First and Tension

by Tara Sivec

  I mean, is it really a bad thing? It’s not like Emily is the crazy psycho Tyler thought she was. And, okay, that I might have thought she was for just a teensy, tiny minute before I pulled my head out of my ass. It’s just one lunch….

  “No can do, buddy,” Bodhi says, throwing his arm over the back of his seat and looking at him over his shoulder. “Last ferry off the island was a while ago. Probably right around the time Ems was telling this guy to eat shit. We’re still on the offseason ferry schedule for another week.”

  Bodhi starts chuckling, Tyler starts looking green again, and I’m somewhere in the middle.

  I lied to my boss.

  I get to see Emily again!

  She’s going to stab me right in the throat.

  Jeanie or Emily?

  Definitely both! But I get to see Emily again while I bleed out at her feet!

  “Why in the hell have you been driving us around then?” Tyler shouts to Bodhi, oblivious to the argument between the voices in my head.

  “I don’t know, man. You’re the one who hired a driver; therefore, I drove you around. But now I gotta get this golf cart back to Palmer. He’s been texting me nonstop, and he’s pissed I took it without asking. There’s the Summersweet Island Hotel,” Bodhi says, pointing to a sprawling, upscale building right on the shoreline that he parked us in front of. “I would have taken you back to Emily’s place to rent a cottage, but she’s super mad, and blood stains are really hard to get out. I was in a sticky situation once with a Mexican drug cartel and my friend Millie, and let me tell you, she was not happy her favorite Birkin bag got ruined. Anyway, it’s best to just give Emily some time to cool off before you ask her to pretend to be your girlfriend to impress your boss.”

  Tyler and I just silently blink at Bodhi for a few seconds until I shrug, actually believing the guy for some crazy reason.

  “No!” Tyler shouts at both of us as I slide out of the golf cart. “We are not staying here, and you cannot possibly be entertaining this ridiculous idea!”

  “Doesn’t sound like there’s anywhere else to stay,” I tell him, wondering what in the hell I’m doing. “And it’s not that ridiculous of an idea.”

  Am I really thinking about crawling back to Emily on my hands and knees, begging her to go to this lunch with me and put on a good show for my boss, promising her we can immediately “break up amicably” right when it’s over, and she’ll never have to see me again?

  I think about how happy and carefree she made me feel that night playing games all around my backyard. And I think about how much fun it was to tease her, and how hot it was for her to give me shit. And about how much I just wanted to wrap her in my arms tonight and see if she still fit as perfectly as she did that night in my back yard, when I was teasing her about throwing her in the pool. But with a lot less teasing, and a lot more finding out what her lips taste like.

  I see absolutely nothing wrong with this plan.

  “Any other advice you can give me?” I ask Bodhi as I walk to stand next to him sitting in the driver seat.

  When Tyler realizes we really have nowhere else to go and I really am contemplating this idea, he lets out a string of curses before getting out of the golf cart and stomping up the walkway toward the hotel, already yelling at someone on his phone.

  “If you hear your name and the words ‘Sip and Bitch’ in the same sentence, run, make sure my wife never gets ahold of a lighter when she’s anywhere near you, and fire your agent.”

  I laugh at Bodhi’s advice, spinning my baseball cap around backward on my head as he lounges in his seat of the idling golf cart with one hand resting on the steering wheel.

  “He’s not that bad once you get to know him. Which one was your wife?”

  “The pregnant one wearing a Radiohead concert shirt, with the faded blue hair that’s grown out, and a side-eye that makes you feel like someone just kicked you in the balls.” Bodhi smiles like he’s the luckiest guy in the world.

  “I should be afraid of your pregnant wife?” I ask, returning his smile.

  “Oh my God, man… you’re gonna die.” Bodhi laughs and shakes his head at me, pulling a piece of paper out of the back pocket of his cargo shorts. “Here’s my cell number. I also provide quick getaway services for any bro in need, but if my wife answers, pretend you’re my weed dealer.”

