by J. Daniels
“Yeah, you said that.”
She blinked at me, fingers twisting in my shirt at her sides, chewing on the inside of her cheek and looking out of words, but also looking like she could break down at any second and fall apart in tears.
I was pissed, but I didn’t want her crying.
I exhaled a breath and rolled my shoulders, eyes on the sand, trying to ease the tension pulling across my back and low in my neck.
It didn’t work.
Fuck this. I had a better idea.
“Stay here,” I ordered, pointing at her face.
It was tight with worry and regret. She blinked and nodded, letting me know she was gonna listen.
Good. Wasn’t in the mood to track her ass down.
I stalked out from behind the dune, finding my board washed up on the beach. After propping it up against the lifeguard stand, getting permission to leave it there ’cause I was cool with the guy, I grabbed all of her shit and mine, which included my towel, a pack of smokes, and my lighter, then I went back around behind the dune, seeing Tori still standing where I left her, in the same position I left her in, with that same bothered look on her face.
“Let’s go,” I said, handing over her stuff. “You owe me a drink.”
She blinked up at me and sniffled. “Excuse me?”
“A drink. We’re drinkin’. Let’s go.” I moved to lead us to the tiki bar down the beach.
“I don’t want to drink.”
Halting, I turned my head, then I hit her with a scowl. “Worried the shit outta me. Got me hatin’ my reaction to feelin’ your perfect tits. And you were fuckin’ scared.” I grabbed her hand and tugged. “We’re drinkin’. Both of us.”
Eyes wide, Tori went with me. She didn’t put up a fight. Not with her mouth or her body.
We were drinking.
Both of us.
Chapter Five
TORI
Jamie was pulling me down the beach. He had my hand wrapped in his and he was gripping it tightly.
And I was letting him.
Typically, I wouldn’t be allowing any parts of Jamie to be touching any parts of me. Ever. No way. I knew what touching led to. But considering I’d already latched on to him like a monkey climbing a tree today, doing this half-naked no less, and also considering how terrible I was feeling about not telling him my past or my fears, I was letting Jamie do his thing and I wasn’t fighting it.
I owed him that much.
Honestly, I probably owed him more than he was asking of me right now.
He was pissed. And he had the right to be pissed.
I should’ve said something.
It wasn’t that I was scared of the ocean. Like I told Jamie, I knew the basics when it came to swimming. I could swim. I was just a little nervous when it came to large, unpredictable bodies of water, that’s all.
Plus, there was the whole worry that I’d drown and have it be fatal this time. That might’ve been weighing heavy on my mind when I was hesitating walking out toward him.
Again, something I should’ve shared.
But no. I was playing dirty and too busy focused on hearing those sweet begging words to bother with sharing phobias. And now look at me.
Shaken up. Embarrassed. Letting this loser touch me. Missing half of the most expensive bikini I’d ever purchased and forced to cover up in a T-shirt that unfortunately didn’t smell terrible, at all. In fact, it smelled amazing, and while I was being dragged down the beach, I was battling the urge to bury my face in it and inhale deep lungfuls of arrogant surfer boy.
So apparently, I was also out of my mind. All because I let some stupid bet get to me.
The tiki bar Jamie was leading us to was more like a mini restaurant right on the beach. It had the standard wooden bar top and stools for patrons to sit, torches burning, and calypso music pumping through the speakers. It also had a large seating area with tables and chairs shaded by umbrellas and a stage for a band to perform on, I was guessing. There was no one on it at the moment.
Once Jamie reached the tables, he released my hand. Then he headed straight for the bar, pulled out a stool for himself, pulled out one for me, caught my eye, and then gave me a look indicating I needed to sit in the stool he was offering or we’d be having words. Heated ones, most likely.
Again, I owed him.
He took his seat after I took mine.
I threw my bag up on the bar and kept the towel in my lap, then having free hands, I fixed my hair into a bun so it looked intentionally messy, not like I’d just gotten tossed around by a wave.
