Blue Crush

by Barnard, Jules

  Mira nears a truck and looks back. Her lips disappear, eyes glinting as she takes in Lewis’s arm around me. It would be safer for all of us if Lewis stopped touching me before I launch myself on him, or before Mira claws me to death.

  He presses me against the side of the truck, his hands raised as if to say, Stay. The parking garage spins for a few seconds and then levels out as he opens the passenger door. Mira scrambles in next to the driver’s seat, then Nessa after her. I wiggle in last.

  “Where do you live, Gen?” Lewis asks as he pulls away from the lot.

  I give him directions and zone out until the familiar crackle of uneven gravel alerts me that I’m home.

  “Thanks for the ride.” I open the door and step on the ground. The world rotates, my body lunging to the side. I grip the door for balance and my finger catches at an odd angle, bending painfully.

  The crunch of heavy footfalls sounds from the front of the truck. “Need a hand?” Lewis gently closes the passenger door.

  I brace my hip on the side of the truck and shake out my finger. “I’m okay.”

  One foot in front of the other and holding on to the truck for dear life, I make my way forward. It’s dark. I can’t actually see my feet, but they’re down there somewhere. Releasing the truck hood, I take a tentative step toward the house. The ground tilts.

  A firm grip at my waist jerks me upright. My legs are swept up next.

  Holy shit, he’s carrying me?

  Lewis cradles my thighs and back, the light spring-scented cologne or aftershave, whatever, the soapy deliciousness that wafts from him in hot waves, pummels my senses. I stifle the instinct to press my nose to his neck. That would be inappropriate. Worse than pinballing into strangers and sexual moans—God, this night is going to embarrass me tomorrow, I just know it. “You smell good,” I tell him on a sigh.

  His steps falter, his chest rising on a sharp inhale. A beat passes. “So do you.” His voice is a smooth rumble that sends butterflies ricocheting in my belly.

  Did he just admit to liking me? Telling someone you like the way they smell is the same as telling them you like them. Which is what I did … Wait, why can’t I date him? Oh yeah, Mira. I scrunch my nose.

  In his arms, my gaze reaches his chin. This close, his features are all masculine edges, his skin even—except for that scar. I’d like to feather my lips across that scar … God, he’s a distraction.

  He chuckles.

  Did I say that out loud? “Why are you laughing?”

  “You’re different when you’re drunk.”

  It’s that obvious? Of course it is, you jackass, you’re stumbling all over the place.

  We reach the front door and Lewis adjusts his grip on me. My legs slide down his body, stirring a new series of spastic butterflies low in my belly as he sets me on my feet.

  I can’t look up. His scent, touch—his voice—they steal my ability to think, and when I look in his eyes the maelstrom is ten times worse. I keep my gaze glued to his T-shirt and shift around, careful to maintain balance.

  Cali and I forgot to turn on the porch light before we left for work, so the lighting issues I had in the driveway linger at the front door. It takes several attempts before I fit the key and release the deadbolt.

  Groping the wall inside, I flip on lights and spot Cali’s cell sticking out between the couch cushions. Good, she’s home. One less worry.

  Lewis enters behind me, dwarfing our small place and sending my girl parts into high alert. He’s in my home—a few feet from my bed.

  Stop thinking of him that way!

  He glances past me. “Where’s Cali?”

  The bedroom door is closed and no light glimmers below. “Asleep, I think.”

  “Will you be okay? I can check on you after I drop off the girls.”

  He wants to check on me? To tuck me in? A smile forms on my lips at the same time a hissing exhale sounds from behind.

  Mira’s small figure looms in the doorway. “Are you coming?” Her tone is pure annoyance.

  Lewis’s gaze doesn’t waver from me. “I’ll be there in a minute, Mira.”

  Mira steps to the side so she can intermittently glare at both of us.

  “I’m fine,” I say. “Thanks for the ride. Hope it wasn’t too much of an inconvenience.” I mean, Jesus, it’s after two in the morning.

  “No bother,” he says absently, looking around as if to ensure no monsters lurk in dark corners. “I’ll see you later, then.” His gaze sweeps my face before he follows Mira out.

  Bolting the lock behind him, I throw my purse on the couch and stagger into the bedroom. I collapse across the mattress. Cali grunts angrily. It’s possible I elbowed her in my effort to land on the bed and not the floor.

  My last thought before I drift off, suspended between conscious and sleep: I wish that Lewis was returning to me …

  Chapter Five

  I am an idiot.

  What the hell did I do last night?

  Around five a.m. I puked my guts out and that’s when memories of the previous evening battered my head along with the sledgehammer that is hangover brain. I’m considering moving to another country. It seems a better alternative to showing my face.

