“Adam?”
I turn to the voice, and Alison’s right there.
Chapter 15
Alison
You’d think it would give me more pleasure to see the girl who’s now sleeping with my ex hunched over a toilet bowl, but I’ve been that girl too many times to feel smug now.
“I’ve got this,” I say and nudge Adam out of the way. “Go on back up to my parents.”
Mia groans from her balled-up position on the floor. “Please . . .” she gasps. “I . . . do not need an audience for this.”
Adam hesitates, shooting me a wide-eyed, helpless look. “She’s really sick.”
“Go on,” I tell him. “Maybe you can keep my father from wresting control of the boat away from Weston.”
He smiles. “I’ll do my best.” But he stands there, still, looking down at me. Not into my eyes, but at my face, then down at my body. He knows about Ethan—at least that we dated. Do I look different to him now?
“Really, you can both go,” Mia says. “Or just kill me. If you’re going to stand there, you could do that much for me, at least.”
“Okay, okay,” Adam says. “Sorry. I’ll go.” To me, he adds, “Let me know if she needs anything, okay?”
I nod and turn back to Mia, who has hunched into an even smaller version of herself.
“I’m coming in,” I say.
“For the love of all that’s holy, why?”
“Someone has to hold that giant mass of hair.” I riffle through a few of the cabinets until I find a stack of towels. I run one beneath the water faucet and hand it to her.
She takes it and wipes her mouth, folds it carefully and dabs it at her forehead. Moisture gathers on her temple, and her tan complexion has a greenish tinge. “You really don’t have to do this.”
“Please.” I fill a paper cup with water and hand it to her. “I spent four years as a Kappa. You are not the first girl whose hair I’ve held.”
Her smile is weak but appreciative. She flushes the toilet and shuts the lid. Closing her eyes, she sinks back against the wall, keeping the towel pressed to her forehead. “Why am I not surprised you were in a sorority?”
I shrug. “We actually did a lot of community projects,” I tell her. “It’s not all partying and boys.” Not that I had much to do with the latter. I spent two of my college years with Ethan. And then it all fell apart. Or I took it apart.
The boat heaves to one side, and I fall into the narrow space. My shin barks against the small commode, and I almost step on Mia’s hands, but she moves them to steady me.
“Careful,” she says. “There’s only room for one fatality in here.”
“You might wish you were dead. But you’re probably not going to die.”
“I’m not sure that’s comforting.”
The boat keels again, hard enough to pop open some of the cabinet doors.
Mia puts a hand to her mouth, and her eyes go wide. “Uh-oh,” she manages, but I’ve already read the signs. I flip up the toilet lid and push her hair away from her face just as she lurches back over the commode. She heaves, and I try to keep her hair under control while also not crowding her too much—tough to do in the modest space.
“Jesus,” she moans. “This is humiliating.”
She flushes and hangs over the toilet. I give her more water, and she takes a cautious sip. I want to tell her she’d be better off going up on deck to do what she needs to do. The fresh air would help, but I’m not even sure she’d make it.
“My dad said it should smooth out, but maybe I should just tell him to turn back. We can do this another day.”
“No, don’t do that,” she mutters. “This deal . . . I don’t want to screw things up.”
That makes two of us. It occurs to me we have at least a couple of things in common now: Ethan and this need for things to be right.
“Let’s get you into one of the cabins to lie down.”
She nods, and I back out of the space to give her some room. It’s so hard not to ask if she told Adam about how Ethan and I ended. So hard not to ask if Ethan’s forgiven me. Really forgiven me. But now’s not the time.
Rising, she bends over the tiny sink to splash water in her face. Her color looks a little bit better, but her eyes have the cool sheen of ice. She looks like she’s about a minute from passing out.
Mia follows me to one of the small staterooms, and I help her onto the bed, even taking off her shoes for her. Her feet are impossibly small, and that makes me laugh for some reason.
“I know,” she says. “Elf feet.”
“Well, they don’t curve up at the toes, at least.”
