by Jamie Howard
It’s actually a really decent time to take a few good shots of the sunset. It’s that lovely time of day when the light casts a warm glow on everything, when it feels like the sun is tracing warm fingers across your skin.
Flipping a mental coin, I turn left and start walking. My feet sink into the sand, leaving little dunes behind. I skirt the edge of the wet sand, keeping my eyes out for any intriguing seashells. Dropping into a crouch, a take a few shots of the foamy curl of the waves as they advance toward the shore, the sun hitting them just right from behind.
I pass a few stray people here and there, but for the most part, the beach is empty and quiet. Daring myself, I meander toward the wet sand, picking my way through the scattered seashells. The water is cold as it laps around my ankles, and I fail to repress a shudder that starts at my toes and works its way up the back of my legs, snakes up my spine, and lodges in my neck. Being in the ocean water feels like I’m covered in a thousand hairy tarantulas.
“Look at that. One afternoon in the ocean with me and all your fears are cured.”
I bite back a yelp. Spinning around, I take a few steps back onto dry land.
“Or not,” he adds with a laugh, raking a hand through his hair.
I look around for the magic portal he must have just crossed through. “Where did you come from?”
He gestures vaguely around him, the sleeve of his black sweat-jacket curling around the edge of his palm. “I was just … walking.”
“That sounds very un–Luke-like,” I say, turning around and resuming my walk. He falls into step beside me, shortening his stride to mine.
“What? I can’t go for a walk?”
“I mean, you can, it just seems a little … tame for you.”
“Tame?”
I shrug. “No alcohol, no people, no girls trying to get in your pants.”
He grins down at me. “Does that mean you’re not trying to get in my pants?”
A swarm of butterflies take up residence in my stomach, trying to beat their way to the surface. Did I say butterflies? I lied; these things are so big they’re most likely dragons.
Quick, think of something witty to say.
The seconds drag by.
Really, any words will do at this point; just say something.
“Do you want me to try to get in your pants?”
Okay, maybe nothing would have been better.
Chapter 19
Luke
She’s kidding right?
And how do I even answer that? Is there a way to answer that without either looking like an insensitive asshole or a horny jackass?
She flicks her gaze my way and then quickly away. “Just scratch that. Forget I said it.”
The conversation stalls as we continue to walk. I shove my hands into my pockets. “So, what are you doing out here?”
“Other than the obvious?” She points at the camera hanging around her neck.
Clearly my observational skills are exceptional today.
“You … take a lot of pictures?”
I give myself a mental kick. Normally I’d offer up a witty one-liner, but I’m not trying to get Sloane to sleep with me. We’re supposed to be friends. Emphasis on “supposed to be.” I’m not even quite sure how to be friends with Sloane. My friendship experience is limited; my friendship experience with women specifically? That’s nonexistent.
Sloane shrugs and her shirt shifts so that if I peer at just the right angle, I can almost see down it. Yet another advantage of short women. Although, come to think of it, I’m not sure taking a peek at Sloane’s cleavage is really a sanctioned action in the friend zone.
“Some. My dad travels a lot for his job, and it was rough not having him around all that much as a kid.” Her lips twist to the side as she glances up at me, like she’s concerned about my reaction to her statement, since I never had a dad around at all. “Anyway, he came up with this thing where he’d take a bunch of pictures where he was, and I’d take a bunch while he was gone, and when he got back we’d share them, and it was like we were making up for lost time. We don’t do it anymore, but the whole thing kinda stuck. Memories are so fleeting, and before you know it they’re gone and you can never recapture them. But with pictures, I can look back anytime I want. Anytime I’m having a really crappy day, I can look at a picture and remember exactly how I was feeling at that exact moment in time. You know what I mean?”
“I really don’t.” I laugh, a little bitterly. The only time anyone ever bothered to take a picture of me was for my school pictures, and God knows Evelyn didn’t want to waste her booze money on something as trivial as that. “You happen to see any family portraits hanging on my walls?”