  Bodhi gives me a fist bump.

  “Oh, and just dare Emily to pretend to be your girlfriend. She’ll have no choice but to accept. She literally can’t turn down a dare.”

  With that, he takes off away from the curb, leaving me more confused than I was before I asked him for advice.

  With the thumping base of Eminem’s “Lose Yourself” and the flashing disco lights of the golf cart fading off into the distance, I start to worry if this is the absolute best idea ever, or if Bodhi’s right and I really am going to die.

  Thinking about the smell of Emily’s skin, the way her hand felt pressed against my chest, and just how fun it would be to get to hang out with her again—even if it’s just for a little while, and even if it’s just pretend—makes me realize it would be a wonderful way to die.

  Shoving Bodhi’s number into the pocket of my joggers along with my hands, I stroll up the walk to join Tyler in the lobby, enjoying the ocean breeze coming from the vast darkness on the other side of the hotel this late in the evening. Whistling a little DMX as I go, I wrack my brain trying to come up with some way to get Emily to stop hating me long enough to jump on board the fake dating train.

  CHAPTER 7

  Emily

  “I’m sensing some hostility here.”

  I can’t believe I told him to eat shit.

  My feet pound into the sand harder, trying to push all the unwanted thoughts from my head as I jog down the shoreline, making my way past Summersweet Island Golf Course, where I’ll loop around the far end of the island. Once there, I’ll pass the Summersweet Island Hotel and the public beach, finishing at the ferry dock, where I’ll cool off with the one-mile walk up through the middle of the island, back to my cottage.

  This is one of my favorite things to do when I’m home, and it reminds me of every morning of my life starting in middle school, when I would set my alarm to wake up before everyone else, getting a five-mile jog in before school. Not only was I determined at an early age to do whatever it took to be a professional cheerleader and dancer, but there’s nothing better than the view from Summersweet Island first thing in the morning. When the sun is just starting to peek above the horizon, blanketing everything in a soft, hazy light. The beach has been freshly combed into neat lines from the clean-up tractors in the middle of the night, dolphins pop out of the water every so often in the distance, and nothing can be heard but the crashing of the waves to the shore a few feet away from me. Well, except for the seagulls crying overhead as they dive-bomb the water, looking for breakfast.

  I can’t believe I ordered him off the island.

  Too bad my enjoyment of the view all around me is hindered by worry that I was too hard on Quinn last night. And the only thing I hear right now is the angry rock music blasting from my earbuds from my workout playlist I put on when I walked out the door in the hopes it would pump me up, instead of sending me back into a spiraling pit of despair.

  You were mean to him!

  He only came here to buy my silence.

  But he’s a famous professional quarterback! Of course he felt like he needed to protect his life and his career!

  He didn’t even ask if I was okay.

  Did you forget about the whole rubbing his thumb against the back of your hand, not wanting you to move away thing?

  He thought I did this for fame.

  Technically, his agent said that, and he called him an asshole for you!

  Oh, you can eat shit too!

  Ignoring the voices in my head, considering I already spent an entire sleepless night tossing and turning and arguing with myself, I shake thoughts of Quinn away when the sign for the hotel comes into
view, focusing on the future instead of the past. He’s out of my life for good, and now I need to put him out of my mind as well and figure out a way to break it to my parents and the entire island that none of it was true, so we can all go on with our lives.

  Because that’s not going to be mortifying at all, considering I already wore one of the sweaters Johanna knitted to bed last night, ate the entire cake Heather left on my porch, and inhaled the lasagna Alicia stopped by to give me when I got home from work, after I accidentally agreed to buy a whole table of tickets from her to the steak fry, because of course Quinn would want to invite his family to hear him speak!

  My skin is sticky with sweat and the cool wetness in the air, and I push myself harder and pick up the pace as I make my way past the hotel, refusing to think about the fact that it was just so easy for him to walk away after he got what he came for. And now I’m stuck here to pick up the pieces, not finding any enjoyment in one of my favorite activities because of him!