She smiles and lies back against the pillows. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, and it’s hard to tell if she’s talking to me or to some vision dancing behind her eyelids.
“No need. We’ll be fine. Just rest.”
“No,” she says. “About Ethan. The Boomerang date. I’m sorry if I hurt you.”
“It’s totally okay,” I tell her. “You couldn’t have known.”
She nods. “No, but I’m still sorry.” Her eyes close. “Anyway . . . Adam . . .”
I wait for her to finish the sentence. “Adam what?” I say, because I can’t help myself. But the cabin fills with the light rhythm of her breathing. She’s asleep.
I get a plastic pitcher and fill it with water, then pour some into a glass to leave on the nightstand by her side, along with another Dramamine because there’s no way she kept the first one down.
After I’ve switched off the lights and shut the door gently, I go back up to the forward salon.
Adam’s in there, standing by the window. He’s untucked his shirt, and his pants are rolled up at the ankle, exposing bands of tan skin. He looks like a surf kid, his skin sun-brightened, sandy blond hair wavy from the sea air. And his lean swimmer’s body, with its broad shoulders, taut muscles. He’s devastating.
Something inside me catches, like I’ve been hooked, like there’s an invisible filament spanning the space between us, and he’s drawing me to him. He’s not even looking at me, but I feel the pull.
I walk up to him, and he turns and smiles.
“Where are my folks?”
“Your mom’s crashing on a chaise upstairs. And I’m afraid I lost the battle with Captain Graham.”
I roll my eyes. “Great.” I’m waiting for some other shoe to drop. For him to ask about Ethan, for me to have to decide what to tell him, what to keep to myself.
Instead, he surprises me. “Hey,” he says. “Want to go for a dive?”
That might be the best thing I’ve ever heard in my life. I’m so hungry to shed this ridiculous day, to get into the ocean, into the cool, magical world beneath the waves. Without my parents and my past.
With Adam.
“I’d love to,” I say.
Chapter 16
Adam
Instead of Lover’s End, Weston modifies our course and takes us around Catalina, where we drop anchor at West End. The water on this side of the island is smoother and with Mia as sick as she is, it was the obvious choice. Alison and I take turns changing into our swimsuits in the room next to Mia’s and meet back on the rear deck.
“My dad likes Lover’s End better, but this is my favorite place to dive out here,” she says as she pulls her hair into a ponytail. She’s got her wetsuit half on, the arms hanging limp at her waist, and a black tank up top. She looks like she’s done this a thousand times. “The best visibility and the kelp forests are incredible.”
“What kind of marine life?” I ask. The news about Ethan’s still on my mind. I want to know more.
“Oh, you’ll see everything here,” she says, her blue eyes lighting up. “I’ve seen moray eels, leopard sharks. Yellow tail. Lots of Garibaldi. I haven’t seen any horn sharks lately, though. You have to catch them at dusk, or on night dives, but who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky. And it’s always pretty private. The currents can be strong, so you only get advanced divers.”
She pul
ls her tank top off, no warning whatsoever, and I’m looking at her in a black bikini. She’s beautiful, so gorgeous. Toned arms. Long, slender neck. My eyes drift lower, and suddenly I’m trying not to stare at the way she fills out her bikini. Trying and failing. I make myself think of sharks, moray eels, kelp forests, so I don’t go full mast right here.
“Are you okay with that?” she asks. “Advanced-level diving?”
“I’m an advanced-level diver, so yes. And I’m good with everything that’s going on right now.”
Ali pauses in the middle of slipping one of her arms into her wetsuit. Her gaze narrows in question.
I want to answer that question.
Yes, Alison. You’re beautiful.
“Horn sharks, huh?” I say instead. I turn and focus on pulling my own wetsuit out of my dive kit. Gulls circle above us, and I see a thin tail of barbecue smoke rising from the opposite end of the boat.
“Yep,” she says behind me. “I’ve always liked them. They’re so clumsy in the water and slow—and super sensitive to light intensity and water temperature—but they’re still successful predators. Amazing. All those strikes against them but they still manage to make it work.”
