“For the record, before I tell you anything else, I think you’re being stupid,” my sister, Claire, had said.
“Me? It’s him who’s being stupid! He’s texting my Big, who he used to date, Claire.”
“I get that, but have you seen his texts to her? Is he sending dick pics and asking her to make out?” She didn’t let me respond. “No, he’s not. He’s being a friend to her, just like he told you he was.” Claire had clucked her tongue then. “Adam is being mature beyond his years, if you ask me. I can’t think of one single guy who tried to date me in college and told me I should take some time to focus on myself, or held me in their arms and said anything even close to as sweet as everything he’s told you. If anything, they wanted me to lose myself in them, to do whatever they wanted to do. I’m telling you, if you’re still single when you’re my age, you’ll kill for a guy like Adam.”
I’d huffed, staring at my pile of clothes on my bed, still trying to figure out what to pack for Spring Break.
“Just help me,” I had begged, my voice soft. “Please.”
And with that, Claire had cracked, giving me advice that I should have already known myself.
“It’s the oldest trick in the book, but there’s a reason that sucker is still in there. Men are simple creatures, and boys are even more so. It’s simple, really — you just need to make him jealous. If you think he’s sleeping on you, if you think he’s too comfortable or not moving fast enough, show him that other people are noticing you and you’ve got options.”
“But I don’t,” I’d quickly pointed out.
“Doesn’t matter. It can be a friend or one of his friends — anyone. Doesn’t matter what they look like or what kind of connection you have. If there’s another guy even talking to you, trust me, Adam will notice.”
And so, I’d stewed on that advice overnight, packing and repacking and staying up way too late to feel functional on my first day of Spring Break. I still hadn’t had any idea of what I’d do, of when I’d make my move.
But now, staring across the deck at Adam, Kade, and their other brothers, I know the time is now.
The cruise ship is buzzing with the energy of Spring Break, so similar to my first one last year and yet heightened somehow. This isn’t just a road trip to Key West — it’s an all-inclusive cruise. For the next five days, our only obligation is to drink, party, and soak up the sun.
It’s college bliss.
And I’m damn sure not spending it alone.
As soon as the safety drill ends, we all disperse, making our way to various parts of the ship. The girls and I are on a mission to snag prime real estate at the pool, and as soon as we make it to the top deck, I spy my first opportunity.
I grab Skyler’s arm, tugging her toward Adam and his brothers before I can talk myself out of my next move. Without warning, I launch myself at Kade’s back, wrapping my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist in a forced piggyback ride.
“It’s Spring Break, bitches!” I yell, loud enough to cause several people to turn around and look — Adam included.
He smiles at first when he realizes it’s me, but his eyes darken at the sight of my legs wrapped around Kade, of his hands holding my thighs in place as he adjusts me on his back. Kade laughs, smacking my butt playfully, and Adam’s jaw clenching is the last thing I see before I pull my attention back to the task at hand.
“Where’s our shots?” I ask.
I don’t even realize it’s Kip standing next to Kade, not until I glance over and see that’s who Skyler jumped on, mirroring me. For a second, I see it — how good they would have been together, had it not been for Erin. And even though I know he’s called things off with Erin, we all know there’s no chance for Skyler now. It’d be against girl code, and I know my Big well enough to know she’d never break that.
“I’ve been on this boat for seven-and-a-half minutes now and I still don’t have a frozen, fruity drink in my hand,” Skyler chimes in.
Kip stares up at her over his shoulder, a wry grin on his face. “Well, that sounds like a problem I can solve.”
The next thing I know, I’m hanging on for dear life as Kade and Kip take off sprinting toward the bar. I squeal extra loud as we pass Adam and his brothers, but I don’t take my eyes off the bar, acting like I don’t even realize we passed him.
“Okay, transportation complete,” Kade says, dropping me to my feet once we make it to the pool bar. “Now the only question is — which shot?”
“Hmmm… something fruity.”
