Chapter 25
Everly
Music vibrates my chest and pulses in my ears.
The br Ω house is at capacity. Really, it’s just a regular house that a handful of guys share, but it looks like every movie image of a frat party I’ve ever seen.
Bodies everywhere holding solo cups, a kitchen littered with half-full bottles, a small crowd gathered around a keg and another around a heated game of beer pong.
Lilly, Noah and Seth move like a single unit through the bodies and sweep me along with them. Lilly squeezes my hand she’s holding as Seth presses a foaming solo cup into my free hand. Noah hands one to Lilly, and she taps her cup to mine. We take a sip together.
The beer is refreshingly ice cold. I take another bigger gulp.
Seth tracks my swallowing as he downs half his cup in one gulp.
I can’t tell if it’s the beer or his stare that makes my stomach feel twirly.
The adrenaline spike has me gulping more beer though.
In two swallows, my cup is empty. I hand it to Seth, who fills it back up with a nod and a grin.
We’re standing at the kitchen island. Noah and Lilly are greeting the girls currently concocting some pitcher of bright pink liquid.
Noah snags four Jell-O shots off a tray and passes them out to the three of us.
I down it without hesitation. I want to dull my nervous energy.
And I don’t want to think about my life back home. If I even have one anymore.
As the familiar guitar riff of AC/DC’s “You Shook Me All Night Long” erupts through the house. I grab Lilly’s hand again and cry, “Let’s dance.” But she’s already shaking her head.
“You go. Noah and I are about to school these clowns in pong.”
“I’ll dance with you, Davis.” Seth slings his arm over my shoulder and steers me toward the living room, crowded with several jumping, swaying coeds shouting the lyrics word for word.
Draining my solo cup, I toss it back onto the kitchen bar and move with him, my head beginning to buzz.
We join the group, moving to the beat, shouting the lyrics too.
The DJ must love old-school rock because AC/DC flows right into “Patience,” my favorite Guns N’ Roses song.
As old-school rock goes, this isn’t a common choice.
Seth slides his hands up and down my hips and pulls me close.
I let him, even though it feels wrong. His touch is wrong. His smell is wrong. It’s all wrong. But tonight, wrong is better. No piercing blue eyes. No fingers that curl around my ear. No lips that—
Axl Rose’s voice interrupts my doom spiral.
“I love this song,” I lean in near Seth’s ear and blurt over the music and noise. “It reminds me of my dad.”
“Does he like GNR?” he asks loudly to be heard.
I’m smiling, but I shake my head. “He did. He died in Afghanistan when I was twelve.”
“Fuck, Davis. I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m okay. I like that I have this reminder.” I keep swaying with him, smiling, my wrists resting on his shoulders.
His eyes, golden in the dim lights, lower to my lips. His lashes are long, dark and curl perfectly.
Why are lashes like his always wasted on guys? He’s so pretty. A total thirst trap. Because I’m thirsty. A giggle bubbles in my throat at my train of thought. I lick my lips, craving another beer, liking the buzz in my head.
With the slightest pressure, he pulls my hips toward him.
I close my eyes and lean in just as the song ends.
I open them and he’s watching me, our noses almost touching.
Realizing what almost happened, I step back and blink, breaking the .
. . whatever that was. I’m getting dangerously drunk, but this level of numb feels so good.
“I want another beer,” I announce and step out of his arms.
“Anything for you, babe.” He steps back too but takes my hand and turns toward the kitchen.
Lilly and Noah are still at the pong table. She’s standing in front of him, his arms around her. Noah cheers loudly and kisses her on the cheek. It makes me smile, but my cheeks feel rubbery.
“Looks like they’re winning,” I say over my shoulder as Seth fills another solo cup for me.
“Yeah, it’s what they do.” He holds his cup in salute to Noah.
Noah puts his hand to his forehead like a military salute in response.
Lilly and I make eye contact, and she tosses her head to me like “You good?”
I toss mine back in confirmation. Even in my beer haze, I love that we can communicate without words. She’s the best friend I’ve ever had. The only friend. I shake off the sad turn my thoughts take. No sappy bullshit tonight. Just beer and fun and forgetting.
“C’mon, let’s go check out the firepit.” Seth snags a bottle of clear liquid off the bar, takes my free hand and leads me through a slider into the backyard.
***
“How’d you end up with a house like this?
On the beach?” It’s just us in the backyard now, sitting in two of the plastic Adirondacks around the fire pit.
I stamp down the image it conjures of the Brew fire pit.
Brew’s chairs are wooden, heavy. The view is a lake.
But the parallels are undeniable. I sip more beer to blur it.
The beer is almost too warm to drink now.
I reach for the bottle Seth brought out and read the label.
Casamigos Blanco Tequila. House of Friends.
Appropriate. It makes me smile. I zero back in on Seth’s voice.
“It’s a VRBO my parents own, but they rent it to me for college. I charge these feral fuckers”—he waves his hand toward the house—“and easily make my rent.”
“That’s a sweet arrangement.” I twirl the bottle in my hand, watching the liquid swirl.
