by Anna Cruise
Garcia closed the trunk, then turned to talk to Stuart. He nodded, answering him in Spanish, and Garcia pulled out a phone and tapped something into it. He showed Stuart, who nodded again and patted him on the back. A minute later, Garcia was back in the driver's seat, firing up the ignition and, before I could change my mind again, he peeled away from the curb, leaving the three of us standing in the dirt parking lot.
Brynn clapped her hands together. “Alright,” she said. “Where are we gonna set up camp?”
“At the Hilton,” I muttered.
If she heard me, she didn't respond. She didn't wait for an answer, just headed toward the beach, her hiking shoes and socks already in her hands.
“You must really not like camping,” Stuart commented, coming up next to me.
I rolled my eyes.“You sure your name isn't Sherlock?”
“Have you ever been?”
“No.”
He slung the tent bag over his shoulder. His backpack was on his back, his duffel bag was looped over the other shoulder and a different bag, one I'd never seen before, was tucked under his arm.
“So you don't know,” he said. “If you like it or not.”
“I'm perfectly happy in my ignorance.”
“Ignorance is never a good thing.”
“Sure it is. Especially if it involves sleeping in a canvas sack in the middle of fucking nowhere.”
He laughed and grabbed my hand, tugging me toward the sand. “Bet you're gonna love it.”
“Bet I'm not,” I said, dragging my feet.
He still held my hand in his and he tightened his grip. “Bet I can make you.”
It was my turn to laugh. “Ha. You can't make me do or feel anything, Stuart Woodcock.”
He turned to look at me, a small smile on his face. “No?”
“Nope.” I shook my head firmly.
The smile widened. “Watch me.”
TWENTY THREE
“What are you doing?” Stuart asked.
I looked up from my phone. “Looking for hotels within walking distance.”
He sank down next to me on the sand. It was almost six o'clock and he and Brynn had just finished putting up the tent. It was a large, hexagon-shaped tent with plenty of interior space. I was actually surprised that a tent that large had been stored in the miniscule bag Garcia had pulled from the trunk of the car. I'd expected something much smaller.
“Why?”
I motioned to the tent swaying in the onshore breeze. “Because that thing is gonna blow over in...” I glanced at the time on my phone. “Five minutes? Maybe six?”
“No, it's not.” He dug his feet into the sand, burrowing past the top layer and into the damp recesses. “Tents are supposed to move.”
“Supposed to move? What, like an RV? Are we gonna end up further south? Or maybe we'll blow north, back to San Diego.”
He lifted his sunglasses and stared at me, an amused expression on his face. “No. Not like an RV.” He nodded toward the tent. “Look at the poles. They're bent but anchored. The tent isn't going anywhere. I promise.”
I wasn't convinced. “I'll keep looking. For a hotel.”
He shook his head and made a noise.
“What?”
“Just didn't peg you for a chicken.”
“I'm not.”
“Yeah, you are.” He set his sunglasses down on the sand. “You won't even try it.”
“You're right. I won't.”
“So I get on a roller coaster for you and you won't try camping? That seems completely unfair.”
“That's different.”
“How? Roller coasters make me vomit. Camping makes you...what? Break out in hives? Do you have an anaphylactic reaction? I might have an epi pen in one of these bags.”
“Shut up.”
“Well, you're totally ready to bail. And I want to know why.”
“I just want to be...comfortable for the night.”
“I can make you comfortable.”
“We have one tent,” I pointed out. “And there are three of us. You might like the kinky shit but I'm not into threesomes.” That was a half-truth. I did like the kinky shit. I just wasn't into sharing.
He shook his head. “Good God. I was not talking about sex.”
“No? So how do you propose to make me comfortable? Oh, and are you going to fix my 'unhappiness,' too?” I didn't bother hiding the disgust in my voice.
“You rattled her,” he said, picking up on my last comment. “I don't think she's used to dealing with someone like you.”
