Surf & Surrender

by Riley Edgewood

* 3 Things More Shocking Than Seeing Sawyer Again *

  1. A strike of lightning.

  2. A live electrical appliance dropped in water.

  3. Nothing. Sawyer's face in front of me is the third most shocking thing there is.

  It even beats out a defibrillator.

  Though if my heart doesn't start beating again soon, I may need one.

  * * * * * *

  He's changed. Where he used to be lanky, he's toned. His skin looks like honey in the backlit glow of the fire, and his eyes are such a bright green, I can see their color even in the dark.

  There's a tension in his posture, some dark thing coiled under his skin, barely kept in check. And whatever it is, it's all about me. He still hasn't looked away.

  He's sexy as hell.

  But I can't just stand here studying him. I need to move. To act. To do something.

  For instance, breathe. I need to breathe.

  So I do, the air sizzling in my lungs.

  A few years back in lifeguard training, I learned the best treatment for electrical shock is prevention. A little too late for that now, but maybe I can save myself from complete electrocution. In my mind, I sheath myself in a Sawyer-shock-repelling layer of rubber.

  Now, at least, I can shape my lips into the form of a smile. And when I speak, my voice comes out so steadily it's almost smug. "Sawyer. Hello."

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SAWYER

  TINY AS SHE is, I'm not surprised Morgan's drunk after one beer. Or maybe it's just her personality that has her making such a spectacle; guess I haven't given her much of an opportunity to show it this evening. But somehow she gets a hold of two empty liquor bottles and tosses them in the fire. And it turns out they're not completely empty, and flames shoot sky-high. As if that wasn't enough to grab the attention of everyone around, she dashes straight toward Quinn, laughing as she passes.

  And now here we're standing, Quinn and I, less than ten feet apart. I cross the sand to her. I have no choice. Maybe if she hadn't seen me, it'd be different. Maybe if she hadn't said my name. But she did, and I'm pulled without a single say in where my feet take me. Then I'm here in front of her and there's panic in her expression.

  The moment goes quiet around us, and I drink her in the way I've needed to all these years.

  Her mouth is shaped like a heart. Perfect, even more so than I've imagined over time. Her cheeks are sharp, and her eyes are huge and black in the night, though I know they're actually blue like the ocean before a storm.

  She is so familiar. I remember exactly how our bodies fit together. And, yet, somehow she's also a stranger. Well. Not somehow. I know exactly how.

  There was a time I could reach for her and ease the anxiety in her eyes with a kiss. A hug. Any sort of contact. But that time's over, and I feel it harder in my gut now than ever. Instead, words come stiffly out of my mouth. "Quinn. It's good to see you."

  Understatement of the year. Of my life. Seeing her is like the first inhale of oxygen after almost drowning. Saying her name to her face is like losing something, but also gaining the world.

  "You, too." Her words are just as rigid.

  I lean in to hug her and she lets me. She doesn't return it—in fact, she holds her beer cup between our bodies—but she leans toward me, and she doesn't shove me off. For a minute, I can't breathe. For a minute, I have her in my arms and I'm happy.

  Then I realize she's being polite. The girl who loved me would've given me a black eye and a bloody nose by now. And all my arms are touching is another guy's jacket.

  When I pull back her eyes are blank, not panicked at all. Guess I imagined it. Wished for it. For something, some reaction. I was worried she avoided the bonfires because of the memories that might plague her. It's laughable now, that thought.

  "Sawyer Carson?"

  For the first time, I take my eyes from Quinn's face and glance around. Danny, smirking. Gianna, frigidly furious. Quinn's jacket-less dude, a little baffled. It's Danny who's spoken, so I address him first. "Danny Simmons. Long time."

  "Damn, dude, you back from the dead? What's it been? Two years?"

  "Four." Quinn's stepping back, away from me. Her eyes still blank. But her movements are stiff and I think maybe she is reacting after all.

  "Not quite," I say, clenching my jaw when Jacket-less puts a hand on her shoulder, like he thinks she needs a steadying presence. The girl I knew never had trouble standing on her own two feet.