Hair situation under control, I was now halfway presentable and blending into the crowd nicely, considering everyone was wearing bathing suits or skimpy cover-ups.
“My man! What’s goin’ on, brother?” the bartender greeted Jamie, holding his hand out and then doing that thing guys do when they embrace by mixing a handshake with a one-armed hug.
The guy was shirtless, tanned, had long dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, and wore five different shell necklaces around his neck.
Jamie grew taller on his stool and reciprocated, leaning over the bar to do it and slapping the guy’s back. Then he settled in his seat and tapped a cigarette out of the pack. “Not much, man. You? How ya been?”
“Good. Good. Same shit, ya know?”
Jamie lit up a cigarette, nodding his reply, flipped the lighter closed, took a drag, and then blew the smoke out above him.
I’d seen Jamie with cigarettes tucked behind his ear all the time, but I’d never witnessed him actually smoking before.
This was what prompted me to butt into their conversation and inquire.
“How come I’ve never seen you smoke?” I asked.
Jamie gave me a sideways look, barely turning his head. “’Cause I’m tryin’ to quit,” he answered, then he jerked his chin at the bartender. “Two Coronas. No lime for me. Give her one.”
“I’m fine, thanks,” I said, causing the man to pause midstep and bounce his gaze between the two of us, questioning what he should do.
“She’s not,” Jamie argued. “Get her a drink.”
“I’m not thirsty.”
“She is.”
“No, really, I’m—”
Jamie turned his head.
His jaw was twitching, his eyes were hard, and he looked ready to debate my need for a beverage until one of us passed out from exhaustion, most likely me.
I sighed, remembering my poor judgment and the reason I was missing a top, then I gave the bartender a weak smile. “A Corona with lime sounds perfect. Thanks.”
“Right on,” he replied, stepping away to grab our drinks.
Jamie took another drag of his cigarette. He kept his eyes fixated behind the bar.
“So why are you smoking now if you’re trying to quit?” I asked, watching him blow a perfect smoke ring out of his mouth. My brow furrowed. “And how long have you been trying to quit? Every time I see you, you have a cigarette stashed behind your ear. But you never smell like smoke. It doesn’t make sense. Why would you have your lighter with you if you’re trying to quit? Are you really trying to quit?” I tilted my head, studying him.
“Jesus Christ,” he laughed, turning his head to look at me. “How many questions are you gonna ask me in one breath? You sound like Sunshine.”
I shrugged. “What? That was like, two breaths, at least. I paused.”
“Did you?” He raised his brows. “Must’ve missed it.”
The bartender stepped in front of us again and sat our bottles down on the bar. He slid a plate next to mine that had a lime wedge on it.
“So when’s your next meet?” he asked Jamie, leaning his weight on the wooden surface.
“Couple weeks.”
“Nice. I need to get back out there. Knee’s feelin’ good now, so just need to find the time, ya know?”
Jamie nodded. “I hear that.”
“I’m sorry,” I interrupted, gaining attention from both of them but only giving it to the
bartender. “Hi.” I smiled.
He smiled back. “’Sup, babe?”
“Um, can you just give us a minute? I had a couple of questions I was really hoping to get answers to.”
The bartender cocked an eyebrow.
Jamie threw his head back and laughed like he’d just heard the funniest thing imaginable.
I kept my gaze steady on the man behind the bar, thinking my request was understandable considering how curious I was feeling at the moment, and not at all amusing.
“For real?” The bartender looked at Jamie. He jerked his chin at me, asking, “This one yours?”
“Um, no. I am no one’s,” I answered firmly, grabbing my beer and popping the lime wedge in. “Definitely not his.”
“She’s obsessed with me,” Jamie told the man, his amusement leveling out to a few quiet chuckles quaking in his chest.
“What?” I choked on a breath.
The bartender looked between the two of us and he did it nodding, as if he believed this nonsense.
Give me a break.