  Any resident will tell you the offseason is their favorite time of year, no matter what month you ask them. The beach is empty aside from one person walking their dog and another person on their morning walk with a metal detector, looking for money and other treasures buried in the sand. I recognize both of them and give them a wave as I run past, thankful that my earbuds and my quick pace deters them from trying to stop me to talk about he who shall not be named. The sooner I can never think about him again, the better off I’ll be.

  “He doesn’t give a shit about me, so I don’t give a shit about him,” I mutter to myself before I start to sing along with the song playing in my ears, while I easily jog over a piece of driftwood that washed up on shore.

  When a hand wraps around my arm right at my favorite part of the song that always gets me hyped, I’m so fired up—and completely confused as to how anyone is touching me when I’m running at a pretty fast pace along the shore—that I whirl around and act without thinking. Just like I was taught to do in the self-defense classes I took when I moved to L.A.

  “What the fuck?” me and my attacker scream at the same time when we come face-to-face, both of us stumbling away from each other.

  We both let out another blood curdling scream at the same time. Except he’s freaking out because I whirled around with my arm up in the air and sprayed him with the tiny canister of pepper spray I always run with. And I’m freaking out, because what in the actual hell is Quinn Bagley still doing on my island, grabbing my arm at six o’clock in the morning?

  “What the fuck?” Quinn shouts again as I yank one of my earbuds out. Although, at this point, it’s more of a gurgled choking sound than a shout, since he’s now bent over at the waist with his hands on his knees, snot and tears running down his face while he coughs, dry heaves, and spits into the sand.

  Quickly shoving the pepper spray into the tiny pocket of my running shorts, I move over to Quinn’s side and start gently rubbing circles against his back.

  “I’m a woman running alone on the beach, and you grabbed my arm! What did you think was going to happen?” I ask him as he chokes and gags.

  I continue moving my palm soothingly up and down his spine, careful to keep my face turned as far away from him as possible, while I breathe fresh, clean, ocean air instead of the cloud of tear gas currently surrounding Quinn.

  “Yep. Immediately regretting that decision now.” He nods in between coughs as he lifts the bottom of his shirt and wipes the snot and tears off his face from his bent-over position. “I was grabbing your arm to warn you that you shouldn’t be running alone, because someone could grab your arm. It sounded better in my head. I’m happy to know I don’t have to worry about your safety now.”

  No, my heart absolutely does not pitter-patter, because he’s probably lying about any concern he had over my wellbeing.

  “I think we’re even in the humiliation department,” Quinn continues, in between hacking coughs and loud heaves. “You can try to hold my hair back if you want, but I just got it trimmed, so that might be tricky.”

  When I have the urge to throw my head back and laugh, I remember who the hell I’m trying to comfort right now and quickly jerk my hand off his back, taking a step away from him in the sand.

  “Not the kind of music I thought you’d be listening to.”

  Quinn looks up at me pitifully, with watery eyes and red splotches all around them, while he continues to gag and spit into the sand, pointing to the earbud draped down into my cleavage, still blasting Korn’s “Freak on a Leash.” I press the Off button on my ancient iPod that’s Velcroed to my upper arm, yanking the other earbud out of my ear.

  “What? Did you expect a ditzy cheerleader would listen to Bieber or Britney Spears?” I question.

  “Hey, no hating on the Beebs, and free Britney!” Quinn announces, holding his fist up in the air when he can finally breathe again as he stands back up. He brings the bottom half of his shirt with him that he still has his other hand stuck under, using it as a towel to wipe his face.

  “Jesus,” pants out of my mouth, along with a sound that’s part moan, part cat in heat, when I’m treated to a close-up view of Quinn’s mouthwatering washboard abs.