  "We used to fucking throw down, dude!" Danny pushes out a fist for me to bump, but I don't have it in me. A moment ago, it was clear he and Quinn were getting into it. I'm not about to tap fists with him—or anyone—after that.

  "That was a long time ago," I say, instead.

  After a second, he drops his fist, shrugging. "Sure."

  "Yep. It's like we're strangers now," Gianna says. "So maybe we should all go our separate ways." She moves forward to grab Quinn's hand, glaring at me. "I think Morgan's waiting for you."

  As if on cue, Morgan calls to me from down the sand a ways. "Sweet Sawyer! I thought you were taking me home?"

  Quinn sucks in a deep breath, and the briefest flash of pain angles across her face, the first true sign of emotion I've been allowed to see. It's gone so quickly if I'd blinked, I'd have missed it. I want to explain, to say something to make it better, but before I can, Gianna speaks again. "You're such a class act, Sawyer."

  "I'm taking her home to her own house," I say. I hold up a hand, telling Morgan to wait.

  "Good for you," Quinn says. Her expression slays me with its impassivity. "Disappear for four years and come back to date an eighteen-year-old. Same age as you when you left, funny, isn't it?"

  "Speaking of leaving," the guy with his hand on her shoulder says, "maybe we—"

  "She's nineteen," I say, wanting to kick myself and still not able to shut up. "A year older than when I left."

  Why the hell am I defending myself? I'm at fault. I hurt her. But seeing her again, putting a face to the guy she's dating—it's not like I thought she was waiting around for me, but seeing his face? It makes me feel raw. On edge. Like I want to fucking pummel someone.

  "Maybe we should head out," her guy finishes his sentence.

  "It's fine," she says. Her eyes are level on mine. "I'm fine."

  "Yeah, well, these things were a lot cooler when I was younger. Let's go find something better." He's fighting for her attention, this guy, but at the moment Quinn and I are the only two people in the world.

  "I'm sorry," I say.

  Now she drops her gaze, shaking her head. And I guess I was wrong about our singular moment because she turns away from me, and it's him she responds to. "You're right. The circuit's seen better days. Let's go."

  She doesn't look back, and when Morgan decides to half-stumble, half-dance her way back to me, Quinn doesn't move from her course. They pass side to side, insignificant to each other. I'm not sure why it stings, but it does.

  The guy, whose name I never did catch, slings a familiar arm across Quinn's shoulders, and I swear to God something inside me busts wide open.

  "Told you," Gianna says, stony irritation crossing her features when I look at her. "Told you, you needed to leave."

  "Who needs to leave?" Morgan asks, planting herself to my side. Her tone is clueless and too bubbly for the moment. "I thought we were leaving, but do you want to stay, Sawyer?"

  I gently extrapolate my hand from hers when she grabs it. "No. Let's go."

  "This got so awkward so fast," Danny says. "Wait. I'm remembering something…"

  "Don't go there, Danny." Gianna fixes her stare on him. I'd probably feel a little less tense without it directed at me anymore—because her glares have always been really fucking severe—but whatever Danny's getting at is starting to bug me.

  "What are you remembering?" Morgan leans into me, but points to Danny.

  "Oh yeah," Danny says, ignoring her, his focus on my face. "You used to hit that, didn't you?"

  "Talk about Qu
inn as a that ever again and I'm gonna rearrange your face." It's instant, the fury pounding through me. Needing release. Begging to launch itself in the form of a fist straight into this guy's mouth. Even when he looks away. Instead, I stare up at the sky, letting the brightness of the stars against the blackness sear into my vision.

  "Who? That girl from before?" Morgan asks. I feel her gaze on my face, but I can't look away from the sky. Not until I'm a little calmer. Damn if it isn't going to take hours at this point. Everything's boiling in me.

  "Oh, that's right," Danny says. "Never mind, you never got between those long, long legs."

  My eyes snap back to his face and I let a little of my fury slip into my expression. "It's time for you to walk away."

  But he doesn't. "I know you never did because—how embarrassing, somehow I forgot I'm the one who took that sweet little v-card when you left town. You missed out, bro."

