12. Noah
NOAH
The first thing I noticed when I hit the water was how much my ankle hurt, which shouldn’t be my highest priority considering I’d just fallen over the railing of a boat. While about to kiss the girl I was fake dating. And my phone was in my pocket.
Fuck.
The cold water enveloped me instantly. The chill sent a jolt through my muscles, making me gasp as I sank beneath the surface. I kicked my legs frantically, bubbles swirling around me as I fought my way back up.
Breaking through the surface, I frantically inhaled all the oxygen I could. Wet hair plastered against my forehead. The boat loomed above me, and I could just make out Macey’s panicked voice yelling my name.
I treaded water, keeping my head above the surface. Thankfully, I was a decent enough swimmer, as the waves catapulting from the boat would be strong enough to pull a weaker swimmer under.
“Oh my God!” Macey’s head appeared over the edge of the railing, her eyes wide and panicked. “Are you okay?”
The cold had fully seeped into my bones now, making every movement stiff and awkward. Adrenaline kept me from feeling too miserable. I spat out a mouthful of salt water. Gross.
“Yeah, I like falling overboard for fun!” A shiver coursed through my body.
Macey’s hands gripped the railing as she leaned her chest over to get a closer look. Not that there was much to see—just me and the water. A match made in heaven, really. “What do I do?”
“Gee, I don’t know, Macey.” The boat was getting ahead of me now, so I wasn’t sure if she heard me scream, “Get help!”
A panic-induced laugh escaped her, one that rang through the air. It warmed my chest for a moment before the water cooled it again.
I hoped no one was recording this.
Or, maybe if someone was, I could use this as an excuse to sign off social media for the three months that I’d be road-tripping with my sister. Write some sob story post about how embarrassed I was and that I would be off the grid for the foreseeable future, learning how to stand properly on boats.
All of this depended on me getting safely out of this water, of course.
I heard some commotion ahead from the catamaran before it stopped in the water. A few cries were made, and I started swimming again toward the boat. This was good. It gave me something to do to warm myself up.
Plus, the added bonus: my ankle had gone totally numb.
A neon orange rescue boat emerged from the side of the catamaran, and I could have cried tears of joy. Two crew members were holding lanterns and flashlights, swinging the beams through the ocean.
“Over here!” I yelled.
Yellow light spilled across my face, forcing me to blink against its harsh brightness.
My muscles screamed as I swam toward the rowboat, each stroke more desperate than the last. As I neared, a hand reached down, and I gripped it tightly.
The crew member pulled me in with surprising strength, his voice gruff but concerned.
“You all right, son?”
“Never been better,” I replied, my teeth chattering so violently I could barely form the words.
The wind hit me like a slap as we rowed toward the catamaran, biting into my damp skin. Goose bumps erupted across my arms, and my hair stood on end as though it too was reacting to the cold.
The crew member, seemingly unfazed by my shivering state, gave me a sideways glance. “Good thing we got to you before the sharks did.”
I froze, my heart skipping a beat. “What?” I scooted away from the edge of the boat, my mind racing. “There are sharks in these waters?”
The man quickly backtracked, sensing the panic building in my chest. “No, no… Of course not.” His eyes flicked to the other crew member, who was trying—and failing—not to laugh. “Just messing with you.”
I wasn’t sure if he was lying, but I was too cold and exhausted to care. I chose to believe him, letting the false sense of relief wash over me.
A ladder appeared on the side of the boat like a beacon. I scrambled up the rungs, my legs weak, and nearly collapsed when I reached the deck.
Everyone greeted me. Seriously. Any fleeting hope that me falling overboard and returning could be brushed under the rug immediately fizzled. A small group formed around me, with people asking questions.
“What happened?”
“Are you okay? ”
“Why did you jump?”
“Eliza, you can’t just ask people why they jumped!”
My eyes looked for one person.
There, pushing through the crowd, was Macey. Her hair, which had been weaved flawlessly into a braid before, had come undone. A few strands were stuck to her forehead, the others cascading down her shoulders. A flush of pink coated her cheeks.
And when she saw me, wet and shivering and pathetic, she burst out laughing.
