Chapter 12
Twelve
Forty percent.
That’s about where I’m at right now. Even after wasting the whole morning in bed, blackout curtains drawn, a dozen water bottles within reach, I’m still swimming in the aftereffects of last night. I guess a crash this brutal was overdue.
Naturally, the universe decides to aim another hit my way. I see it coming, probably have time to dodge, but not with reflexes this shot. The frisbee lands with a thwack against the side of my head.
Air punches from my lungs, and my hand flies to the already-throbbing spot.
“Shit.” Pressure lands across my shoulders. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
I blink rapidly, catching flashes of the guy holding me. It takes effort to bite back the wince, swallow the emphatic no, and nod. Instant regret. The pounding in my skull kicks up two gears.
“You sure?” His fingers squeeze lightly. “That thing had some speed on it.”
This time I don’t bother masking the grimace.
“I’m good. You just caught me—well, the frisbee did—at the worst possible time. I’m way too hungover.”
“Damn. A double whammy then.” His grin flickers and dies just as quick. “Sorry, bad joke. I actually feel like shit about this.”
I lower my arm, exhaling through the throb. “It’s fine. Honestly, I was already thinking of drinking it away. Hair of the dog, right?”
That earns me a flash of dimples.
“You think like me.” His hands finally fall, space opening between us. “I’m hitting a party later, close by. You should come. Unless you’re planning on dodging frisbees all day?”
I give him a once-over. He’s got that frat boy energy nailed, from the messy hair to the easy grin, and before I can second-guess myself, I’m nodding.
“Sure, why not.” Imbibing beats overthinking any day. “Can I bring someone?”
“Course. It’s my buddy’s place, he won’t care. I'll text you the address.”
I program my number into his phone, we exchange names, and then he—Connor—leaves with a breezy catch you later. I turn, ready to hunt Aspen down, but she’s already spotted me, brows raised. I raise mine right back in a silent what?
Dylan’s slouched to her left, cap pulled down like he’s napping, and to her right…
surprisingly, Carson. Shades hide his eyes, same as mine, but his head tilts in the direction Connor’s gone.
If I had to wager a guess, the unsavoury music blasting from that vicinity is probably responsible for the set of his jaw.
“Who was that hunk?” Aspen calls as soon as I reach her.
I settle in beside her, brushing grains from my shorts. “Some guy who made me the victim of a rabid frisbee.”
“Ouch. I didn’t see that. You okay?” I nod, and she continues, “I did see you with his phone, though. Did you give him your number?”
“Uh-huh. He invited me to a party.”
Carson’s scowl slices through the conversation. “He threw that frisbee on purpose.”
“You saw that?” Aspen’s brows furrow. “Is that why—” She stops, shaking her head. “Never mind.”
I glance at her before focusing on Carson. “Why would he do that?”
Even with black rims shielding his eyes, I feel it, the judgment.
“He got your number, didn’t he?”
Reckless.
He might not say it, but it slams into the air anyway. He’ll always be the straitlaced swimmer, and I’ll always be the girl spinning with no axis to hold her steady.
“I guess that’s one way to score a girls number,” Aspen mutters, cutting through the quiet, and with it, the moment. The one where I silently goaded him to say it, and he regarded me back like I’m nothing more than a liability. “You need some, Bri?”
Sunscreen.
I’m mid head-shake when a pang sears through.
Aspen’s already half-reaching for me. “Are you sure you’re fine?”
“Yeah.” But it’s cheapened by the cautious press I give the bump already forming. “I don’t know if it really hit me that hard, or if it’s the hangover, but it definitely hurts.”
“What if you have a concussion? Can that give her a concussion?”
Carson’s reply is instant, like he’s already catalogued the possibility. “Doubt it. Her balance is steady, she’s coherent, seems aware of her surroundings.” His chin tips. “Any blurry or double vision?”
“No.”
“Yeah, probably not a concussion.” He casts a long shadow over me as he stands. “But that party? Not a smart move. You might want to lay off the drinks for a while.”
He has to be seeing the vision of my shot pupils from last night because the way he says it? Like I’ve got a flask hidden in my tote and a problem I won’t admit.
He might be wrong, but he’s not far off.
I only realise he’s waiting for an answer when he doesn’t move.
All I can manage is a vague hum. It flattens his mouth, like he hears it for exactly what it is: another night, another party, yes please.
Aspen lifts a hand to block the sun. “You coming back?” He nods. “Can you please bring me a cold water?”
I consider tacking on a plus-one to the request but before I can, he walks off, no backward glance. Oh well.
“So…” I lean toward Aspen. “Wanna come with me to the party?”
“Brielle!” Her mouth falls open. “Did you seriously not hear what Carson just said?”
“Yeah, that the chances of a concussion are low. I’ll be fine.” It’s a cheap tactic, using his own logic against him, but I’ve never claimed to be a saint.
Her nose crinkles, worry sitting just beneath, but she already knows there’s no talking me out of it.
“I didn’t drink much last night, but it still hit me hard, so I’m gonna have to pass. Maybe ask Reese? You shouldn’t go alone.”
“No worries. Where is Reese, anyway?”