“Look at her. Shit’s serious.” Jamie tapped the ash off his cigarette into a nearby receptacle. “Can’t keep her outta my shirts.”
What?
WHAT?
I grew taller on my stool. “He’s obsessed with me,” I informed the bartender, and Jamie, since he’d apparently forgotten. “He practically stalks my entire life. And he offered me his shirt. He wanted me in it.”
“Not gonna argue that,” Jamie shot back, doing this while looking prideful.
My mouth was open and ready to dispute his rebuttal since I knew it was coming, but hearing that, it clamped shut. I slouched in my stool.
And I did this not thinking anything of Jamie wanting me in his shirt. Because there was absolutely nothing to think about it.
Nothing at all.
“See?” I glared at the bartender.
Smiling, he held his hands up in surrender and took a step back. “Leave you guys to it then,” he said, then he looked at Jamie. “Good seein’ you, man.”
“Same,” Jamie replied.
I watched the man move down the bar, then shifted my attention onto the lying loser’s profile.
“So?” I asked.
Jamie turned his head. He brushed some wet hair out of his eyes, saying nothing.
Seriously?
“Are you going to answer my question?” I further probed when he didn’t follow my lead.
“Which one? You asked me about thirty,” he replied, giving attitude with his response.
I scowled. He was way off, but whatever. I decided on repeating the first question, and the one I was most curious about.
“Why are you smoking now if you’re trying to quit?” I asked.
Jamie studied me for a breath and then looked away, focusing behind the bar again as he informed me, “Think you can figure that one out yourself.”
I stared at his profile and thought back to his reason for dragging me here, hearing his words ring out to me in my head.
“I scared you,” I offered.
His eyes slid to mine as he took another drag.
Swallowing, I nodded. Right. Stress was the trigger. That was understandable. People smoked and drank when they were stressed out.
And Jamie was stressed and smoking because of the stunt I’d pulled.
Damn.
I drank my beer, not liking the unsettling feeling washing over me as I took ownership of being the cause of his stress, and then I pushed those feelings aside because I had more questions I wanted answers to.
“So how long have you been trying to quit?”
Jamie blew the smoke out above him while stubbing out his cigarette, then grabbed his bottle and chugged a good bit of it.
“My turn,” he said after swallowing, instead of answering me. He turned his head and read my confusion. “You got shit you wanna ask me and I got shit I wanna ask you. Just answered one of yours. Now it’s my turn. That’s how this is gonna go.”
“Technically, I answered for you,” I reminded him.
“And technically, you should’ve told me you were fuckin’ scared, but you didn’t,” he bit out.
“I wasn’t scared. I was just nervous.”
His eyes hardened.
I pressed my lips together.
We were getting off track, and I wanted to stay on track, considering the questions I wanted to ask him. “Fine,” I said, waving my hand. “Your turn. Go.”
“How’d you almost drown?”
“It was at a birthday party. My mom thought my dad was watching me and he thought she was keeping an eye out.” I shrugged when I saw emotion shadow his face. “I don’t really remember it,” I continued, studying the bottle I was holding in my lap. “Apparently, I got into the deep end of the pool by myself and someone saw me at the bottom.”
“Jesus,” Jamie mumbled.
“When they got me out, I started throwing up water. I didn’t need CPR or anything, but my parents felt terrible. My mom still talks about it.” I looked up at him. “I didn’t get back in the pool again until I was nine.”
Jamie shook his head, then looked away, uttering a “fuck” under his breath. His jaw started twitching above the sharp angle in it, like he was gritting his teeth, and his nostrils were flaring with the forceful breaths he was taking in.
I didn’t understand why he was looking the way he was, like he wanted to punch my parents in the mouth for letting that incident happen in the first place, which was absurd. He couldn’t be feeling emotions that deep. It wasn’t possible. Why would Jamie care about something like that? About me like that?
No. I must’ve been reading him wrong. He didn’t care. I was sure of it. So I swallowed a mouthful of beer and moved us on to the next point.
