Chapter 9
Somehow, when it’s time to leave, Justin ends up in my car. We’re both sun-kissed from playing in the ocean and everything has that salty-sunscreen smell.
I can’t tell if it’s weird that I just kissed his friend, but Pete squeezed my hand when we got out of the boat and wandered off with Nick and Whit.
The Pact.
No strings.
No attachments.
I wait as Justin rinses off everything back at the marina before placing it back in the car.
Then he piles a cooler and towels in the back seat.
I’ve noticed he’s meticulous about some things—boats, cars, especially his work ethic.
Anita is probably right, that he has bigger dreams than living on this tiny part of the coast, but at the same time he seems perfectly at ease with his life.
“Here,” he says, handing me my flip-flops. They’re wet but clean and I slip them on my feet. I’d offered him a ride when the others quickly left the marina and he was still securing the boat.
“You have so much more patience than I do,” I tell him.
We’re in the car now and I’ve cranked the air-conditioning to cool my burned skin.
He wastes no time moving the seat back to accommodate his long legs and he fiddles with the knobs on the radio and settles on a classic rock station.
I laugh at his choice. “What, no country?”
“Don’t knock it,” he says, lifting an eyebrow. “And whatever, you live in Nashville, that’s about as country music as you can get.”
I pull out of the parking lot and head down the main road. “Which way?” I ask. I’ve never been to Justin’s house—or really, Richard’s, I guess. I can’t deny I’m interested to see where someone lives around here if it’s not at the campground.
“To the right.”
I turn like he says and listen to him sing softly next to me. He knows all the words to Light My Fire and it prompts me to tell him, “In the ninth grade my friends and I all got really into Jim Morrison.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“We thought he was so tragic and poetic. Plus, those leather pants…”
He studies me. “Yeah, I can’t see it.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve got that clean-cut sorority girl thing going on. I can’t see you dropping acid and eating ‘shrooms.”
“Aren’t you awfully presumptuous? You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know enough,” he says. “Believe it or not, I flirted with a Grateful Dead stage. Tie dyes and long hair.” His eyes light up from a passing car.
“We were so lame.” We’re about halfway back to the campground when he gestures to a street coming up and I turn right again, back toward the water.
“I guess everyone goes through some kind of rebellious stage or ‘self-exploration’. Mine just included lots of guitar jams and weed.”
“Do you play guitar?”
“No, but Pete does. He’s pretty good.”
I remember the callouses on his fingertips.
We’re traveling along a dirt road now, passing a couple of individual trailers until we get to a driveway that branches off and heads straight toward the water. Massive trees shade the yard from the setting sun and in the dusky light I can make out a large house.
“This is your house?” I ask, pulling the car to a stop.
“Richard’s.” The house has a sweeping staircase, reminiscent of a southern plantation, and enormous columns. I’m still staring when my door opens and I see Justin holding it open for me.
“This is beautiful.” The water behind it is from the waterway and I can see a dock. Lights flicker on as the sun sets lower around the property. “No wonder you crash here.”
“You want a tour?” he asks and I nod, following him past the car.
“Can we go out there?” I point to the dock. I feel dirty and gross, still in my bathing suit and cover-up—unacceptable for visiting someone’s home.
“Sure,” he says and I feel his fingers slip between mine. I consider removing them, but on second thought I don’t, because there’s no reason. No reason to fight this moment or the guy in it.
Justin leads me through the side yard and down a stone-lined path.
We pass a patio and outdoor fireplace and I stop, staring at the house from the side facing the water.
“Hey, this is the house we saw from the boat the other day? That’s the tree house.
” I point to the huge tree with branches over the water, “You talked about hanging a swing under.”
“Yeah, Richard won’t let me put a swing up there. I’m not sure why.”
“Maybe because you aren’t eight?”
“Some may disagree,” he says, smiling devilishly. “Don’t worry; I plan on wearing him down. Eventually.”
We’re at the edge of the dock now and Justin leans against the rail, facing the water. His shirt is dirty with grease from the boat and his navy blue board shorts skim the edge of his knees. He’s cute and funny and I want to know more about him.
“So why do you live here?”
He looks out at the water and I feel his thumb graze over my hand. He says, “He took me in when I was fifteen. After both of my parents split.”
“Split? Like broke up?”
“Left. My dad left when I was a kid. My mom stuck around for a while longer but in the end, she bolted, too. Bobby wasn’t mature enough to handle me on his own so Richard let me stay here.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. That must’ve been really hard.”