“Sleeping.” She starts brushing invisible grains off her thighs in repetitive strokes. “Doubt he got much last night.”
Ah. Flashes of him laying charm on a redhead comes to mind.
Aspen pivots. “So… that guy. You interested?”
“Connor? He’s easy on the eyes, sure. But interested, no. I’m not really looking for anything right now.” I don’t mention the rest—that I won’t be for a long time. Maybe ever.
“You’re not even interested in a little… summer fun?” Her voice falters on the last two words, like she suddenly remembers Dylan asleep beside her.
The absolutely not rises fast, almost impossible to keep in, but I do. A concrete refusal like that will only invite questions I’m not ready to answer. “Not really.” I flip the script. “Is that something you’re interested in? I can totally wingwoman if you want.”
“I mean…” A blush spreads across her cheeks. “I wouldn’t be against it.”
I direct a pointed glance at Dylan. Raise my brows. When you don’t want to be in your head, you notice the smallest of things sometimes and Dylan…
The pink deepens but she mouths just friends before clearing her throat. “Poor Connor, though. All that calculated effort only for it to amount to nothing.”
“Yeah,” I laugh. “Poor him, decking an unsuspecting girl with a frisbee.”
The briny air is thick around us, salt-heavy notes threading my senses. Soon it shifts, just slightly. Carson coming back, I realise. No shades this time. Just the weight of his gaze, now having full scope to pin me directly in place.
“Well,” Aspen continues, accepting the bottle he offers, “I guess frisbees are the new flowers. Which one’s better, speaking from experience?”
I start to answer, but Carson turns to me, holding out another water and… is that an ice pack? For me?
“Um.” I pause, searching his face for some kind of tell and finding nothing. “I’ve never actually been given flowers,” I mutter absently.
He’s mid-motion when something in him stutters. Not much, just the faintest hitch of his wrist. A blink-and-you-miss-it moment. But I don’t blink, and I don’t miss it.
“What’s this for?” I ask, stupidly. I already know what. It’s the why I don’t understand.
He settles back into his previous spot. “For your head.” Slings a tanned arm over his face. “Just in case.”
Aspen’s not surprised by the gesture, and I guess I’ve left my rationale somewhere between when you’ve dug yourself into a hole and I don’t think about you, because neither am I.
I am touched, though. And, weirdly, my chest’s a little tight.
“I appreciate it. Thank you.”
He only grunts in reply. “You take anything for the headache? Got meds if you need them.”
“Yeah. Aspirin.” Again, almost under my breath, “Thanks, though.”
How long’s it been since someone cared without being obligated to?
I don’t know what Aspen’s smiling about, but she hides it behind her bottle before I can ask.
“You really haven’t received flowers, Bri? Not even an ex?”
I’ve only had one ex and looking back on it, nothing about that relationship was memorable or meaningful.
“Nope.”
“That’s… so unexpected. You’re gorgeous.” Her eyes widen, like something clicks. “That’s it. You’re so gorgeous guys are intimidated by you.”
I nearly choke on my sip of water. “Intimidated?”
“No, not in a bad way!” she rushes to clarify. “It’s that thing, you know? How guys freeze up when they think a girl’s out of their league. Don’t you think, Carson?”
“That she’s pretty?” His arm lifts just enough for a once-over. “Sure.” It comes out easy but do I imagine the edge beneath it?
Maybe. Probably. But the faint squeeze of my gut? I’m definitely imagining that. I’ve heard prettier words from smoother mouths, and none of them ever got more than a bored blink out of me.
An unsolicited image of the vixen hanging off his arm surfaces. It’s not like he’s a stranger to beautiful girls either.
“Well, I’m glad you think she’s pretty, but no. I mean that maybe guys don’t approach her because of it.”
I can’t help it. “You’re asking him that?”
They go on like I haven’t spoken. And Carson, of all people, actually pauses, gaze sweeping over me like he’s recalculating something he thought he already understood.
Instead of dismissing Aspen’s claim, he reclines again, tossing out a cryptic, “I can see where you’re coming from.”
Wait. What?
I don’t catch Aspen’s smugness, too caught off guard.
“What’s that even supposed to mean?” He can’t see the confusion written all over my face, but he can definitely hear it. “I’m not intimidating. You certainly don’t act like I am.”
His sigh punctuates through the background noise.
“I didn’t say I was intimidated by your five-foot-four self.”
My lips part.
“But I know plenty of guys who only hand out flowers when they’re sure they won’t be turned down.” He pauses. “Some might see you and figure you’d shut them down. Or that you’ve already got a line-up waiting. So they don’t even bother.”
That’s the longest he’s talked to me without a jab—and did I just catch a hint of a joke in there? Baby steps.
“So flowers can’t just be flowers anymore?” I counter. “They have to mean something?”
“That’s how guys work,” Aspen chimes in, smoothing non-existent flyaways. “I mean… I think. In my opinion, flowers without meaning only happen once you’re already together. Before that? It’s pursuit.” Then, to Carson, “You ever given flowers to a girl?”
A little line digs between my brows. I wait.
“No.”
“No one’s been worth it?” Aspen asks.
His correction is so low, I almost miss it. “There’s no one I ever wanted.”