What’s amazing is that I’m practically getting wood just looking at her, and she’s talking about a fish.
“Fan of the underdog, are you?” I shake out my suit and step into it. “I guess we really weren’t meant to be.”
Ali laughs. Her gaze feels like sunshine on my back, but I don’t turn around. I pull my wetsuit up to my waist, adjusting myself so I’m comfortable. The cool Neoprene layer feels familiar and my body responds, my heart thumping hard, anticipation rushing through my veins. The prospect of the ocean always does this to me. This has nothing to do with the girl behind me.
“Adam?”
Ali’s voice is close. Turning, I almost bump into her.
Her wetsuit is all the way on, which is good. And terrible.
“What’s up?” I ask.
She smells like suntan oil and peaches. This close, I see that her cheeks are turning slightly pink from the sun. With her hair pulled back, no makeup, and the wetsuit covering her completely, she looks better than she has all week at the office. Better than she did in the Catwoman costume. There’s something powerful about her now. The way her slender legs are planted firmly on the swaying boat, like she’s not trying at all. She’s at home on the water. This from an admitted equestrian. I can only imagine what she’s like with her horses.
“Sorry, but . . .” She smiles and points at her back. “My zipper’s jammed.” She turns around and pulls her ponytail up. “Can you help me out?”
“Sure. You want this on, right? Just want to be sure.”
I can’t see her face, but I know she’s smiling. “Yes. On please.”
I allow myself a moment to enjoy the way she looks right in front of me. Then I take the zipper leash, letting my knuckles drift over her back, just above the knot of her bikini.
If I weren’t completely focused on her, I’d have missed the way she curls slightly toward me.
Focus, Blackwood. Zip the wetsuit up.
“Tell me something,” I say, tugging on the jammed material. “Do you have some problem with zippers?” I ask, remembering her cat suit.
She laughs. “It was Philippe’s doing on Halloween night. He says zippers are the scars of fashion.”
With both of us barefoot, she’s a few inches shorter than me, and I like it. How she feels a little smaller. The urge to wrap her in my arms is strong. To peel the suit off her and kiss her shoulder. We’re alone back here with the sunlight and the seagulls. I could lay her out on the chaise lounge and spend the rest of the day exploring her. I could sink myself—
Graham’s voice carries down from a deck somewhere above us. He’s laughing. It’s a loud sound, a downright guffaw. I know he’s on the phone because he hasn’t sounded that happy once with his wife or his daughter. Shitty. Shitty family dynamics. But Graham’s laugh gets me back on track.
I finally get the jam sorted out and zip her up. “All set.”
“Thanks.” Ali’s smiling as she faces me, but it fades as her eyes travel to my tattoo. I wonder what she’s thinking. If she’s remembering our time in the Gallianos’ garage. How we’d been all over each other. Just completely crazed to taste and touch as much of one another as we could.
When her blue eyes come back to mine, I see curiosity in them and sweetness. Her attention on me is complete but somehow soft. It’s an expression that’s uniquely hers and it’s a temptation. It makes me want to let her in and tell her everything. The whole fucking sob story of my life. Of me and Chloe.
I look at her earrings. “You going to wear those in the water?”
“Yep. I never take them off.” She tips her head toward our tanks. “So, Blackwood. Are we doing this?”
“We’re doing this. Quick. Or slow. Whichever speed you prefer.”
Ali smiles, her eyes narrowing. “You’ve been waiting to say that.”
“Resisting. But I’m glad it’s out of the way now.”
Weston comes down as Ali and I are checking our tanks and clearing our regulators.
“Perfect day,” he says. “Not every day is this clear and calm. It’s going to be the dive of a lifetime.”
Ali and I exchange a smile, anticipating the adventure. The freedom. As soon as we’re in and our masks come down, I know that for the next hour, I won’t think about Boomerang, or about getting the money I need to launch Blackwood Films.
