9. BAILEE
BAILEE
I woke up to Malia’s twins swinging my hammock, rolling me out of bed, and dragging me to breakfast. I was hungover as shit, but I couldn’t use that as an excuse to skip yet another meal. Thank goodness for small mercies that I slipped on pants before passing out last night.
Dad granted me a small squeeze, which passed for his version of a morning hug, and whispered into my ear, “Really? The good whiskey?” I shrugged, climbing into my seat, head still banging as he slid me two Tylenol.
The sounds of munching and appreciative grunts met my ears. Zak and his fiancé were noticeably absent, but I didn’t comment on it as they always seemed to have a different agenda than we did. Or rather, his fiancé had a different agenda, and Zak went along with it.
“Bailee, we’re going out so the kids will hang with you, alright?”
I stiffened in my chair at Malia’s words. It was one of those things that always seemed like a given. But after last night, after Mason said those things and made me feel wanted, worth it – I didn’t really want to sit back and babysit children during my vacation. I wanted to go. Outside.
“Nope. Not today.”
Elissa shot me a confident smile, apparently happy that I was standing up for myself. Malia, on the other hand, grimaced and huffed a breathy sigh, “They aren’t any good with a sitter. Can’t you just-”
Hackles raised, I opened my mouth to spew a retort that would most definitely ruin breakfast. Instead, Elissa grabbed my hand and spoke for me. “She’s our sister, not our babysitter. Besides, Mom and dad said they wanted to hang with their grandkids. Let’s just go to that surfing lesson we’ve planned.”
Malia didn’t argue as she shoved another mouthful of potatoes between her lips, effectively ending the discussion. I dipped back into the food on my plate, my thoughts elsewhere, even amidst the chaos of devil spawn running around and screaming.
The delicious ache between my thighs. His lips. His hands.
I knew I wouldn’t see him again, but I wanted to. Was that wrong of me?
Malia was pissed, but she also seemed to know something was wrong. I just hoped she chalked it up to me being my weird, antisocial self again. For once, I wanted to hide behind those problems to hide the truth of last night. Because if anyone knew? They would tell me I was too unstable to hold a relationship. That acting out like that had repercussions.
It was only the men they chose that seemed to be viable options. I couldn’t be the free spirit I wanted. But for the first time in my life, I really fucking wanted to. And that’s how I ended up on my way down to the beach with my sisters, clutching a surfboard to my side as they dragged theirs along the sand. I didn’t really want to take surfing lessons, because while there were many things my family didn’t know – the fact that I could surf was one of them.
It was a great way to escape from everyday life, one I had wholeheartedly learned and used on every vacation.
We approached the surfer’s tent, clad in our swimwear. Elissa had a plain maroon bikini that suited her curves. No one would have known she was a mother with the way she held herself. Malia was wearing basically nothing, her top barely covering her tits, the same for the bottom piece. The slivers of cloth had an array of bright colors, obviously meant to draw attention. I wondered why she thought more men in her bed was a good idea.
I had opted for a one-piece because I wasn’t here to show off my ass to anyone who wanted to see it. Also, no one needed to see the scars on my stomach from moments that were too stupid to even think about. Bad decisions plus clumsiness meant wounds that held stories. Some of them hilarious, others… not so much.
We shuffled toward the back amongst a handful of others taking the class. The instructor’s attention landed on us, a wide smile spreading across his face. He looked like an entire work of art, sun-kissed hair, pale creamy skin, and abs that went on for days. But what really caught me? The free look in his eyes. Damn these men and that carefree expression.
It literally made my mouth water and core clench.
“Ah, more?” I bit back a grimace. Even his voice was like all those delicious surfer boys on TV.
“Welcome. Put your boards down. You won’t need them for today. I’m Benji and I’ll be your instructor.” But as he spoke, I heard the Russian drawl to his words, which shouldn’t have been fucking sexy, but it was. Malia nudged me, raising her eyebrows and mouthing, “Mine.”
As if she could claim every goddamn guy here.
I shrugged her off and focused on Benji, but the more I did, the more I remembered last night and the desire I had given in to. If I were just a little bit more reckless, a little bit more unhinged, I’d ask Benji out after the lesson.
Then again, every fucking girl had probably done that and I was nothing special. My eyes dropped as I continued to listen to his tips and tricks, but I had already started zoning out, going through the motions. I didn’t want to be here anymore. Fuck you, you fickle emotions.