by KC Enders
“So, not an agreement to take a break?” I ask, taking in the sharp line of his jaw, the bunching of muscles as he clenches his teeth.
“Not at all. Sarah made up her mind that I wouldn’t be able to be faithful with all the groupies throwing themselves at me. Personally, I think it’s bullshit. She didn’t want to be alone and found some willing fuck.”
“How long ago was that?” I know I should stop. I should drop this and just let it go, but I can’t seem to shut my mouth and stop with the questions.
“A couple of months, maybe. Sorry. Listen, I’m okay. Sure as shit not pining away for someone who had no faith in me, someone who thought I would jump at the first opportunity to cheat and decided to beat me to it.” Gavin slides his gaze to the side and sincerely looks at me. “I don’t play that way. Her utter lack of trust is what bothers me more than anything. That, after all the time we spent together, she’d think I was going on a binge or something? I’m not a fornicating fuck. That shit don’t fly.”
I watch as he literally shakes off the subject of cheating and turns his whole body toward me, slipping one leg behind my back and tucking the other between us.
“Did you bring a book for the beach? Please tell me you read something other than your textbooks.”
“Yeah, I don’t leave home without my Kindle.”
He scoffs and mumbles something about reading real books.
“Don’t judge me. I have thousands of books at my fingertips at all times.” I nudge my elbow into his ribs, thankful that we are back to a lighter subject. Safer territory because I really don’t want to push Gavin away. I like him.
“What have you read that’s good?” His fingers trail up my back until they land on the tie of my bikini top, sending a shot of desire through me.
I spend a lot of time reading really dry and boring subject matter for school, so when I read for fun, I read for fun. “I like romance of all kinds—angsty, steamy, a few of the paranormal ones, royals, and rock stars. I read all the rock-star books.” I throw him a salacious grin and waggle my eyebrows.
Despite our differences, Gavin doesn’t make fun of my choice of actual reading material. We talk books and ideas and life, touching in some way the entire time, never breaking our connection, until there’s not a soul on the beach aside from us. And, for the life of me, I can’t figure out why anyone would willingly let him go.
Gavin is crazy smart—halfway through a dual major in history and philosophy and musically talented on multiple instruments. He’s fascinating. His version of Twenty Questions doesn’t involve rapid-fire, superficial shit, although we have more than covered that stuff, too.
The questions he’s hitting me with are more along the lines of: Do you think free will is an illusion? Do you think your life’s purpose is predestined, or do you control it?
We even hit on the whole nature versus nurture thing.
“You really don’t believe in the innate nature of mothers to protect their young?” He looks genuinely shocked at my negative response.
“Nope. The base nature is one of self-preservation. And, yeah, I think that extends to the mother-child relationship—not all of them, but it’s there. It’s not a forgone conclusion that parents will necessarily sacrifice for their kids.” I can argue this point from a real and personal level, but my skeletons are safely tucked away. “Lis, my roommate … dude, her mother and sister both go out of their way to bring her down. At Christmas, I caught her boyfriend bending her sister, Maryse, over the hood of the car, and her mom had the nerve to be pissed when we bolted out of there. That woman has gone above and beyond in dragging Lissy down.” Talk about the gift that keeps on giving. Lis broke up with the asshole, but family is family, and they tend to keep hanging around.
I haven’t thought this hard, dug this deep into myself, ever.
The sparkly black sky starts to lighten ever so slightly, turning indigo to the east, and I fight to keep my yawn down. Failing miserably, I lift my hand to my mouth and squeeze my eyes shut.
“Sorry, I—”
“Shit, I’m sorry. It’s really late. Let me walk you back.” Gavin stands, making sure not to shower me with sand, and reaches out for my hand. He pulls me upright, and I’m a little off-balance, but he grabs ahold, clutching me against his broad chest.
I catch my breath as my free hand lands on his shoulder, his muscles bunching and shifting beneath my palm. It’s a movie moment, one where he should lean in and kiss me.
He really should.
