by Angel Lawson
I pull out of the parking lot and head down the main road. “Which way?” I ask. I’ve never been to Justin’s house—or really Richard’s, I guess. I can’t deny I’m interested to see where someone lives around here if it’s not at the campground.
“To the right.”
I turn like he says and listen to him sing softly next to me. He knows all the words to Light My Fire and it prompts me to tell him, “In the ninth grade my friends and I all got really into Jim Morrison.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“We thought he was so tragic and poetic. Plus those leather pants…”
He studies me. “Yeah, I can’t see it.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve got that clean-cut sorority girl thing going on. I can’t see you dropping acid and eating ‘shrooms.”
“Aren’t you awfully presumptuous? You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know enough,” he says. “Believe it or not, I flirted with a Grateful Dead stage. Tie dyes and long hair.” His eyes light up from a passing car. “We were so lame.” We’re about halfway back to the campground when he gestures to a street coming up and I turn right again, back toward the water. “I guess everyone goes through some kind of rebellious stage or ’self-exploration’. Mine just included lots of guitar jams and weed.”
We’re traveling along a dirt road now, passing a couple of individual trailers until we get to a driveway that branches off and heads straight toward the water. Massive trees shade the yard from the setting sun and in the dusky light I can make out a large house.
“This is your house?” I ask, pulling the car to a stop.
“Richard’s.” The house has a sweeping staircase, reminiscent of a southern plantation, and enormous columns. I’m still staring when my door opens and I see Justin holding it open for me.
“This is beautiful.” The water behind it is from the waterway and I can see a dock. Lights flicker on as the sun sets lower around the property. “No wonder you crash here.”
“You want to walk around?” he asks and I nod, following him past the car.
“Can we go out there?” I point to the dock. I feel dirty and gross, still in my bathing suit and cover-up—unacceptable for visiting someone’s home.
“Sure,” he says and I feel his fingers slip between mine. I consider removing them, but on second thought I don’t, because there’s no reason. No reason to fight this moment or the guy in it.
Justin leads me through the side yard and down a stone-lined path. We pass a patio and outdoor fireplace and I stop, staring at the house from the side facing the water. “Hey, this is the house we saw from the boat the other day? That’s the tree house.” I point to the huge tree with branches over the water, “You talked about hanging a swing under.”
“Yeah, Richard won’t let me put a swing up there. I’m not sure why.”
“Maybe because you aren’t eight?”
“Some may disagree,” he says, smiling devilishly. “Don’t worry; I plan on wearing him down. Eventually.”
We’re at the edge of the dock now and Justin leans against the rail, facing the water. His shirt is dirty with grease from the boat and his navy blue board shorts skim the edge of his knees. He’s cute and funny and I want to know more about him.
“So why do you live here?”
He looks out at the water and I feel his thumb graze over my hand. He says, “He took me in when I was fifteen. After both of my parents split.”
“Split? Like broke up?”
“Left. My dad left when I was a kid. My mom stuck around for a while longer but in the end she bolted, too. My brothers were either in school or making families of their own. Richard let me stay here.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. That must’ve been really hard.”
He lifts his shoulders as though it’s no big deal. “It is what it is, and Richard has been great. He helped me get in school and gave me the job at the marina. Plus, I get to live in my awesome cottage.”
The sun has completely dropped into the horizon and the sky darkens. I tighten my grip on his hand and take a breath. “My dad left when I was eight. After my mother’s fourth book. He didn’t want to be the husband of Julia Barnes, author.”
Justin tilts his head. “Do you still see him?”
“Not really,” I say. “He has a new wife and two kids. The last I heard from him was when he sent me a check for graduation.”
He snorts. “What jerks.”
“Guys are kind of like that,” I say.
He cuts his eyes at me and frowns. “Not all guys.” He means it—or so he thinks, and maybe it’s true, but in my recent experience, guys kind of suck.