She.
Laughed.
Unimpressed glances turned in her direction, but considering she was the only one holding a blanket for me, I knew she was concerned.
I much preferred this reaction over half-hearted questions about my health.
Her laughter was a melody that had me trapped—I trudged through the deck until I was in front of her. She doubled over with laughter. “I’m sorry,” she said between breaths. “But you look like a wet rat.”
I cracked a smile. “That’s very flattering.”
“Are you okay?” she whispered just for me.
“Yeah.” Freezing my ass off, but I was fine.
She handed me a small tote bag with a sly smile. “The captain gave me some extra clothes from the crew. You should probably get out of those wet clothes before you freeze.”
I nodded gratefully and disappeared into the bathroom, then quickly shed my soaked slacks and button-down shirt. I stuffed them into the bag, feeling a mix of relief and awkwardness.
When I pulled on the sweatpants and the faded Jaws T-shirt, I couldn’t help but chuckle. Maybe it was the ironic humor of a shark-themed shirt after I’d just fallen overboard .
“You’re a very good stalker,” I said to Macey when I returned. “You know my measurements and everything.”
She rolled her eyes, but they were full of mirth. “I take my stalking very seriously.”
The boat wasn’t far from the harbor now—thank God—but I sat next to her on the deck. Macey wrapped the blanket over my shoulders and pulled me into her.
“What happened?” she asked.
“My ankle is weak as shit,” I said, rolling it out. Still a little numb. Still a lot painful. “The boat hit a small wave and I totally lost my balance.”
“I won’t say I told you so.”
“You just did.”
Now, rescued and safe, I couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the whole situation.
Not that the evening had completely unraveled me, but it had shaken me more than I cared to admit.
I needed that reassurance that I was actually here, on solid ground, not still drifting in the middle of some shark-infested sea.
I stretched my limbs out, my muscles still tight from the cold and tension, and then, with a dramatic sigh, I lay down on the deck—never mind the questionable cleanliness of it.
Macey’s lap was the most inviting thing in my immediate vicinity, so I settled my head there, closing my eyes for a second.
Oh, shit, my phone. After a quick assessment, it appeared to be in working order. At least there was that.
Macey ran her fingers through my hair, tugging at the edges.
If I thought I found paradise earlier, I was wrong.
This was it. A sigh of contentment left my mouth, and Macey’s hand paused for a brief second like she was going to say something.
Instead, she silently continued the motion until we docked in the harbor.
Back in the suite, I showered and changed into proper clothing of my own. This wasn’t the most pleasant event to document, but after I had mentally recovered from the fall, I had to recount the events in a video. During which Macey jokingly suggested I recreate it for the viewers.
Instinct drove me to look for her now, and I found her lounging on the bed, blue light from her phone reflecting on her face. She looked up when she saw me enter.
“Hey.” She placed the phone on the notebook next to her. “How are you?”
“I’m fine, stop worrying.”
My body was okay, all things considered. My ego may have some long-lasting damage, though.
Slowly, she looked me up and down, pausing her gaze by my feet. “The ankle?”
The bed bounced a little when I sat on the edge. I didn’t want to get too close, or insinuate anything, so I stayed by the corner. “Hurts a little. Still weak.”
“Weaker than normal, you mean?”
I laughed. “You’re very good at comforting me and humbling me at the same time.”
Macey patted the spot next to her on the bed, and my heart kicked up its pace. I scooted closer to her. “Let me see,” she said, holding a hand out for my ankle.
Her fingers felt cool against my ankle. My body must be so confused by all the temperatures it encountered in the last hour, from cold seawater to a boiling hot shower.
But this touch was different. Soothing.
Who was I turning into? Some kind of lovestruck fool who tried to kiss a girl he shouldn’t be pursuing?
All I knew was as long as everything went according to plan, I’d collect a check from Opal Serenity large enough to cover three months offline, during which Daphne and I would set off for California and wherever else our hearts took us.
I just needed to survive the social media jungle for a few more months until summer.
I’d been doing this for a long time. I could get through it alone. That knowledge wasn’t enough to stop my stupid heart from insisting it wanted her there, though.