  His casual confession steals the air from my lungs.

  Somehow the crackling sparks of the bonfire are instantly louder, roaring in my ears, completely covering any of the outside conversations going on around us. The salty ocean air feels heavier, damper than before. The sand under my feet is gritty, crumbling. He stands here, watching me, waiting for my reaction. For the first time I can remember, I don't know how to have one. His words hit an inner pause button I didn't know I had, and I'm stuck.

  "Too far, Danny. You always take things too far. You're such an asshole." Gianna's voice sounds far away, because right now my focus is tunneled completely into this guy. All I see is his face. The smug pride across his mouth and in his eyes. The careless stance, as though he has nothing to lose.

  "Didn't stop you from jumpin' on this ride, doll." He pumps his hips toward her. "Don't worry, you have more bedroom talent in spades. Granted I was Quinn's first, so all she did was lie there. I'm sure by now she's picked up more than a few tricks."

  Beside me, Morgan slaps a hand over her mouth, but I only notice from the farthest corner of my consciousness. She slides away from me and toward Gianna, maybe to show solidarity. Maybe because she was close enough to feel the chainsaws start up in my veins, slicing right through to my fists, demolishing that pause button from a second ago.

  But I'm not going to swing them. I'm not going back to being that guy. Words are just words. And Quinn's body is her own. Even if I feel sick over the thought of Danny in the same room as her, much less the same bed. But he's about two sentences away from making me change my mind. So I offer a final warning. "You need to shut the fuck up."

  He holds up his hands, as if to make peace. Then he says, "Quinn's fucked pretty much everyone along a hundred miles of the beach coast at least. So if you want a turn, try just knocking on her door. It's basically a guarantee."

  Yeah. That same thing that busted wide open inside of me at seeing Quinn? It rears back and completely fucking explodes.

  So I do rearrange his face.

  My fist slams into his mouth, harder than I've ever hit anything in my life, with the most satisfying crack. His teeth cut through my skin.

  And, Jesus, it feels good.

  CHAPTER NINE

  QUINN

  "SO THAT GUY was a douche," Chase says, glancing at me from the driver's seat. "Are you okay?"

  I nod even though I'm not sure if he's referring to Danny or Sawyer. No. Must be Danny because Sawyer wasn't awful. He was just there.

  And maybe I need to adjust my list. Maybe Sawyer's more electrifying than lightning. Because this rubber suit I've wrapped myself in?

  Yeah. It hasn't done shit.

  He struck, hard, and I'm fried.

  No. Not fried. I'm humming, buzzing, wired.

  Jittery as fuck.

  God. And he brought Morgan? She's friends with Gianna's little brother. I feel sick. How deluded have I been, thinking I was over him?

  "Are you sure you're okay?" Chase slides his hand off his gear stick, lets it hover above my leg, then thinks better of it. "It's okay if you aren't. If you want to talk about it…or, I don't know. We could go get ice cream or find a bar. Get drunk. I'll hire a cab to take us home."

  I should respond, but I can't work my mouth at the moment. I stare straight ahead, watching streetlights pass us by. The brightness of the neon lights have nothing on the glare under my skin. Because Sawyer.

  I just had to go and remind him it'd been four years. Like I've been counting every day.

  Which I haven't been.

  Mostly.

  And then I just had to give him a hard time about dating Morgan. Like I'm jealous.

  Jesus.

  I'm still so freaking charged. Everywhere. Fingers to feet. Up the back of my neck. Between my stupid, traitorous thighs. The song on Chase's sound system pulses through me. Low and deep, with enough bass to make me squeeze my legs a little tighter.

  Why does Sawyer still affect me this way?

  And suddenly—finally—I'm pissed.

  Disappear without a damn trace and then come back and set off fireworks inside of me? No. Fuck that. He doesn't deserve this reaction.

  I look at Chase, studying his profile for a moment. It's sweet, really. And honest. The kind of profile I want to be attracted to. It's my turn to reach over the gearshift. I put my hand on his thigh. "Hey. Pull over."

  He meets my gaze for a second. "What?"

  "Pull over." I squeeze my fingers and his leg jerks.