The bartender overhears, holding up an “okay” sign with his fingers to let us know he’s got just the thing. Kade and I chat while she makes our drinks, and anytime I can, I touch his arm, laugh at his jokes, stare into his eyes. I’m pleasantly aware of the other set of eyes locked on me at the present moment, and that only fuels my fire.
“To Spring Break,” Kade says, holding up his shot glass to mine.
“May we survive it.”
He laughs. “Hear, hear!”
We down the shot, Kade howling when his is down, and then he winks at me before trotting over to join his group of brothers. Skyler is preoccupied with Kip at the bar, so I sip my piña colada, waiting for her to finish up so we can make our way to the pool.
And just like always — I feel him before I see him.
I wonder if that will ever go away, the way my body reacts to Adam before I should even know he’s nearby. Will he ever be able to surprise me, to catch me off guard, or will my hair always stand on end, my stomach always tighten, my heart always skip before picking up a notch?
“Happy Spring Break,” he says, tapping his knuckles on the bar.
“Yep.”
The word leaves my mouth with a pop, and I take another drink, not so much as glancing his way.
“You okay?”
“I’m great!” I force a smile, finally meeting his eyes. “How about you?”
Two lines form between his brows, like he can’t figure out if he should believe me or not. And he shouldn’t. He definitely shouldn’t.
“I’m good… I saw you with Kade,” he says, broaching the subject like Mr. Subtle himself. “I didn’t realize you two knew each other.”
On the outside, I’m calm and cool, merely shrugging and taking another sip of my drink. But inside, I’m wearing the most satisfied grin.
“Oh, yeah, we met at rush,” I say coolly. “I didn’t really talk to him much until the Valentine’s Day dance. We hung out a lot that night.”
I practically shoot lasers at him with that last line, making my message clear. It’s been almost a month since that dance, and I’m still not over the fact that he ran out with Skyler that night. Yes, he explained later. And yes, we’ve hung out since. But still, I know he’s texting Skyler, and I know I’m tired of the let’s take this slow bullshit.
“Oh,” Adam answers.
He pauses a moment, sliding closer to me, his pinky finger brushing mine. And as much as I want to hold his hand, as much as I want to hear what he has to say next, I cut him off with his mouth still open.
“Well, have fun today.”
I turn, linking my arm in Skyler’s and guiding her toward the pool where Erin, Ashlei, and Jess are already set up. We dip our feet in the cool water, clinking our glasses together and celebrating the start of the best week of spring semester.
I don’t have to glance over my shoulder to know Adam is still watching, and I hope like hell he’s feeling even a margin of the kind of hurt he made me feel the night of the dance. I’ve never done anything like this before, never been about playing games, but if that’s the way to get his attention, I’m damn sure not above it.
I served the ball, now it’s his move.
He better choose it wisely.
SPRING BREAK.
Every year, we count down the days until this magnificent week. Every year, we push our diets, tan as much as we can, and buy way too many clothes because we have “nothing to wear” — regardless of our cl
osets being stuffed full of clothes.
But this year? I’d almost forgotten.
I’ve been so focused on Kip, on trying not to focus on him, that I forgot how much fun Spring Break is. I forgot that I’d have the week with my sisters, that I’d have the chance to earn my entry fee for the tournament by doing the small tournaments on board, that I’d have days in the sun and nights dancing the hours away with my favorite people in life.
But I could never forget that he would be here, too.
It’s been a week since Kip and I hooked up, since the night of the tournament downtown, and ever since then, we’ve played our cards as carefully as we could. A few stolen glances here and there, a hot kiss in the Greek library, a few text messages — all disguised by putting different names on our phone numbers just in case. I feel like I’m cheating on someone, even though I’m single, but I don’t want to hurt Erin.
I can’t hurt her.