But, instead, he squeezes my hand and steps away. Clearing his throat, Gavin rasps out, “Ready?”
Hell yeah, I am.
I’ve never been so incredibly attracted to someone before. Gavin’s intelligence along with his sex-god looks have me so turned on. I’ve never met anyone like him. But he just turns and starts back toward where we started our day.
He keeps a firm grasp on my hand as we walk, but I’m confused. When did things change? Did I miss something?
As the lights from the beachfront bar come into view, I gently wiggle my hand out of his and turn toward my condo. I cross the street, not even sure if he’s still following me because, somewhere along the way, I lost him, the connection we had.
Obviously, the discussion of the ex-girlfriend was a problem. Maybe I’m feeling something that is strictly one-sided. I mean, it’s fine. But, with the way we were dancing and the flirting that was very much a thing, I thought … I thought there was more.
Who doesn’t want to find that guy who’s so totally against cheating? Who finds it offensive in every way?
Completely preoccupied, I start climbing the stairs to my third-floor condo, trying to figure out where things derailed.
“Gracyn?”
I turn to face Gavin, kind of surprised that he’s still with me.
“I feel like I messed this up. I tend to get a little stuck in my head. You okay?” He climbs the last few steps, stopping at the one just below me, crowding into my personal space.
“I’m good,” I lie through a forced smile.
I could be so much better.
* * *
GAVIN
The sway of Gracyn’s hips as she climbs the stairs about fucking kills me. She’s got this pale blue scarf thing tied low around her waist, hugging her curves. Crying out to me. But, when I call her name and she turns on the stairs, I just don’t know. It’s like my brain’s stopped functioning, and that connection we had earlier has been severed.
“I feel like I messed this up. I tend to get a little stuck in my head. You okay?” I ask.
Her response is tinged with uncertainty, hidden behind a smile. Again, I don’t know, but I pull myself out of my thoughts and focus on the woman in front of me. I want to kiss her sadness away and go back to the carefree feelings of earlier—before we got jammed down with talk of cheating.
I reach out, wrapping my fingers around her waist, guiding her backward as I take the last step to put us on even ground. The landing is secluded and dim. I have no idea what floor she’s staying on, but I don’t want to wait another minute to kiss her. I already pissed away one chance on the beach.
Gripping my forearms, Gracyn’s fingers press firmly into my skin. Her eyes drift closed, her breaths are shallow, almost like she’s holding back in anticipation. We just met, but I feel like I know her—like really fucking know her—after all the shit we talked about tonight.
I lean down, closing the distance between us, brushing my lips across hers. They taste like fruit and tequila, slightly salty from just being near the ocean all day.
The combination is intoxicating, and I can’t help but dart my tongue out, tasting her again. When she gasps, parting her lips for me, I about lose my fucking mind.
I deepen the kiss, devouring her, and we shuffle across the landing until Gracyn’s back meets the wall. There’s a moment—a really brief moment—where we both go completely still. Her teeth sink into my bottom lip, her hands still on my arms, my thumbs pressing into her hips.<
br />
God, I want her.
Gracyn’s eyes flutter open, her heated gaze meeting mine. Time stops for a fucking lifetime—or the beat of my heart.
Am I pushing too hard, too fast?
That inkling of doubt incinerates the moment her hands move. Grasping the back of my neck, Gracyn throws herself into the kiss.
I groan, reaching around to the backs of her thighs, lifting until she wraps her legs around my hips. Her sandals clatter to the floor, and she digs her heels into my ass. God help me, I’m drowning in her—consumed and completely incapable of thought beyond this.
She winds her hands into my hair, fingers tangling in the mess of knots from the wind whipping it around. The sting of that tug pulls a growl from low in the back of my throat.
“Sorry,” she mumbles against my lips, not slowing down in the least.
And, as much as I want to keep this going, I pull back.
Shoving down the urge to grind my dick against her core, taming the hungry, passionate groping to something softer, I rasp, “Gracyn”—my gravelly voice hinting at barely there restraint—“baby, you’re killing me.”