He lifts his shoulders as though it’s no big deal. “It is what it is, and Richard has been great. He helped me get in school and gave me the job at the marina. Plus, I get to live in my awesome cottage.”
The sun has completely dropped into the horizon and the sky darkens. I tighten my grip on his hand and take a breath. “My dad left when I was eight. After my mother’s fourth book. He didn’t want to be the husband of Julia Barnes, author.”
Justin tilts his head. “Do you still see him?”
“Not really,” I say. “He has a new wife and two kids. The last I heard from him was when he sent me a check for graduation.”
He snorts. “What jerks.”
“Guys are kind of like that,” I say.
He cuts his eyes at me and frowns. “Not all guys.” He means it—or so he thinks, and maybe it’s true, but in my recent experience, guys kind of suck.
“I should go,” I tell him and I try to tug my hand from his but he holds tight. As we walk back the crickets start chirping, making a low hum against the small waves coming from the water. The vibe between us is awkward, so I ask, “Hey, what did you mean by an awesome cottage?”
This earns me a smile and he points past the patio, on the other side of the fireplace chimney. I see it: a small carriage house. “That’s it.”
“You live there?”
“Since I turned eighteen. Richard and I agreed we both could use some privacy. Lucky for me, he had a guest house fully furnished.”
“What, to bring girls home?”
“Hey, he’s single, too. It just worked out better for us both to have some space.” He stops abruptly. “Do you want to go in?”
I glance over at the small cottage. It’s bigger than my camper, which adds allure since I’ve been confined to such small quarters for a couple of weeks.
Again, the mood between us changes, no longer awkward but a different type of tension.
Tense with a heavy coil of energy linking between us.
I can still feel Pete’s lips on mine and I push past the lump in my throat to confess, “I kissed Pete on the sandbar.”
His expression doesn’t change but he says, “Okay.”
“I know about your pact—the no girlfriend pack.”
He watches me closely. “You’ve done your homework.”
“And I just…Anita thinks I need a summer of fun—to get past some drama I left back home.”
“Summer’s summer of fun,” he mumbles, but he’s not mad. He’s still with me, hanging on every word.
“I know things were going good between us and I didn’t want it to get awkward. Or to hide anything…”
“It’s okay, Summer. Pete’s my best friend. And you’re an incredibly sexy girl. I can’t blame him for making the first move.”
My stomach churns from his words.
“I uh…I really should get back.”
He doesn’t fight me and we walk back to the driveway. His hand never leaves mine, and when we reach the car he positions his body so his back is flat against the door, blocking me from leaving. “Thanks for the ride home,” he says. There’s a growing intensity in his eyes.
“You really don’t care that I kissed Pete?”
“Nope.”
“Is he going to care if I kiss you?”
He thinks for a moment and pulls out his phone. I watch, confused as he types out a message. After a quick second it vibrates and the exchange goes back and forth. When he finished he holds it up for me to see.
I hear you kissed Summer?
I did.
Mind if I give her a shot too?
That’s her choice not mine…
“So, Summer, seems like that kiss is up to you?” His lips twist into a smile. “But for the record, I’m all in.”
His hands reach for my hips but he’s taking too long, so I grab his shirt and move closer. The instant I do a slow, wide smile briefly appears before his expression turns serious and he kisses me.
My hands fly to the back of his head and tug him toward me, and I lift on my toes to reach him better.
If my first kiss of the day was slow and sweet, this is the opposite, beyond what I’d hoped it would be.
The feeling of his lips, his tongue, and his body against mine lights a fire and it spreads to the pit of my stomach down to the tips of my fingers.
My encouragement makes him greedy and I feel his hips push back into mine and his day’s growth of stubble rubs against my chin.
I don’t care. When we part, we’re both breathing a lot heavier than before.
“That was,” he starts, but I kiss him again, because I like kissing and well, I like him.
This leads to another round of his lips on mine, then he focuses on the sensitive skin behind my ear until his teeth scrape down my throat to my collarbone and I crumble into giggles under his touch.
“Ticklish,” I say, and he starts laughing too and it’s enough to break the fire between us for the moment.
“Good to know,” he says, raising his eyebrows in fun while staring at my lips.
“Good night, Justin,” I tell him and get in the car before I change my mind and take him up on the offer to see his cottage.