“No.” She shakes her head and shifts her gaze away from mine.
“Hey.” I nudge her shoulder with mine. “Don’t go feeling sorry for me.”
“I’m not.” She peeks up at me and then rolls her eyes. “Okay, maybe I am. I can’t help it.” Her smile seems to hesitate on her lips, and I have to nudge her again to really draw it out.
“It’s not all bad, you know.”
“Tell me about a good time then. A really good one.”
I scratch a hand over my jaw, the hint of stubble reminding me that I forgot to shave this morning. There haven’t been a whole lot of good memories, but the few that I have stand out in my mind like diamonds in a pile of coal. I snap my fingers together. “My last birthday.”
“Alright,” she says, curling her fingers in a Give it to me gesture. “Let’s hear it.”
“I worked that afternoon, like always. Had a few beers with Archer, turned down more than a few offers of naked birthday presents.”
Laying her hand on my arm, she stops me. Her fingers are like little icicles where they brush against my wrist. “Please tell me this story isn’t about you getting laid.”
I tsk at her and shrug out of my jacket, handing it over. She hesitates for a second before slipping it on. The bottom of the jacket nearly reaches her knees, and she needs to tug the sleeves up so her hands can poke out the ends.
“If you were listening, I said I turned down the offers of naked birthday presents.”
“I’ll admit, I’m a little surprised.”
“Birthday sex comes with strings, expectations. Like because it’s my birthday it has more meaning than on any other day.” I shrug. “Now, can I finish my story?”
“Carry on.”
I smile down at the top of her head. “As I was saying, I was calling it an early night, heading home. I first smelled it when I opened the front door.”
“Smelled what?”
“Burning.” I chuckle to myself at the memory. “I followed it to the kitchen, which didn’t look a thing like I’d left it that morning. There was crap everywhere—eggshells in the sink, flour stuck to the walls, melted butter in the microwave. Come to think of it, it looked almost exactly like when you cooked in my kitchen.”
“Hey!”
She shoves me playfully in the arm, and I’m laughing again. “Seriously, though, it was a disaster. I was ready to lay into Cash for making such a mess, when I really took a look around me.”
“He baked you a cake.”
“Yeah, he baked me a cake.” I swallow through the lump in my throat. “Even got a candle lit on top and everything. It was one of the worst things I have ever tasted in my life, but I ate every single crumb.”
Sloane gives a little sniff, and when she tips her head back to look at me, I can see that she’s putting up a good fight not to cry in front of me.
“Hey, now, I said no feeling bad for me. This was a good memory, remember? One of the best.” It wouldn’t have been such a big deal that Cash baked me a cake for my birthday if anyone had ever done it before. I turned eighteen and it was the first time anyone had ever thought to make me one. I don’t have to say it, because I know she can read between the lines.
I grab her hand, determined to wipe away the depressing mood that even my best memory brought us. “H
ey, wait. You should take a picture of us, actual proof of another one of my good memories. That way I’ll never forget it.” Like I ever really could.
“Right now?”
“No time like the present.”
She smoothes a hand over her hair, but the breeze tugs those loose strands right back out. “Alright, ummm…” She tilts her head back and looks up at me. “This is never going to work with you standing. We’ll end up with a picture of my face and your chest.”
“Well, if that was the other way around, I would definitely pay money for that picture.”
She slugs me in the arm. I flop down on the ground, stretching my legs out. I pat the sand in front of me.
She hesitates, staring at the ground between my legs like it might be hiding a grenade. Giving in, she plants herself right where I directed her, butting her ass up firmly against my crotch.
Maybe I didn’t think this all the way through.
I wrap an arm around her and tug her back against my chest. Resting my chin on her shoulder so our cheeks are touching, I put on my best smile. Giving the sleeves of my jacket another shove up to her elbows, she holds out the camera and snaps the picture. She flips the camera back around to show me the image.
“Well,” I say, “I look pretty fantastic, but you kinda look like you’re constipated.”