“How long have you been trying to quit?”
Laughter rattled in his chest as he looked at the bottle he was gripping. “Wasn’t really tryin’ anymore. I gave it up two months ago.”
I felt my forehead tighten. “What?” I asked, leaning to the side so I could see more of his face. “What do you mean? You always have cigarettes with you.”
He shrugged. “Like a challenge. Keepin’ the stuff with me makes it harder to resist. Puts that need right in my face. I can’t avoid it.” Then he turned his head, keeping his body facing the bar and his elbows resting on the wood, and looked at me, not just at my eyes but at my whole face. My lips and the hair tickling my ear and my eyebrows. He looked at everything.
I straightened on my stool and started breathing slower. He should’ve stopped talking after that. Thinking back, I wished he would’ve.
Unfortunately, he had more to say.
“Harder it is to get somethin’ you want, the better it feels when you finally get it,” he added, letting his eyes settle somewhere between my chin and my cheek.
Was he…Did he mean…
No. He didn’t.
Jamie was talking about wanting to quit smoking real bad and feeling good about it when it finally happened. That’s what he meant. I was sure of it.
Only I wasn’t.
Not with the way he was suddenly staring at me. Intently, like he was conveying something else entirely.
I stared back while a funny sensation started fluttering in my stomach.
This was not good.
There were other factors contributing to this feeling and making it stick. Factors I was paying more attention to all of a sudden or giving attention to for the first time.
We were sitting close. I was wearing Jamie’s shirt. And he’d promised no one would see me when I was feeling vulnerable and made good on that promise.
Like he was protecting me. Like he actually cared.
A stupid person would think these factors meant something. That they were worthy of funny fluttering sensations and the attention I was giving them.
I was not a stupid person. And I wouldn’t let myself think like one. I couldn’t.
Only I was totally thinking like one. Which
was why I didn’t just take a sip of my beer when I brought the bottle to my lips. I downed most of it.
“So,” I began after I’d finished swallowing, taking a few deep breaths and feeling the effects of the alcohol hitting hard. I looked at Jamie. “You quit smoking two months ago, and because of what happened with me, now you’re smoking again?”
My stomach tensed. I didn’t like being the reason for his slipup. I didn’t want to feel guilty when it came to Jamie.
I didn’t want to feel anything.
And knowing him, he’d hold this over my head until the day I was being lowered into the ground, making sure I felt it forever.
Jamie smirked, watching me take another generous drink. “Wouldn’t say I’m takin’ up the habit again,” he clarified. “Needed a smoke after that shit, so I had one. It is what it is.”
“And you’re not going to have another?” I asked, bringing the bottle back to my lap.
“I don’t know, Legs. You plannin’ on pissing me off any more today?”
I narrowed my eyes.
“That a yes?” he questioned after I didn’t respond, his full lips twisting into a smile.
“I just think it would be a shame to throw away the progress you’ve made. It’s impressive.” When his smile started growing, I quickly added, “And something a lot of people accomplish on a daily basis. Relax.”
“Right,” he mumbled, mouth still stretching wide.
He was enjoying this.
“Tons of people quit smoking, Jamie.”
“Sure they do.”
“You’re nothing special.”
“Think my mom will disagree with you on that.”
I rolled my eyes.
Jamie laughed with his bottle to his lips, tipped it back, and finished it, then gestured for two more after noticing how low I was getting on mine.
“The house,” he said after acknowledging the bartender with a jerk of his head and getting his new beer.
I finished off my Corona and swapped it out for the fresh one. “Huh?” I asked, not understanding his remark. “What house?”
“Got a pretty sick setup where you’re at, and you’re pullin’ in waitress pay,” he clarified.
I frowned. “Oh.”
“I know what a house like that is worth, so I’m just wondering how it’s even possible you’re livin’ there. What’s the deal? You livin’ off Daddy’s money or something?”