She exhales, huffing out the frustration we’re both fighting, and drops her forehead to my shoulder. “Did I … I thought you were into this.”
“Jesus, I am. I just don’t want any regrets.”
She deserves more than just a quick fuck, and I don’t want that to be all there is between us.
Stiffening, Gracyn unravels herself from me, pushing lightly against my chest. The minuscule amount of space between us now feels like miles.
“Wow. Thanks?” She pushes past me, grabbing her shoes, and sprints up the stairs.
“Gracyn, wait.”
She doesn’t, and I have to take the stairs two at a time to catch up with her. She punches numbers into the pad mounted by the door outside a condo on the third floor, but the handle doesn’t budge when she jerks at it.
“Hey, look at me.” I reach out but stop just shy of her shoulder when she flinches, like she’s bracing herself.
God help me, the last thing I wanted to do was fuck this up by going too fast. If slowing things down screws up whatever this is, I don’t know what I’ll do.
With her body rigid, she refuses to look at me. Instead, she turns her gaze out toward the water, and a wall slams down over her features. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you into something you’re not ready for.” Every syllable is laced with tension.
Well, don’t I feel like the fucking chick right now?
“Gracyn.” I say her name on a sigh, shoulders hunching in. “I’m just trying to do the right thing.”
She gets the right numbers entered into the keypad, and the door clicks open. The smile plastered on her face as she turns is the fakest shit I’ve ever seen, and her voice matches it perfectly.
“Sure. Maybe I’ll see you around this week.”
And, with that, she pushes through the door and leaves me standing there, feeling like an ass.
Feeling like shit.
Chapter 5
Gavin
The van is gone.
Hopefully, Nate or Ian drove it back to the motel, and our shit is secured. Kane’s really the only one who would be capable of losing it, which is why we don’t ever give him the keys.
The two-mile walk is perfect for clearing my head, sorting out what the fuck just happened. Spring break, by definition, is all about one-night stands and hook-ups, and I fucking put on the brakes tonight. I’m not sure who was more surprised by that turn of events, but it’s better this way.
It was the right thing to do.
I reach my room just as the sun starts its climb above the horizon and fall into the empty bed.
“You finally get laid?” Ian grumbles when the shitty bed creaks as I try to find a comfortable position.
I punch the lumpy-ass pillow and try again. “Now, you’re worried about my dick, too? You ladies sit around and talk about me tonight over your mocktails?”
“No, man. Just haven’t seen you dragging ass in this late.”
The air conditioner rattles to life, spitting out cool air, but more importantly, it makes conversation a bigger effort than either of us feels like making.
I wake several hours later, frustrated, hungry, and thankfully alone in the room. I thread my fingers through my hair, pulling it back from my face, and allow my mind to simmer on Gracyn.
She’s not bashful; she knows what she wants and isn’t afraid of going after it. And, now, I’m pretty sure that doesn’t fucking include me.
The top of my book just peeks out of the top of my duffel, taunting me. Whispering that the answers to why bad things happen to good people are right there. And, with my thoughts swirling around in my head, I heft myself out of bed, shower, and get myself together.
We’re playing at a different bar tonight, farther from the beach but later in the evening. The crowd should be better, but the odds of Gracyn being there are probably pretty shitty. And, because I’m a fucking glutton for punishment, I truck my ass back down the beach toward her condo, hoping to run into her.
My rumbling stomach steers me to a food truck, and I get a handful of street tacos. I’m so hungry, but I hardly taste the first one. The second and third ones though send flavors bursting across my tongue.
I kick back, chugging from the water bottle I remembered to bring with me today. The sun is hot, and before I dig into the rest of my lunch, I pull my hair back into a man-bun. A touch on the douchey side, but what can you do? As I wrap the band around the mess of hair one last time, it breaks, flying off to nowhere.
“Here.” Gracyn’s voice floats over my shoulder along with the purple hair band she had on her wrist last night.