After a minute, Macey lowered my ankle back to the duvet. “Dr. Macey says you’ll be all right, but you have to rest it for real this time.”
First of all, Dr. Macey had no medical credentials.
Second, despite that fact, she was right.
Thank God I was someone who could laugh at his misfortune.
“Does Dr. Macey have some medicine to share with her injured patient?”
She rolled over and rifled through a small bag on the nightstand, pulling out a pill bottle. “I have Tylenol.” She held the bottle just out of my reach when she rolled back, this time even closer to me. “And…”
Then she leaned forward to press her lips against my ankle. “A kiss to make it better.”
In past moments like these, with Macey being close and flirtatious, I’d shut down. I’d been with plenty of women, sure, but none who I felt really saw me for me. Or, rather, that they even cared to see who I was under the fame.
But now, I felt more at ease.
“All my past doctors have been slacking,” I joked. “I guess I’ll have to keep coming back to you.”
She grinned. “Sure, but don’t ask me where I studied.”
I took the Tylenol from her, popped two in my mouth, and dry swallowed.
A comfortable silence descended upon us. We weren’t even touching, but I felt the touch of her presence everywhere .
“Who’s going to take care of you when Dr. Macey is gone?” She pulled a face. “I’m going to stop referring to myself in third person now.”
“I take care of me.”
I felt more than saw her turn her head toward me. “What about your other friends?”
Friends.
“Don’t have many of those,” I said bluntly and turned my head to face her. “I prefer not to keep people too close.”
Her gaze was steady and unblinking, as inescapable as if she had pinned me to the bed. “Why?”
I gave my typical speech. The one I’d reminded myself of over and over these last few years.
“Because they never stay,” I said. “People are like Instagram followers. Most will either leave or decide to dislike you at some point, so there’s not much of a point cultivating new relationships.”
She hummed, but it was a dark sound. “That’s a tragic way to view people.”
“Most people only care about being seen with me instead of actually being with me,” I said, then added, “Better to let them leave before you get too close and get hurt.”
If the words felt tackier in my mouth than usual, well. It was probably because I nearly drowned earlier.
My opinion irritated her. I could tell by the way her bottom lip curled. A mask had appeared on her face, one that was distanced and disagreeable. I could have sworn she inched away from me.
“I agree,” she said, and all the air in my lungs disappeared. Huh? She then added, “To an extent. People do leave, but to me, that means we should love them harder while they’re still here.”
She adjusted the pillow on the bed. “And to continue with your analogy, if you have one million followers, chances are some have been loyal from your first post. Those are the kinds of people you’d want as your friends. Not the ones who only show up once you’re famous.”
The words hit me in my chest, stinging a little.
“You can have the bed tonight.” Macey swung her legs over the edge. “Good night.”
“Good night.”
But instead of letting her go, I grabbed her wrist. She glanced down at my hand, then at my lips. Suddenly, we both leaned in, and before I could form a coherent thought, we were kissing.
Not for show or for cameras. For real.
It felt…right. Much better than our kiss earlier by the pool. Of course, that had been good, too, but this was inherently better because it was ours.
Her lips were soft and her skin even softer. I didn’t know what was in the Aruba bathwater, but it did its magic. One of her hands lifted to my cheek, and I leaned into it. I let my own hand stray around her waist.
Macey felt right in my arms. Maybe this started as something fake, but the spark between us was real. I doubted a poet could find the right words to describe it.
I traced my mouth down her jaw and then her throat, pausing there for a moment. She made a soft noise, barely audible, but it rolled through me. Her ribcage flared under my hand with every breath. All I wanted was to get closer and find out if the skin under her shirt was equally soft.
Just as my hand started to move under the bottom of her shirt, Macey jerked back, and I froze.
Between deep breaths, Macey lifted one finger to her lips. “That shouldn’t have happened.”
The exact words I said to her after our kiss by the pool. Did she realize how different the situations were, or did she truly not want to kiss me?
“But—”
She cut me off. “I’m going to bed. On the couch. Good night.”
I fell back onto the bed, feeling something that had lingered under the surface for a while, but I only now had the word to describe: alone.