  He turns down a random street, idling his car halfway off the road. "What's up?"

  I hit him with my most inviting expression, and I inch my hand a little higher. "You can't tell?"

  "I have some idea," he says, "but I didn't think—"

  "No more talking." I slip over the console between us, straddling him—with only the slightest amount of clumsiness in my maneuvering. But, hey, making it over a stick shift isn't going to be graceful no matter how I approach it.

  His eyes are wide and his breath is drawn and I can see that he wants me.

  "Quinn." My name shakes a little in his mouth.

  Sawyer. "Chase."

  When I shift in his lap, his chest expands with an extra intake of breath. His hands creep around my waist. "This is sudden."

  "So?" And then I push my mouth to his. Except I close my eyes when I do it, and it's Sawyer's face behind them. His lips parting so eagerly to mine.

  Below me, it's Sawyer stiffening through his khakis. The bulge in his zipper pushing into the thin fabric of my panties. And I grind. Grind. Grind against him.

  But it's very much Chase a second later who breaks the kiss, gently pushing against my shoulders until our mouths part. The moment I open my eyes regret slams through me. "Shit."

  "I can't decide whether or not I mind being used for whatever you're exorcising from your system." He laughs, lightly, a blush across his cheeks evident even in the dim lighting. "Clearly certain parts of me don't mind at all… But I think the important parts do. I think I should take you home."

  "I'm so sorry, Chase." Humiliation is a river of boiling water flooding my limbs. My face is so hot, I'm not sure how my skin isn't melting off. "I…" I have nothing to say. I should get off of him, but I can't make myself move.

  "It's okay. You don't have to say anything."

  "Yes. I do." Damn it. I'm living up to the reputation Danny threw around my shoulders tonight.

  Though, in truth, I've been wearing it a lot longer than that.

  I slide back along Chase's lap, until the steering wheel pushes against me. "I had an affair with my English professor the whole past year." The confession just falls from my mouth. This isn't what I meant to say. But now that this particular dam's cracked, it all rushes out. "He decided to come clean right before exams that he's married. Because who wouldn't think that was a great time wreck someone?"

  It's the first time I've thought of Julian without a twinge in my heart. Guess that's one way to cure a bruised heart. Run into the guy who actually broke it. It's a small relief though. Any residual feelings for Julian, any remainin
g longings for our fling, have been extinguished. Not the anger, of course. That's still there, burning away at me.

  I don't know how my body's coping with every emotion pulling through it. I had enough of a load to carry without Sawyer returning. Now that he has? I'm not sure why I'm not exploding from the pressure of everything I feel.

  "That's really rough," Chase says. "Your teacher sounds like a dick."

  I shrug. "Yeah, well. I never even thought to ask."

  "That doesn't make it your fault." He shifts a little, and I realize this is the weirdest spot I've ever had a conversation. On the lap of a dude I'm not going to get with, hunched over because of the low roof of the car. But I don't want to move yet. This is freeing, letting the story out.

  "It does a little. I owed his wife enough to at least inquire."

  "Did he wear a wedding ring?"

  "No."

  "Then why would you have asked?"

  I shrug again, wincing a little this time because my shoulder's still sore from earlier, when I saved Jess. It feels like a century ago.

  "It's weird, I thought you were jumping me to get that other guy from the bonfire out of your mind. Not the asshole. The shaggy blond one."

  Out of my heart, more like. "He's…a different story."

  "And so you thought to yourself, hmm, Chase is smoking hot. I know, maybe he'll help rewrite the pages of my…stories?"

  "Something like that." Half a smile flits across my face. He's a really freaking good guy.

  I lean forward again, kiss him again. Slowly this time, trying, trying to make something spark. But without Sawyer's face in my mind, nothing happens. I sigh, pulling away.

  "Still nothing?" he asks.

  "I wish there was. You have no idea how much."

  "Maybe someday when you're not working through these other things." But he looks a little relieved.

  "Wait," I say, my hands against his chest. "You don't feel it either, do you?"

  He thinks for a moment. "I…feel like I could, if you were open to it. Does that count?"