Diving is like surfing for me, except without the rush. Underwater I’m breath and energy, nothing more. My mind empties. Time stops. But I know this won’t be like my usual dives. Even before Weston’s comment, I knew that.
We descend to forty feet and head toward the kelp forest, Ali leading. She’s true to her name, quick through the water. I push to stay with her, more aware of the dangers of diving than ever. When we reach the kelp, I’m practically her shadow, but it’s easy to get tangled in the long vines. Easy to lose sight of someone or get caught in a strong current, and I’m not taking any risks with her safety. It only takes a few minutes for my worries to fade away though.
She’s a good diver, calm and smooth, but it’s the moment she looks at me and bugs out her eyes, imitating a grouper nestled in the kelp, that makes me laugh and finally chills me out. From then on, we move without the need for words, showing each other starfish. Staring in awe at the twenty leopard sharks that fly past us. Pointing at the bright orange Garibaldi, weaving through the long strands of kelp.
We follow a ridge that parallels the island, visitors in an underwater world, but I’m on a mission. I keep an eye out along the murky edge of the cliff, where the sandy bottom is darker and shadowed from sunlight.
Finally I see one. I catch up to Ali and bring her back to the spot.
There, drifting along the bottom, is a horn shark. It’s about a foot long, tan with dark brown spots. It looks uncomfortable with all the attention it’s suddenly getting, but it stays put.
Ali looks at me, her eyes smiling. Thank you, her eyes say.
It feels so good to please her. I’ve done a lot of things for girls in the past. This, I won’t forget.
We hover there a while, watching the clunky, somewhat pathetic predator until it decides to swim away.
Ali looks at me again and I don’t look away. It’s safe, with masks and an ocean between us. Without the permanence of words. So I let myself relax. I let myself see and be seen. What I feel or want or think is all the same right now.
I like you, Ali.
I don’t want to, but I do.
Chapter 17
Alison
When Catherine and I used to dive as kids, I couldn’t wait to glide away from her in the water, to move off to my own undersea kingdom, where I could be Ariel from The Little Mermaid. I’d pretend to be born to this world of shifting light and shadow, of pulsing life that invited me to secret places. The world above seemed so noisy
to me—so full of chattering conversation and rules I didn’t like. But here, I could spend hours watching schools of manta rays spread like dark kites near the surface above me. I could trail my fingers through the kelp, stare off at the far-off corona of sunshine and tell myself that if I stayed down here long enough, I’d grow a tail the way Ariel grew legs on land.
Now, as Adam and I swim around one another, I feel that same pull. Only it’s different now. It’s not about escaping to some world of my own. It’s about having a world to share, someplace away from my parents and the family business. A bubble where just the two of us exist, two bodies circling one another. Contained and secret, like the backseat of the Murano on Halloween night. Only with fish.
We move together, and I’m conscious of the power of his muscled thighs encased in Neoprene, of his strong arms, pulling him along like the water offers no resistance at all. He smiles from around his regulator and points behind me. I do a lazy turn and come face-to-face with a sea turtle.
Drawing back to give it space, I bump against Adam. He steadies me, and even with the layers between our skin, his touch galvanizes me. We follow the turtle for a while, watching as it passes over undulating anemone and crabs scurrying along the ocean floor. At one point we’re on either side of the creature, close enough to count the spots on its reptilian face, and Adam gives me a look that’s so excited, so alive, that my breath catches in my chest, and I wonder if I’ve run out of oxygen.
Finally, we let the turtle move on without us. Adam points up toward the surface and, reluctantly, I nod.
We climb toward the sunlight, bodies close, and break through. We take off our masks and regulators and grin at each other. A few yards away, the Ali Cat bobs on the water, which is calm now.
“That was great,” Adam says. His wet hair looks shades darker now, creating a deeper contrast with his glistening tan skin. A bead of moisture rests on the indentation above his lip, and I want to touch my tongue to it. I want to touch him, period, so I paddle back a few inches to give us both space.
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