“Can’t complain. It’s a clean setup. Close to school. Close to surfing.” He nods his head thoughtfully. “Yeah, a damn good flex.”
Reaching for the bottle, Seth’s fingers brush mine as he takes it from my hands. He twists the top off with a plonk and takes a healthy swig. Swallowing with a grimace, he hands the open bottle to me.
Bringing it to my lips, I inhale through my nose first. It smells surprisingly light and clean.
Tequila usually smells more like nail polish remover.
I take a tentative sip. Smooth. I take another bigger sip.
It warms my throat and my belly when it lands.
Swallowing a few more times to relieve the slight burn, I pass it back to Seth, who’s watching me with those golden tiger eyes.
Pressing the cork back on the bottle, he drops it to the grass and holds out his hand. “Let’s go to the beach.” He stands as he says it.
I take his hand and allow him to pull me out of the chair and lead me down to the shore.
The path is dark, but the moon is almost full and lighting our way.
Once we’re standing on the sand, I slip off my Dunks, then my socks and stuff one into each shoe.
Seth kicks off his flip-flops, leaving them where they land, so I set my Nikes next to them.
Even the dry sand is cool between my toes, causing a shiver to roll up my body.
Seth peels off his hoodie, plops it over my head and pulls it down to my hips.
I push my arms through the sleeves and reach up to pull my hair out of the neck at the same time he does. He lets his hands fall to my shoulders and pins me with a hungry stare. That hunger brings Julian’s face to mind.
I close my eyes to block it out—an accidental invitation.
When I do, Seth’s lips touch mine. They’re cool, soft.
Different. Not Julian’s. I don’t pull away.
Like a weird test or comparison, I let him kiss me.
Once. Twice. He tastes like tequila. Not like Julian.
I’ve only ever kissed him, so this feels wrong and reckless, dangerous even.
I’m glad it’s different. I don’t want to think about Julian.
Or Jayce. Or Taya. Or liars. I lean into him and tip my head slightly, invite him to deepen the kiss.
He does. His mouth opens, and I feel his breath on my lips.
His tongue brushes my lower lip before it slips past it to caress mine. Soft like his lips. With his fingers in my belt loops, he pulls me to him and wraps his arms around me.
My hands reach up to tangle in his hair. It’s wrong too—long, parted in the middle and dipping just below his ears. I pull on it lightly, fusing our mouths tighter together.
It elicits a low moan from his throat. The sound is off. It’s not the voice that makes my tummy flip, but it flips all the same.
Sliding his hands down, he cups them under my ass and lifts me. My legs instinctively wrap around him. It’s not his waist. We don’t fit the same. He’s strong but slender. This is wrong. My hazy brain is screaming at me through a vortex. It dimly registers but not enough.
He drops to his knees with me in his arms and lays me back on the sand, covering his body with mine.
The swift swinging motion makes my head spin. Lying flat doesn’t stop the spinning. His face closes in to kiss me again, but I halt him with both hands on his chest. I shove him hard and roll over just before I lose the contents of my stomach. Again.
“Shit,” I say after heaving and catching my breath.
I note that Seth is holding my hair. “Sorry. Again.” I turn over and plant my butt next to his in the sand in an all too familiar scenario.
Great. I’m the barf girl. Sweeping sand quickly over my upchuck spot, I sit up, prop my elbows on my bent knees and hold my head in my hands.
After a few quick gulps of salt air, my stomach settles.
“Yeah, what is it with you and beaches?” He opts for humor, and I’m grateful for it.
“It might have more to do with the tequila this time. Or all the beers. I’m not really a drinker.”
“Special occasion?” That he keeps it light is the only thing staving off the hysteria bubbling just below the surface, threatening to take over.
“Something like that.” Still holding my head, I turn it sideways to look at him.
He’s resting his cheek on his knees, arms wrapped around his calves, watching me. Half of his face is in shadow, the other illuminated by the moonlight. “So what’s your story, Davis?”
I can see half of his close-mouthed smile.
“Hmph,” I snort. “It’s not a good one, Seth.
In fact, I came here to forget about my life.
For a few days anyway. Cool?” He nods in response, so I add, “Help me forget.” His eyes go dark with unmistakable hunger, and I realize my inadvertent invitation.
I quickly amend my statement. “Lilly said you grew up in Hawaii on Molokai. What’s that like? ”
His smile is kind, understanding. I lie back on the cold sand and stare up at the black sky littered with stars. He stretches out on his side and props his head in his hand, facing me. “Small.” His laugh is a deep rumble in his chest.
It makes my stomach twist because it reminds me of another deep laugh. One I love. I squash it. “Tell me stories, Seth. Help me forget.” I fold my hands over my stomach.
One of his hands reaches out and rests on top of mine. It’s warm. Then I hear his voice. It’s warm too.
“What do you want to know?”
I ignore the pressure behind my eyes. “Tell me about the first time you learned to surf.”
“I was three.” His fingers trace slow circles on top of my clasped hands, warming them.
His voice is like a melody. It soothes me. I stare at the stars and hang on every word.