“Hey!” She elbows me in the ribs. “Fine, I’ll take another one.”
“Do I need to provoke a smile?”
“What? Luke, stop!” She crunches herself to the side as I tickle her. The shutter clicks on the camera.
I finally relent, and this time she presses her palm against my chest and shoves me.
“Well, how’d that one come out?”
She shakes her head but calls up the image. The word that comes to mind is adorable, but I don’t say that out loud. “I guess it’s not terrible,” she says. “One more?” She goes to lean back, then stops, pointing at me. “No more tickling.”
I raise my hands in surrender. “Fine. I promise.”
This time when she leans back against my chest, her hair brushes under my nose and I get another whiff of her coconut shampoo. Who knew fruits could be so intoxicating?
Assuming the position, I wait for the click. Sloane flips the camera around and shows me the final take. It’s definitely a keeper. If you didn’t know any better you might think that we’re a couple. And we make a damn hot couple, if I do say so myself. A small pang takes me by surprise as I look at it, an immortalized image of something I’ll never have. Until this moment I didn’t realize how much I wish it were true.
Her head is still resting against my chest, and I wonder if she can hear my heart beating—the way it picks up its tempo whenever she looks at me.
“What do you think?” she asks, tipping her head back.
I don’t look back at the camera; I just keep looking down into her aqua blue eyes that pull me down like a whirlpool. “I think it’s pretty damn perfect.”
My words hang in the air, and she still hasn’t moved away. Glancing down at her lips, I watch as her tongue darts out to wet them. I shouldn’t do it. As her friend I should do what’s best for her, and what’s best for her is definitely not me. She deserves better. And yet I don’t want this moment to slip through my fingers.
Damn the consequences.
Discarding all rational thought, I lean down and kiss her. Her lips part under the gentle persuasion of my tongue, and I run a hand along the edge of her jaw, threading my fingers through the hair at the base of her head.
One of her hands rests against my thigh, while the other mirrors my motion, the tips of her fingers finding their way to the back of my neck. For once, the girl in my arms isn’t popping the buttons off my shirt or shoving her hands down my pants. There’s no race to the finish. She seems perfectly content with just this—the gentle play of my lips against hers.
I tilt her head to deepen the kiss, and she sucks my lower lip between her teeth, a breathy sigh whispering through her lips. Kissing Sloane isn’t like anything I’ve ever experienced before. It’s like skydiving without a parachute or staring head-on into an oncoming train. For the first time, maybe ever, I want something more with Sloane—more than the empty, mind-numbing sex or the frenzied groping in shadowed corners.
It’s a startling revelation that shakes me to my core.
Sloane’s phone vibrates, buzzing against my leg. She jerks back, and in the moment before she leaps to her feet, I glimpse the unfocused and unsteady look in her eyes.
I’m batshit crazy for trying anything with Sloane. Besides the fact that she thinks I’m a waste of space, this is just an all-out terrible idea. And yet I’m drawn to her, like a mosquito to a bug zapper. We all know how that usually ends for the mosquito. Zap.
She answers the phone, eyes squinting as she listens. “What? I can’t really hear you.” Plugging her ear with her finger, she tilts her head to the side. “Yeah, I can come get you. Where are you? Hello? Blaire?”
She pulls the phone away from her ear and stares at it, then shoves it back into her pocket.
“Something wrong?” I ask, pushing myself to my feet and brushing the sand from my jeans.
She shakes her head. “No, Blaire’s just wasted and needs a ride, which wouldn’t be a problem if she told me where she is.”
“Don’t worry about it. I know where they are tonight. C’mon, I just got the Jeep back this morning. I’ll give you a ride.” I take a right turn up the beach to where I left my car, tucking my hands in my pockets so I don’t give into the urge to try to hold hers.
She hurries to catch up with me. “It’s fine. If you tell me where they are, I can go myself. You don’t have to come.”