“I should go,” I tell him and I try to tug my hand from his but he holds tight. As we walk back the crickets start chirping, making a low hum against the small waves coming from the water. The vibe between us is awkward so I ask, “Hey, what did you mean by an awesome cottage?”
This earns me a smile and he points past the patio, on the other side of the fireplace chimney. I see it: a small carriage house. “That’s it.”
“You live there?”
“Since I turned eighteen. Richard and I agreed we both could use some privacy. Lucky for me, he had a guest house fully furnished.”
“What, to bring girls home?” An image of Ivy floats through my head, which is ridiculous since she’s with Maggie.
“Well, he’s single, too. It just worked out better for us both to have some space.” He stops abruptly. “Do you want to go in?”
I glance over at the small cottage. It’s bigger than my camper, which adds allure since I’ve been confined to such small quarters for a couple of weeks. Again the mood between us changes, no longer awkward but a different type of tension. Tense with a heavy coil of energy linking between us. “Not tonight, I’ve had my mom’s car out all day. I really should get back.”
He doesn’t fight me and we walk back to the driveway. His hand never leaves mine, and when we reach the car he positions his body so his back is flat against the door, blocking me from leaving yet. “Thanks for the ride home,” he says. His hands reach for my hips but he’s taking too long, so I grab his shirt and move closer. The instant I do a slow, wide smile briefly appears before his expression turns serious and he kisses me.
My hands fly to the back of his head and tug him toward me, and I lift on my toes to reach him better. This kiss is beyond what I’d hoped it would be, and it spreads to the pit of my stomach down to the tips of my fingers. My encouragement makes him greedy and I feel his hips push back into mine and his day’s growth of stubble rubs against my chin. I don’t care. When we part, we’re both breathing a lot heavier than before.
“That was,” he starts, but I kiss him again, because I like kissing and well, I like him.
This leads to another round of his lips on mine, then he focuses on the sensitive skin behind my ear until his teeth scrape down my throat to my collarbone and I crumble into giggles under his touch. “Ticklish,” I say, and he starts laughing too and it’s enough to break the fire between us for the moment.
“Good to know,” he says, raising his eyebrows in fun while staring at my lips.
“Good night, Justin,” I tell him and get in the car before I change my mind and take him up on the offer to see his cottage. Baby steps, I remind myself as I drive away from him the house.
~*~
I’m carrying a basket of clothes to the laundry room the next day when Anita corners me. I smile at Sibley perched on her hip.
“So,” she says, following me into the small cinderblock building. I begin tossing clothes into the washer.
“So what?”
She rolls her eyes. “You and Justin looked pretty tight all day yesterday.”
“He was being nice—helping me past my fear of the ocean.”
She squints and reaches out to touch my chin, “What’s that?”
I push her hand away and measure out a cup of soap and pour it in the machine. “W
hat’s what?”
“Looks like a rash.”
“Probably just from the sand or something.” I turn and exit the building. Anita follows me back to the camper.
“Sure, that could be it, or you know, face rash from making out with Justin last night!” She says this loudly, too loudly for being in the middle of the campground and surrounded by nosy neighbors.
Sibley giggles and says, “Jusssstin.”
“Shhhh!” I frown, looking around to see if anyone heard. Mr. Walker is in front of his camper but I doubt he heard me over his radio. I lower my voice and ask, “What’s your problem?”
She has the good sense to look guilty. “Nothing. I just think you guys are cute. And I like you. And I love him. Is it wrong that I’d like to see a love connection?”
“We aren’t having a love connection.”
“Whatever,” she says following me to my camper. “I noticed you got home pretty late last night—way later than the rest of us.”
“Are you stalking me?” I ask, but I know she can see the entrance from her house. “I dropped him at his house and he showed me around.”
“Beautiful, huh? Just think—that could have been my life,” she sighs. “You know, if my mom and Richard had stayed together.”
