Chapter Twenty-Five #2
My friends scatter with plans to meet on the beach in thirty. Back home, I rinse off the salt and sunscreen, slip into my most flattering red bikini, and twist my damp hair into a braid.
When I walk down to the beach, the group is already forming, towels scattered under a couple of umbrellas. Someone’s dragged a few beach chairs out, but most people are sitting in little clusters or lying back on elbows.
Dinah’s hunched over someone’s speaker, connecting her phone to queue up her playlist. “No offense, but if I hear ‘Uptown Funk’ one more time.”
Jack’s standing near an open cooler. He’s changed into navy swim trunks and is nodding at something the person next to him said, but a second later, he looks up and finds me through the crowd with a smile.
I head to where Dawn and Sloane have claimed a patch of sand under one of the umbrellas. I take a sip of the grapefruit seltzer I’m handed, cold, fizzy, and just sweet enough to feel celebratory.
Dawn clinks her drink against mine. “We played well today.”
“And we all looked great doing it,” Sloane says, stretching her legs out in front of her. “Which, let’s be honest, is the whole point.”
I settle back, shaking my head at her, trying to look relaxed. Trying to relax.
A shadow stretches across the sand as Jack drops down beside Thomas, just a few feet away. Thomas nods toward our group.
“So, rumor on the sidelines is that the couple you were playing in the last match broke up last week. If that’s true, they’ve got better chemistry on the court than half the married people I know.”
“Explains why they were hitting so hard,” Dawn says.
Allie bends forward, rubbing sunscreen on the tops of her feet. “Who won the tournament?”
“Jasper and Drea, a couple from Palm Beach,” Thomas says, shaking his head. “Total upset.”
Allie chokes on her drink. “You’re kidding. Drea with the arm brace?”
“Apparently it was for show,” he says. “Girl’s got a killer serve and yells ‘yes!’ after every single point like she’s Serena Williams.”
“I heard they hired a coach this year,” he adds.
“Of course they did,” I mutter as I reach into the bag of sour cream and onion chips that’s making the rounds.
“I still can’t believe summer’s already winding down,” Sloane says, fanning herself with the back of her hand. “It flew by faster than usual.”
“It always does,” Dawn says. “But this one was especially good.”
Thomas pops a chip in his mouth. “That’s because no one got engaged this year.”
“Or broke up mid-season,” Jack adds, glancing meaningfully at Sloane.
She throws a chip at him. “That was one time and it was hardly a breakup.”
“You locked him out of his rental,” Dawn says.
“Because he stole my good beach towel and refused to admit it. What a psychopath.”
“And what about the crab Olympics?” Thomas says.
“Which year?” Sloane asks.
“The one where Jack named his crab ‘Jeff’ and gave it a full motivational speech before the final.”
“Hey,” Jack says, lifting a hand. “Jeff was a champion.”
“He lost in the first round.”
“None of that will ever compare to the infamous Man Island camping night,” Sloane says, propping herself up on one elbow.
A collective groan rolls through the group.
“That was pure hell,” Dinah chimes in.
“We were ill-prepared,” I laugh.
“But thank goodness you brought throw pillows,” Jack teases me.
“For ambience,” I laugh, remembering how I really wanted the setting to reflect a photo I’d saved on Pinterest.
“But then the rain came,” Thomas says.
“That’s putting it lightly. It poured,” Sloane corrects. “Like, biblical levels.”
“We had one tarp,” Jack says. “Which Thomas tied to a palm tree using shoelaces.”
“Hey, it worked for a while,” Thomas insists.
“It collapsed on us in the middle of the night and soaked everything,” I remind him.
“You slept in my lap the rest of the night,” Jack adds, looking at me.
“Because my sleeping bag was wet, and I was freezing,” I say in defense, trying not to smile.
“You were humming,” he says.
“I was shivering.”
“You were humming,” he repeats, grinning now. “The Beach Boys. ‘Wouldn’t It Be Nice.’”
I can’t help it, a traitorous smile tugs at my mouth, small and private, like we’re the only two who remember it right.
Sloane wipes her eyes. “And didn’t someone…yes, it was Dawn, wake up screaming because a stick was in her tent?”
“I thought it was a snake!” Dawn protests.
We’re all laughing now. The kind that makes your face hurt and your drink slosh a little.
“I haven’t thought about that night in forever,” Sloane says, wiping her eyes.
“We should do it again,” Thomas says, serious. “Camp on Man Island. One last hurrah before everyone disappears for fall.”
Dawn snorts. “Only if we bring real gear this time.”
“And more than one tarp,” Sloane says.
“And someone other than Thomas ties it down,” I add.
“My knots weren’t that bad,” he mutters.
Jack doesn’t add anything. He’s just looking out at the water, beer balanced loosely between his hands and a smile still lingering at the edge of his mouth. He glances at me. Just a flick of a look. But I feel it. And I know he’s remembering, too.
The conversation drifts around me, and the sun presses hotter against my shoulders. I shift, suddenly restless, the sand gritty against the backs of my legs.
I stand, brushing myself off. “I think I’m going for a swim,” I announce.
Jack looks up. “I’ll come with you.”
I catch Dawn and Sloane share a glance. No one else moves.
Thomas raises his can. “If you skinny dip, I’m taking your clothes.”
“We’ll take our chances,” Jack says, already on his feet.
The water is warm, and I dip under first, working my way past the breaking waves, resurfacing with my hair slicked back and the sun behind Jack’s head.
For a minute, we just swim, not away from each other but not quite toward, either. A slow drift as we wait to see who breaks the silence first. The quiet stretches, the only sounds the small slap of water and my pulse in my ears.
Jack treads beside me. There’s a pause before he says, “So, no Noah today?”
I glance at him. “No Noah.”
He nods once. “How’s that going?”
I take a deep breath. “It’s not anymore.” I keep my tone easy. Like I haven’t quietly rehearsed saying it out loud to him. I watch his face for a flicker of a tell, but Jack’s hard to read when he wants to be.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. It was the right thing. I’m trying to…” I float for a second, letting the saltwater hold me up. “Make decisions that are best for me. Not just for the summer.”
Jack’s eyes dart across my face. “He didn’t seem like your type.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Oh? And what exactly is my type?”
He shrugs, that slow, irresistible grin tugging at his mouth. “Someone who likes The Beach Boys at four a.m.”
I splash water at him, but I’m smiling again.
Jack tips his head toward the beach. “They’re probably placing bets on whether we’re gonna make out.”
My lips twitch, betraying me before I can stop them. “We could really mess with them.”
“Could we?” his eyes flash.
I don’t answer. I just swim ahead. But when I glance back, he’s still watching me, smiling.
BY THE TIME I MAKE IT HOME, THE SKY’S GONE FULL VELVET. I shower again, washing away the salt that’s still clinging to my skin.
I’m searching for something to eat when my phone lights up on the counter.
Jack: Admit it. You aimed every serve at me.
Warmth floods my chest, and he’s right, I did aim for him during our beach volleyball game tonight.
Me: You were the tallest target
Jack: You cheered any time I missed
Me: I was on the other team. But I did like watching you dive for me.
Jack: I’ll dive for you any time
Jack: Rematch in the morning? One on one?
Me: Tempting. But I’ve got a morning walk with your sister. She’s promised me caffeine and unsolicited life advice.
Jack: Sounds about right
And then the three dots pop up again.
Jack: Can I see you soon?
I bite my lip, trying to steady the little jolt low in my stomach.
Me: I’d like that
The dots again.
Jack: I’m not going anywhere