“Someone like me?” I shoved my phone back in my bag. My reception on the beach was about as good as I imagined reception would be on Mars. “You make me sound like I'm some sort of alien.”
“Well, you sort of are.”
I swatted his arm. “Thanks a lot.”
“Hear me out.” He shifted, straightening his legs, and his toes popped out from the sand. “You're not afraid to speak your mind. To say what you want to say. A lot of girls...aren't like that. So, for someone like her? That can come off as threatening.”
I looked over my shoulder. Brynn was holding a piece of driftwood, dragging it through the sand just outside the tent. Maybe she was writing an SOS message.
“Maybe,” I said. Maybe she was threatened by me. Good.
“Don't let her rattle you. Or peg you as something you're not.”
“Well, you just called me a chicken,” I pointed out. “And you're wrong. So don't go trying to peg me, either.”
“Fair enough.” To my surprise, he changed the subject. “You were great with the kids.”
My eyebrows shot up. “I was?”
Stuart nodded.
I squinted as I stared out at the ocean, the sun sitting squarely above the horizon. “All I did was hand out books.”
“That was all they wanted,” he said.
“Yeah, but I couldn't talk to them. Not like you.” I trailed my fingers in the sand, scooping up a handful. Even Brynn had been able to speak a little Spanish. Me? I probably should have paid attention in my high school Spanish class instead of texting suggestive messages to Brett Higgins, the hot guy who sat in front of me.
“They didn't care.” He smiled. “They loved you.”
I was pretty sure he was full of shit. I wasn't some do-gooder like him or Brynn. I'd come on this little adventure for one reason only—because I'd gotten pissed that someone else might be spending time with a guy I wanted. Well, and because a comment my sister had made had egged me into inviting myself along so I could prove him and prove my family wrong.
“I'm gonna go look for some firewood,” Brynn called to us.
We both turned to look at her. She'd let her hair down and pulled on a sweatshirt, the muted green a perfect match for her eyes. Barefoot, her hair blowing in the breeze, her tanned skin glowing in the late day sun. I hated to admit it but she was beautiful. Maybe even prettier than me.
I swallowed. That was the main reason I'd decided to come along. Right there. Because I didn't want Stuart to be alone with Brynn. Not after the nights we'd spent together. He was mine, for as long as I wanted him to be, anyway. And I still wanted him.
Stuart shook his legs, pulling his feet from the sand cocoon. “You want company?”
“If you want,” she said, smiling. She pointed up the coast. “I see some up there, I think.”
He glanced at me. “You wanna come?”
I didn't hesitate. “Yes.”
“Wow.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Wasn't expecting that.”
“Well, I have to prove to you that I'm not a chicken.”
“Uh, there shouldn't be anything dangerous about collecting driftwood. Unless you know something I don't know...”
“I've never camped. Or collected firewood. But since you seem to think I'm scared of the whole camping thing, I'm going to prove you wrong. Even by risking my life to collect wood.”
He grinned. “I'm already impressed.”
“You should be.” The bree
ze teased my hair and I tucked a wayward strand behind my ear. “Oh. And there's one other thing.”
He shot me a puzzled look. “What?”
“I changed my mind,” I said, shaking my head. “I want you to make me comfortable tonight. Really, really comfortable.”
“Yeah?” he asked, a slow smile working its way across his face.
“Yeah.” I pressed my leg into his, rubbed my foot up his calf. “I'm counting on you to find a way.”
“Is that all you ever think about?”
“Yes.”
He dusted the sand off his shorts and stood up. “I don't believe you.”
“I like sex,” I said. “And I like sex with you. What's so wrong about that?”
“Nothing wrong with it,” he said. He leaned down and grabbed his sunglasses, positioning them on top of his head. His brown hair was almost golden in the late day sun. “But I don't believe you.”
“Really? Are you forgetting the two nights we spent together?”
“Hardly.” He eyed me for a minute, an unreadable expression on his face. “I just know something about you, Annika. Something I'm not sure you know about yourself.”