The eagerness in her voice to get rid of me is hard to swallow. When I meet her eyes there isn’t even a hint of awkwardness there, and part of me wonders whether I imagined the whole kiss. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had a dream about Sloane, though this would certainly be the most family-friendly version. “It’s not a big deal,” I say. “Besides, I owe you assistance with one drunk family member.”
Her teeth pluck at her bottom lip. “Okay … thanks Luke.”
We slip into the Wrangler, and I turn it around in the dead end, pressing down on the accelerator. I’ve got the top off, and the wind whips at Sloane’s hair. She’s fighting a losing battle to keep it out of her face. Cranking up the volume, we weave through the back roads to the soundtrack of Guns N’ Roses. In the few minutes it takes us to get to the party, her hair goes from straight and neat to a windblown mess.
I pull up to the curb of Bryan’s house and throw the car into park. Light spills through the windows of the house in shafts of gold, and the bass reverberates through the white siding, making the petunias in the flower boxes tremble. Cars line the street in every direction, and there are even a few pulled up on the front edge of his lawn.
She trades a look between me and the house. “You can stay here. If you want.”
Great, she doesn’t even want to be seen with me. Anger sizzles through me like an electric current. “Maybe you should stay here if you’re that worried about it.”
Her mouth drops opens and then snaps shut. “Whatever. I’m going inside.” Throwing off her seat belt, she takes off up the front walk. I’m a few steps behind her, and the front door nearly catches me in the face as she lets it swing closed behind her.
Shouldering my way past the people crowding by the door, I look over their heads to try to pick out Sloane. She weaves through the crowd like an expert, tucking the edges of my coat around her as the thing nearly swallows her whole. I get the feeling this isn’t the first time she’s come to Blaire’s rescue.
A hand on my arm pulls me up short when I go to follow her. I glance down at the offending hand, letting my gaze drift up to its owner’s face. A girl, Mandy or Randy, maybe, curves her lips at me, her green eyes glinting.
“Hey, Luke. I’m so glad you made it. For a minute there you had me worried you weren’t
coming.”
I give her a tolerant smile. “I’m only staying a minute; need to pick someone up.”
“Really? You’re the designated driver tonight?”
I shrug. It’s none of her damn business either way.
She thrusts out her lip in a pout. “Are you sure you have to go? I was hoping we could pick up where we left off last night.”
The lightbulb flickers on. Right—last night. There’s something I’d happily forgotten. It’s damn inconvenient that Sloane’s face keeps popping up at the most inopportune times. Talk about a buzzkill. This girl is ruining me and my image. I couldn’t stop thinking about how Randy/Mandy wasn’t Sloane, and before I knew it, the “little general” had retreated. I blamed it on the alcohol, but I’m not sure she bought it.
I wonder how many people she’s told about it. Shit.
Plucking her fingers from my arm, I tell her, “Some other time.”
Well, if she hadn’t already been telling everyone about my inability to close the deal, that would be sure to do it. Luckily, no one will buy it. My reputation is impressive enough to withstand one small blow. I chuckle to myself at the thought: I think there’s a pun in there somewhere.
I find Sloane in a near-empty hallway between a painting of a rooster and a potted plant, propping Blaire up with her shoulder. Blaire’s eyes swim in my direction, and she takes a few stumbling steps toward me.
“Luke!” She throws her arms around my neck, her body crashing into mine. “Did you come for me?”
Sloane rolls her eyes and tries to pry Blaire’s hands from me.
I shake my head. “It’s fine; I got it.”
I swing her up into my arms, and Blaire giggles as her head hangs upside down over my arm. She looks at Sloane. “Is it my turn now? Did you buy me a ride on Luke Evans?”
I raise an eyebrow in Sloane’s direction, and her cheeks flush red, making her look like an embarrassed tomato. “Not tonight, Blaire. Maybe some other time.”
Her words are like a beesting—sharp, immediate, painful. I really need to take a hint.
“Fine.” Blaire sighs, laying her head on my shoulder. In five seconds flat she’s snoring.