“What and leave all this?” I glance around the campground. It’s Sunday afternoon and the grounds are starting to come to life. Mr. Walker is mowing the five by eight patch of grass out front, while some lady in lot #17 prunes her flowers. “I’m kidding, you know, it really is pretty fantastic here—in its own charming way.”
“I think so,” she nods, letting a squirming Sibley out of her arms to see the tiny dog one of the residents is walking.
My phone vibrates in my pocket and I check to see who’s calling. “It’s my friend Catherine,” I tell Anita. “I should take this.”
“Keep me posted on the Justin thing. I need details.” Anita waves and follows after Sibley.
“Hey,” I say into the phone.
“Hey girl! How are you?”
“Pretty good,” I tell her. I’m at my camper and sit down on one of the orange canvas chairs my mother has placed around our ‘patio’. “You?”
“Just packing and trying to get everything ready.”
“That’s right,” I say. “You leave in a couple days.” Seven. Seven days.
“Yep. It’s been crazy but I think I finally have it all together. I had to get a couple of new dresses. It’s cooler there and then there’s that whole thing with the electronic plug-in adaptors.”
“Good,” I reply, hoping the jealousy isn’t evident in my voice. “You guys will have a lot of fun.”
“Not as much as we would with you.”
“Cathe…”
She sighs into the phone. “I know you’ve made your decision. Or think you have but you have a week. You can still change your mind! Mark really wants you to come. We all had dinner the other night and he told me he’s been trying to contact you.”
“Yeah, he’s been trying.”
“You should hear him out,” she says.
I look out at the water. It’s already warm and I want to get in my bathing suit and hit the beach. Not deal with this drama. “I’ve heard what he has to say.”
“He and Nicole are separated, did you know that?”
Hearing her name almost makes me gag, but at the same time, hearing the news of their separation sparks something in my chest. “Great,” I say. “I’m officially the cause of a broken marriage.”
“That’s one way to look at it. Or that he wants you back enough to leave her.”
I wonder for a moment how I ever found Mark attractive if he could give up on his marriage so easily. “It doesn’t matter. He lied to me. And I lied to everyone else. I can’t believe you’re pushing me to do this.”
“You just seemed happy with him,” she says. “Plus it’s romantic. He could be your OTP.”
“OTP?”
“You know, One True Pairing? Like Romeo and Juliet?”
“You realize they both died. But you’re right, I was happy,” I tell her. “And it was doomed. Him leaving his wife doesn’t make it any better. Really, it just makes it worse.”
“You have a week, Paige. He’s kept your name on the list so you can still go with us.”
I’m trying to formulate a response to this when I see Justin’s Jeep pull down the gravel drive to our camper. I watch as he jumps out and smiles in my direction. My heart reacts to seeing him with more than spark, it kicks into gear. “Catherine, I need to go.”
“Okay, but think about it—promise me.”
“I…” Justin looks good this morning. He shaved and his hair is messy and cute. I hold up my hand to him, to let him know I need a minute.
“Think about it.”
“Fine, I’ll think about it—I really need to go,” I say to get her off the phone. I disconnect and stash the phone in my pocket. My heart pounds in that crushy kind of way and in that keeping-a-secret kind of way. Both equally dangerous.
“Hi,” Justin says, walking under the shady canopy. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, just talking to my friend from school. She’s about to go on this big trip to France and thinks I need to know every detail.”
“Sounds fun.”
“Yeah, it does.”
“So I have the day off,” he tells me and catches my hand in his.
“Oh, really? Strange, I have the day off, too,” I laugh.
“I thought you might. Want to spend it with me?”
He’s charming and handsome and my hand feels perfect in his. France? Who needs France? I squeeze his hand and say, “Yep.”
~*~
“Remind me next time to find out what we’re doing before I agree.” I’m knee deep in the ocean trying not to have a panic attack. Both of my feet are on top of Justin’s and his arms are wrapped around my waist.