Until she gives me the sign that she’s fully over Kip, this will have to do. I tell myself I can handle it, I can keep everything on the down low, can control myself around big groups of people and sneak around to touch him the way I want to. But when he slides up behind me as I place another bet at the roulette table, I know I’m walking a very thin, very dangerous line.
“Why black number four?” he asks over my shoulder.
His breath warms my neck, and I smile, keeping my composure as best I can and focusing on my chips laying on the table.
“It’s a long story,” I answer, taking a marginal step back — enough to touch him, just a little bit, our bodies sparking to life at the contact.
“I’m in no rush. I’m actually on vacation, believe it or not.”
I roll my eyes, taking a sip of my drink as other players place their bets.
“My dad has this formula,” I say, smiling at the mention of him. It’s been a while since I’ve talked to either of my parents, and I miss them. They were my best friends before I had any at all. “He uses it to find out people’s lucky numbers. He used to do it all the time, sort of like his party trick, I guess.”
Kip is so warm behind me, so close, I nearly forget what I was saying. But I shake my head, brushing it off.
“Anyway, obviously he figured mine out the day I was born, and it’s been drilled into my head ever since then that my lucky number is four.” I shrug. “When I played little league sports, four was always my number. If anyone asks me to choose a number between one and ten, that’s my go-to — always. I have a tattoo with it, I purposefully buy scratch-offs that are the fourth ones on the roll, I mean, literally anything involving numbers leads me straight to number four.”
I smile, knowing how superstitious and, frankly, ridiculous I sound, but continuing regardless.
“And, honestly,” I say. “It really is lucky for me. I’ve won a lot of money by betting horses racing with the number four and on the scratch-offs, too.”
I pause, turning to face him to deliver the last of my story. His strikingly blue eyes meet mine with a glittering interest, and my knees shake, my hands reaching for his forearms to steady myself.
“Except, something weird happens in poker,” I say, doing my best not to drop my focus from the story to how delicious he looks in his crisp white button-up and navy blue dress pants. “For whatever reason, anytime I’m dealt a black number four in poker, whether it’s a spade or a club, I lose the hand. No shit,” I say, holding up my hands. “Even if I have a pair of aces in the hole, if a four comes up — I know I’m going to lose.” I chuckle. “Kind of ironic, isn’t it? My lucky number screws me in the game I need it most.”
Turning back toward the table, I gesture toward my bet. “So, because I’m superstitious and a little crazy, I play black number four on roulette. Every time. I guess I’m convinced that if a black four can hit for me here, it’ll reverse my luck with the cards.”
“Has it ever hit for you before?” Kip asks.
I scrunch my nose, half because I can’t believe he’s actually interested in this stupid, crazy story and half because I realize my theory about number four always being lucky except for poker is a little flawed.
“No, it hasn’t,” I finally concede. “So, I guess my lucky number is kind of cursed in this game, too.”
Kip doesn’t answer, but instead reaches into his pocket for his wallet. Before I can even register it, he flicks a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill on the table. The dealer exchanges it for one black chip, and Kip’s eyes find mine as he plucks it from the green.
“Maybe you’re just not betting enough,” he muses, voice low. “Maybe your lucky number feels cheated.”
And then, he slaps that one-hundred-dollar chip right on top of my measley one dollar one.
I’m already shaking my head when I turn to face him, my eyes wide with worry. “Kip! Don’t do that, that’s so much money.” My heart races, knowing he’s about to lose a hundred dollars all because of some stupid superstition of mine. “It won’t hit, it never does, I don’t want to be the reason you lose that!”
“No more bets,” the dealer says behind us, and all eyes move to the ball spinning on the number wheel — except for mine.
“Too late now.” Kip grins, and I just groan, covering my face with my hands.
“Oh, my God. I can’t breathe.”
Kip laughs, but I can’t hear anything past the click-click-clicking of the ball on the wheel as it rolls over the wooden wheel. It’ll drop any moment now.
“You have a tattoo?” Kip asks. “I don’t know how I missed that.”