  “And you are very far from being a ditzy cheerleader,” Quinn’s muffled voice comes from behind his shirt as he wipes his face once more before finally pulling his hand out from under his shirt, letting it fall back into place. “Right now, judging by the look you’re giving me, I expected you to be listening to “Goodbye Earl” or some other anthem about killing a man.”

  Don’t smile. Do not smile! He’s not funny, and you should just be happy he didn’t realize the look you were actually giving him was one filled with lust and not murder.

  “That Korn song was actually the one I danced to the first time I auditioned for the Vipers,” I mutter, my eyes still staring at Quinn’s cotton-covered stomach, where I just had a glimpse of heaven.

  “Seriously?” Quinn chuckles.

  “My friend Tess dared me to do it. She said it would leave an impression. She also refused to be friends with me when we were younger unless I got better taste in music. She set fire to my NSYNC and Spice Girls CDs while they were still on the bookshelf in my room.”

  Shut up! Why are you telling him all this? Stop letting the power of the abs compel you!

  “What are you doing here?” I question, crossing my arms in front of me and getting control of myself when I finally meet his eyes again.

  “I told you, I was trying to stupidly warn you about your safety.” Quinn smiles at me, casually shoving his hands into the front pockets of his black joggers.

  The same ones he was wearing last night, along with the same light-blue, long-sleeved Under Armour shirt that perfectly matches his eyes. Which means he really did spend the night here for some reason, and I’m not dreaming.

  Clearing my throat to try to focus again, I tighten my crossed arms and glare at him.

  “Not here on the beach. Why are you here on Summersweet Island?” I remind him.

  “Oh, right. You ordered me to leave.” He smirks.

  Freaking smirks at me, like my order wasn’t serious!

  Don’t act like that smirk isn’t making your underwear as damp as your skin is right now.

  “I’m really sorry about everything last night,” Quinn says, suddenly serious, the smile falling from his face and a look of complete honesty coming over it as he takes a step toward me. “That is not at all how I wanted things to go. I’m sorry Tyler was such an asshole, I’m sorry about the money thing, I’m sorry about the stupid NDA, and I’m sorry things haven’t been easy on you, but I promise I’m going to make it up to you.”

  “Is that why you stayed? To make it up to me?”

  A tiny sliver of hope sparks in my chest, but I refuse to give in to it completely.

  “Yes. And to possibly ask for a teeny, tiny favor.”

  His smile is now big, and toothy, and nervous. He’s got his hands folded together under his chin, and that sliver
of hope dies right where it was born.

  “No.” With that, I turn and start walking away from Quinn, until he reaches out and grabs my arm again, tugging me to a stop.

  “Do you remember what happened the last time you did that?” I mutter, staring down at his big, warm hand wrapped gently around my upper arm, liking the heavy feel of it entirely too much, until he quickly lets go, holding both his hands up in the air in surrender.

  “Look, I know things have been rough, and the media has been awful to you, and I really am sorry about that. I just need your help with one little thing that won’t take long at all. Let me make everything up to you by helping you out with something too.”

  “I don’t need your help with anything, thanks. You can go now.”

  Turning away from him, I run right smack into Bobbie Boyens, President of the Summersweet Island Athletic Boosters, also known as the person searching for treasure with a metal detector, who I thought I successfully avoided when I ran past her a little bit ago.

  “Oh, sorry about that! Good morning, Quinn!” Bobbie smiles and waves happily over my shoulder before addressing me again. “I’m so glad I saw the two of you out here jogging together.”

  Oh, for fuck’s sake….

  “We weren’t jogging together. I’m jogging alone.”

  “Oh, right, the big secret. Ryan told me about that.” Bobbie winks dramatically, making me wonder if everyone on this island has gone mad. “Don’t worry; I won’t say a word. Anyway, Alicia told me how many tickets you bought to the steak fry, and I just wanted to personally thank both of you for your selfless contributions.”

  The banana I ate before I went on my run starts to churn in my stomach as I quickly try to come up with something to put a stop to one of the many train wrecks I’ll have to clean up around the island.