“Oh, really?”
He nodded.
“Tell me.”
“You talk a big game,” he said, his words careful, deliberate. “But there's more to you than you let on, than you let people see.”
I laughed. “Oh, okay, Dr. Phil. Thanks for the insight.”
“You spend an awful lot of time pretending to be something you're not.”
“Brynn thinks I'm unhappy and you think I'm afraid. I had no idea this was going to be an 'Analyze Annika' trip.”
If he heard what I just said, he ignored me. “A shit load of energy that you could channel into something else.”
“You have no fucking clue who I am. What I am.”
He leaned down again, but this time he came toward me, his face inches from mine. There was a burning intensity in his eyes and it took everything I had to stay still, to not shrink away.
“Bet I do,” he said. He leaned closer, his mouth almost on mine and I breathed in sharply. “And I'm going to prove it to you.”
TWENTY FOUR
Brynn and Stuart not only gathered firewood, but they made dinner, too, hotdogs cooked over the fire, blackened to a crisp. The sun was gone, the fire the only source of light. And heat. The night had grown unexpectedly cool and I'd gladly accepted the thin blanket Stuart handed me, wrapping it around my shoulders to ward off the damp sea breeze.
“I didn't see a cooler,” I said, biting off the tip of my second hot dog, sucking in my breath as the meat seared my tongue.
“No cooler,” Stuart said. He was sitting across from me, his face aglow in the light of the fire. He held up the extra bag he'd carried down from the car.
I made a face. “Don't these need to be refrigerated? Like, so they don't kill us?”
“They're pumped full of preservatives,” Brynn said, wrinkling her nose. “You'll be fine.”
I hesitated for a minute, then took another bite. I hadn't eaten lunch and I was starving. Stuart polished off his third hot dog and, satisfied, tossed his stick into the fire. It sizzled and crackled, the juice from the hot dog sparking in the flames.
“I'm gonna rinse my hands,” Stuart said, standing. “Maybe take a quick swim. Either of you interested?”
I shook my head. Swimming in shark-infested waters in the dark was not my idea of a good time.
“I'll come,” Brynn said and I screwed up my face in frustration. Of course she would.
She held up her hot dog. “Just gotta finish this.”
“Meet me down there,” Stuart said.
He lifted his shirt and pulled it off, tossing it in the sand, and I felt a surge of desire wash over me. I remembered exactly what that smooth expanse of skin felt like, tasted like.
Brynn was watching him, too. “Now that's a man,” she said softly, her eyes trained on his retreating back.
I looked at her. “I've already slept with him, you know.”
She bit off a piece of her hot dog. “So?”
“Just so you know.”
She wiped at her hair, pushing her bangs off her face. “Okay.”
It wasn't the reaction I'd been hoping for. “Okay? You don't care?”
“Not really.”
“But...I thought you liked him.”
She shrugged. “I do. He's gorgeous. And I like what he does. That doesn't mean I want to sleep with him.”
I dug my feet deeper into the sand and said nothing.
“Anyway,” she said, popping the last piece of hot dog in her mouth. “He sleeps with pretty much every pretty girl he meets.” She paused. “That's not true. Every pretty, willing girl he meets.”
This was news to me. “What?”
Brynn smiled innocently. “I thought you knew all about him? He's slept with half the female population of the developing world.”
I just stared at her. No, I didn't know this about him. I'd thought he was a yeti, not some sexed up do-gooder who slept his way around the globe.
“Did you think you were special?” she asked, her eyes filled with mock concern. “Because you're not. He's going to do to you what he does to every girl he sleeps with. Enjoy what they willingly offer and then leave. It's what he does.”
I didn't say anything.
“Sorry to burst your bubble,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. “But you're not special, Annika. And you're nothing to him.”