I turn to face her, a bag that looks a lot like the one holding the rest of my lunch clutched firmly in her arm. A current runs through me when our fingers touch, and she yanks her hand back, curling her fingers into a ball.
“Thanks.” I clear my throat and secure my hair, scooting over to make room on the bench. “Want to join me?” She throws out, “About last night,” at the same time. Her eyes go wide, and her teeth dig into the corner of her lip.
“Sit down with me, please?”
Gracyn perches uncomfortably on the edge of the bench, picking at the top of her paper bag. “Sorry I was a shit last night,” she says. “I don’t know why I …”
“It’s okay. I just don’t …”
“Can we just forget it? Maybe pretend the weird part didn’t happen?”
With both of us talking over each other, the sudden silence is almost deafening. For sure, it’s awkward and uncomfortable.
What kind of a dumbass would I be to not want a do-over? To not want to spend more time with her? It would be insanity.
I nod slowly, pulling my lip between my teeth. “What’re you doing for the rest of the day?” I stare off into the distance, avoiding looking directly at Gracyn. I don’t want to make her uncomfortable. I don’t want to chance not seeing her again.
“Um. Just eating tacos and reading on the beach for a while.” She shifts and brushes her knee against my leg, and even with the sun beating down on me, my skin pebbles with gooseflesh.
“Do you want some company?” I ask hopefully.
She shrugs a shoulder and blows out a big damn breath, causing me to second-guess whether asking was even the right thing. Better to beg forgiveness than ask permission and all that.
“I thought we were letting the awkward shit go,” I say, shooting her a sideways glance but getting nothing.
Gracyn crinkles her bag, obviously looking everywhere but at me. This can’t get much more uncomfortable.
I scarf down the rest of my tacos and shove the trash into the bag, debating on whether to try again, to make one last-ditch effort at the whole making-nice thing. Gracyn hasn’t said a word, but she’s not made a move to leave yet either.
This is such a diametrical change from yesterday. She was fun, confident, fucking sexy a
s hell. This unease? The fidgeting and avoidance are not what I expected. Mad? Pissed off? That I could hang with but not this.
After a long, awkward moment, it’s obvious she’s still avoiding me. The last thing I want to do is pout, but there it is.
“Got it,” I toss out with a nod and plant my hands on the tabletop, standing. I grind my teeth something fierce, attempting to hold back whatever shit was about to slide out of my mouth. The trash can wobbles as I chuck my bag in, threatening to fall.
I shove my hands in my pockets and take off toward the water. There’s nothing better than a long walk down the beach to blow off the frustration.
* * *
GRACYN
I don’t know what my problem is.
I wait, perched on the bench, until Gavin disappears into the crowd. When he’s finally out of sight, I dive into my food and devour more tacos than a girl has a right to consume. I’m totally eating my emotions.
Last night, I was embarrassed.
Mortified.
I lay awake for hours, thinking of all the reasons he refused me. It’s not like there was any misunderstanding. Not on his part. I’d made it perfectly clear what I wanted, practically throwing myself at him in the stairwell.
At least, I thought I had.
The crashing waves call to me, so I gather up my trash, slide off the bench, and throw the bag away. The beach is just now starting to fill up with the slow-moving and stupidly hungover. I plop myself down in a spot just far enough away from any other people to discourage conversation, leaving me to sift through my actions, pick apart my thoughts.
I have no problem, none whatsoever, with going after what I want. I don’t usually read people so wrong though. I really thought he was into me last night with the way he called me babe, how he wrapped his big hands around my waist while we were dancing, and the way he kissed me like he owned me.
Jesus, the way he kissed me.
My fingers press into my lips before I catch myself and blow out an exasperated sigh. If I try hard enough, I can probably convince myself that the sexual frustration is the reason behind my shitty mood. It has nothing to do with the fact that I loved talking to Gavin, hearing his thoughts on everything from music to the Augustine basis for why bad things happened to good people to his openness on his ex-girlfriend.