“Not that I mind this position, but really, I think we should try going further out.” He attempts to move his feet forward but I’m clinging to him so tightly it makes it difficult.
“Can’t we just go back on the beach? Because really, sharks can’t get you on the beach. Or crabs or sting rays or jellyfish.”
“Babe, none of those things are going to get you.”
I crane my neck to give him my best skeptical look. It isn’t hard since I am entirely skeptical. “You don’t know that. You don’t. You may have spent your whole life in the ocean and today, today! Could be the day a shark decides to eat you,” I explain. “And then me.”
At the campground, Justin instructed me to put on my bathing suit and get ready for some ocean fun. I was game, ready for an adventure, even after he drove the Jeep off the dirt road at the end of the island and past the signs that said, “No Entry.” He helped me out of the jeep and carried a backpack filled with lunch over the dunes and down to the completely deserted edge of the island. It wasn’t long before he started talking me into getting in the water.
Thirty minutes passed and I’m only in up to my knees.
A small wave comes at us, pushing cold water over my exposed stomach, I yelp and attempt to wiggle out of Justin’s grasp but he holds tight. “It’s just a wave,” he says, and I know he’s right. It is just a wave. A wave filled with horrible sea monsters.
I turn to face him and smile at my small success. “Okay I think I can—,“ the smile slides off his face and his eyes are over my shoulder, not on me. I turn to look and come face to face with a wave as tall as I am.
“Paige,” I hear him say just before I go under. At first, his hands are all over me but the force of the wave pushes us both backwards and he loses contact. Water fills my mouth and nose and my heart jackhammers in my chest. I force myself to my feet, despite my fears of crabs and sand sharks. I choke and spit out salty water, shouting, “Justin!” I see him but another wave is at his back so I scramble out of the knee-deep water to get back to safety. His hands attempt to grab onto my hips as he tries to slow me dow
n.
“Hold up,” he says, chasing after me, but I’ve made it to the beach. Once I’ve got solid ground beneath me I fall to my knees on the hard-packed sand. I spit the salty water out of my mouth and adjust my bathing suit top from where the waves pushed it around.
“No way,” I tell him when he reaches me and sits down. He’s completely unfazed by the events that just happened. I look him in the eye. “I’m not going back out there.”
“Okay,” he says, brushing my wet hair over my shoulder. “I won’t make you, but tell me, why is the ocean so scary for you?”
“The water’s dark and I can’t see the bottom. Anything can be down there. The fish freak me out and seaweed wraps around my feet and just promise you’ll never make me do that again.”
“I won’t,” he says, pulling me into a hug. “Not ‘til you’re ready.”
“You may be waiting awhile.”
“I’m pretty patient,” he says in my ear and just like that, my heart is no longer racing due to the excitement in the water but because of the proximity of this man.
He dips his head and kisses me, once soft and then again. I kiss him back and he tugs me off the sand and onto his lap, until I’m straddling his waist. Adrenaline from the incident rushes through me and I feel a surge of energy. Boldness. No one is around, and I feel hungry for the way his lips taste and the way his hands wander over my exposed back and down the sides of my breasts. He’s hard beneath me and my mind and body war in conflict. Too fast or just right?
Unaware of my mental battle, Justin eases me over until I’m the one on my back, lying against the gritty sand. He lies next to me and I reach my hand out and run it along his chin. He leans over and licks my lip, tugging it gently with his teeth. He kisses like he behaves, flirty yet serious. Taunting me with every touch.
“What is this?” I ask, placing a hand on his damp chest.
He lifts an eyebrow. “Fun?”
“I like that,” I tell him and my blood boils when his thumbs run underneath the bottom edge of my bathing suit top. Sand rubs between us, scratching the skin on my stomach and the heat of his body spreads an ache from my chest to my toes. He buries his face in my neck, tickling that spot like he promised the night before and I laugh, squirming in the sand.