I laugh at his stupid attempt to distract me, still covering my face with my hands. “If you’re still talking to me after this, maybe I’ll show you later.”
Kip leans in closer, his voice a growling whisper. “Looking forward to it.”
Heat creeps up my neck as I nudge him, but I still can’t take my hands down. I know the ball is going to land anywhere but on the number we bet on, and it makes me sick to think about how Kip will look at me once he realizes I cost him a hundred bucks. The ball hits one of the silver knobs, the sound as distinct as my own mother’s voice, and the bouncing begins.
My heart kicks up another notch, beating painfully hard in my chest.
“I seriously can’t breathe,” I whisper, and Kip’s hand slides down to my hip. He squeezes it gently, but doesn’t say a word.
And then, a gasp from the other players at the table as the dealer announces the winning bet.
“Black four.”
Chaos. Complete and utter chaos.
Everyone at the table cheers, regardless of their own bets as I throw my hands up into the air and stare at the ball resting in the little black crevice of number four on the wheel. I still don’t believe it, not when I wrap my arm around Kip, not when we jump up and down screaming like a couple of lunatics, and not when the dealer puts the little glass marker on top of our bets, sealing the deal.
“OH MY GOD! That did not just happen!” I stare at the marker, blinking over and over, the reality not sinking in. “Kip, that’s like three thousand dollars,” I whisper, turning back to him with my hands fisting his dress shirt. “Holy shit!”
The rest of the table laughs, my whisper anything but discreet. Even the dealer cracks a smile as she calls the pit boss over to check the pile of chips she’s piled up for Kip.
“Well, I guess we better find a really awesome way to spend it tomorrow on the island, huh?” Kip says, spinning me around to face him again. “See?” His eyes zero in on me, that same flood of weakness consuming my knees. “You just needed to have a little more faith in your number. That’s all.”
I smile, throat tightening with emotion. There are so many things I want to say to him, so many places I want to take him, so many things I wish I could take back, and so much time lost I wish I could have again. How is it that my entire life was turned upside down by a transfer, a silly boy with blue eyes, blond hair, and glasses? He walked onto our campus and into my life and nothing was ever the same.
>
I know it never will be again.
“I think I just needed you,” I argue. “Maybe you’re my lucky charm.”
His face falls a little, a shadow of something similar to guilt crossing over him before he grins. It happens so fast, I know I must have imagined it, but I wonder what was going through his mind.
“I’ll take that title,” he says. “Am I the kind of lucky charm you never take off? You know, the kind you shower with?”
Kip waggles his brows and I just roll my eyes, turning to collect chips from the dealer. There are a few more congratulations from the players at the table and then new bets are placed, our win forgotten.
When I face him again, my eyes trail his entire body, knowing that what lies underneath those clothes far outweighs the threads.
“Well, I did say I’d show you my tattoo,” I tease.
Kip bites his lip, and just like that, we’re racing to find our next hiding spot.
I can’t wait to have his lips on me, to have his hands on me, to have his body on mine. And more than anything, I can’t wait until Erin gives me even one small sign that she’s over him.
Because I can’t wait until he’s mine — truly mine — for everyone to see.
ON THE SECOND NIGHT of Spring Break, I press a cool hand to my cheek, sipping on my frozen daiquiri as I attempt to soothe my sunburn. It’s not bad, just a light blush of pink over my face, arms, and legs, but it’s enough for me to feel it. My cool hand only soothes it for a moment, a temporary fix before the burn singes through and leaves my hand just as hot.
Yesterday, I got so drunk I ended up turning in early after dinner. Then, today, we partied on the island, Kip blowing the money he won last night on a couple of cabanas for his brothers and our sisters. Again, I found myself drinking to forget about Adam, to try to avoid him and my feelings.
Now, sitting at the bar with my sisters as we try to turn our day drinking into a successful night, I feel silly.
Legacy_A New Adult College Romance Page 29