TWENTY FIVE
I watched them swim. Stars peppered the black sky, more than I'd ever seen, casting enough light on the waves that I could see the two of them splashing just beyond the break. Brynn had stripped off her shorts and sweatshirt, revealing a tiny white bikini on a body that looked like it belonged in the Sports Illustrated swim suit edition. I could see Stuart was shirtless and I wondered if he'd stripped off his shorts, too.
Fuck.
I picked up the stick I'd used to roast hot dogs and stabbed it into the sand. I was pissed.
Pissed at what Brynn had said to me.
Pissed at her swimming with Stuart.
Pissed at the idea that maybe, for once, someone had used me instead of the other way around.
I lifted the stick and speared it into the sand again. Why did I care? Sex was sex. Stuart was good in bed and he was fun to be around. That was it. He wasn't sticking around. And I didn't want him to.
I glanced toward the water again. The splashing had subsided and I wondered what they were doing. According to what Brynn had said, he was probably in hot pursuit of her right that second. And maybe she had lied about not being interested in him. Because there was no sound coming from the water and all I could picture was the two of them taking full advantage of their alone time in the waves. Hell, it was what I would have been doing if it had been me down there with him.
I could join them, I thought. Not for a menage a trois—I was not into sharing my men—but to distract him. Brynn may not have been as homely or as innocent as I'd originally thought, but she didn't have shit on me. Stuart knew what he'd be getting if I shimmied out into the water and wrapped my legs around him. I was a sure thing, and a damn good one. He'd already had a taste of me and he knew exactly what I would deliver.
But I knew I wouldn't. I didn't know if being out of my element was rattling me but something had me second-guessing myself. Maybe it was being in a foreign country. Seeing those sad-looking kids. Roughing it on some God-forsaken beach in the middle of nowhere.
Or maybe it was something else. Realizing there was more to prim little Brynn than met the eye. Wondering if, for once in my life, there might actually be a little competition in my life. Or maybe it was what she and Stuart had said to me earlier in the day. Her jabs about me being mean and unhappy. Stuart calling me chicken and thinking I was afraid of things.
For the first time ever, I was doubting everything about myself. And I hated it.
“Are you medit
ating?”
My head snapped up. Stuart was just steps away, his hair slicked back, drops of water beading on his chest, dripping to the sand. Brynn was right behind him, her arms wrapped around herself, shivering.
“No.”
He grinned. “Thought you might join us.”
“Not a chance.”
His bag was next to the tent and he rummaged inside of it, pulling out a thin beach towel. He didn't use it but tossed it to Brynn. She rubbed it over her hair and shoulders, her body still prickled with goosebumps. I studied her. There was no just-got-fucked look on her face and her swimsuit didn't look out of place. I glanced at Stuart. His shorts were soaked, plastered to his hips, so I was pretty sure he hadn't stripped out of them in the water. I breathed a soft sigh of relief. And hated myself for doing it, for even caring what did or didn't happen between them.
Brynn yawned. “I'm gonna change into some dry clothes and then go to bed. I'm exhausted.”
Stuart sank down next to me. Sand clung to his wet shorts but he didn't seem to care. He picked up a piece of wood and tossed it on to the fire. Sparks shot into the sky and the driftwood popped and crackled.
“I'm gonna dry off out here,” he said. He grinned at her. “Leave room for the two of us.”
She smiled and nodded and disappeared inside the tent. A few seconds later, a flashlight flickered on—where the hell had she gotten that?—and I could see the outline of her. On her knees, untying the bikini top. Her breasts springing free, the tiny piece of fabric dropping to the tent floor.
I turned to look at Stuart. “Enjoying the show?”
His body was twisted away from the tent, his eyes on the dark horizon. He glanced at the tent, watched as Brynn slipped a shirt over her head.
“I'm not interested in every naked girl I see,” he said quietly.
“That's not what I heard.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”
I thought about what Brynn had said before their swim, how she'd hinted at the vast number of his sexual conquests. It wasn't a conversation I wanted to have with him.
