips to my eyeline.
‘Remember,’ he murmurs, eyes darting between both of mine, ‘you were the one who bitched about my boundaries.’
‘Wha—Heath.’
In the blink of an eye, I’m swept up, a strong arm banding across the small of my back and hoisting. The next, I’m in the water, so shocked by the sudden frigid deluge, it takes me a minute to even protest. By the time I start shrieking and flailing and gasping, we’re waist-deep.
I’m so busy shrieking and flailing and gasping, I just . . . forget to panic. Sodden and shivering and swatting at every part of Heath I can reach, I only really have room for murderous intentions. ‘Bitch,’ I howl, slamming my palms into broad, unflinching shoulders. ‘What the hell? My clothes.’
‘What?’ Shielding his freaking delight behind an innocent smile, Heath lets me drop a couple of inches. ‘I figured since you put up such a fuss about skinny-dipping, I’d try the opposite.’
‘I’m gonna kill you.’
‘Worth it. Not bad, huh?’
Briefly, I pause my attack. I’m about four seconds away from hypothermia, my favorite sweater is likely ruined, and I’m sure there are a whole gaggle of people laughing up a storm at the absolute picture we’re providing, but . . .
It’s like the shock has knocked the anxiety right out of my chest. Whitewater rumbles toward us, but it doesn’t look quite as . . . formidable anymore. Not with Heath holding me tight.
I swallow. ‘Not bad.’