  Did I actually nuzzle Lewis’s neck, or imagine it? He must think I want him. He’s the last person I want … need … want. Both.

  I take back every disparaging remark I’ve ever made about people who can’t hold their liquor. I could have stopped at, oh, I don’t know, five or six shots. That would have been the wise choice. After the first few, I lost count.

  Looking back, I wonder if Mira played a hand in my supply. No one was as intoxicated as me, and I drink two-hundred-pound men under the table. Mira pushed so many shots my way I’m convinced she gave hers up as well. My bad for consuming them, but still, why would she do that? To get me to embarrass myself?

  Success.

  Utter mortification achieved.

  Nessa doesn’t know it, but our lunch date is a welcome change from the mental flagellation I’ve subjected myself to these last couple of days. The general chaos going on in my house isn’t helping stress levels.

  “I can’t believe they let her go,” Nessa says.

  Last night, out of nowhere, Cali lost her job. She effing got fired. She said the casino didn’t give her a solid reason for why they did it, only that she wasn’t a good fit. What kind of corporate bullshit is that? Cali is the smartest person I know and she’s charming. It makes no sense. A bar busboy asked me about Cali and when I told him, he said it’s happened before—girls getting fired for no reason.

  “It’s ridiculous,” I agree, and turn my car down a side road. Nessa lent her car to a friend, so I’m driving today. “She’s pretty upset about it, but our friend Jaeger came over and cheered her up.”

  “Cheered her up, eh?” Nessa grins suggestively.

  “Exactly.”

  There’s totally something going on between Jaeger and Cali. They seemed highly suspect when I walked in after work last night. They weren’t doing anything at the time, but I sensed I’d interrupted a moment. She still hasn’t offered up information on the situation and it confuses the heck out of me. Cali doesn’t hide her relationships. She’s listed in the Urban Dictionary under TMI when it comes to her boyfriends. It makes me wonder if things with Jaeger are different, like she’s treading carefully because she really likes him.

  If so, I’m glad. One of us needs a healthy relationship.

  “She’s out with him today, as a matter of fact.” I pointedly raise my eyebrows at Nessa, nose turned down, as if to suggest all manner of things I’m not actually saying.

  “Um-hmm, I see how it is. Keep me posted. At least someone is receiving love from the opposite sex.”

  My shoulders tense. What would Nessa think if she knew the thoughts I’ve had about Lewis? Sniffing and telling him he smells nice when he has a girlfriend is totally inappropriate, and Mira is Nessa’s friend. I feel like at any moment I’ll get called out for my
lusty thoughts about him and fired as a friend.

  I wind down the long driveway to the Beacon Bar and Grill on the south shore. I’ve wanted to check out the Beacon since Cali and I arrived in town, and coming today might be the only thing capable of taking my mind off my shame spiral.

  Easing my Camry beater into the packed parking lot, I begin to rethink the wardrobe I chose this morning. Tahoe nights are cool, but the days heat up quickly and it’s already in the low seventies. Nessa came prepared—the black straps of a halter swimsuit show above her shirt. The Beacon Bar and Grill is on the beach. I should have worn a bathing suit beneath my clothes too. I’m in a faded navy T-shirt with beige linen shorts and slip-on tennis shoes. The shorts are daring, hitting a couple inches below my ass, with my favorite loose-fitting T-shirt balancing out the look.

  I grab a towel I keep in the trunk and throw it in my tote. I’ll have a spectacular farmer’s tan if we lie out in the sun, but I’d rather enjoy the weather and beach.

  We choose a patio table overlooking the populated shore and Beacon dock. No clouds fill the sky and the lake is this sapphire blue my gaze gravitates to every few seconds. Granite-peaked mountains cradle the water in an otherworldly embrace and I remember why this place is so special. For a few minutes, I forget why I felt so shitty earlier.

  Nessa skims the menu. “We have to get Rum Runners.”

  My throat convulses, peace shattered.

  Alcohol. And too much of it. That’s why I suck and why, outside of work, I holed up these last couple days.

  “What?” Nessa says. The look on my face must be telling. “Rum Runners are a tradition at the Beacon.”

  “Can we share?” I say in a wobbly voice. “I don’t think I can manage an entire rum drink.” The thought of that particular alcohol engages my gag reflexes. Stupid Buckshots. I’ll never be able to drink a root beer float again.

  Nessa laughs and presses her fingers to her temples. “I was so hungover after the club.” Her hands flatten on the table and she gazes up wearily. “How many shots did we do?”

  I shake my head. I literally have no clue, and if I did, it would probably scare me.

  Nessa signals our waitress. The girl is in a blue Beacon T-shirt and khaki shorts, with her hair pulled into a ponytail. I’m totally jealous of her uniform. So normal.

  Nessa orders her food and a Rum Runner and hands the waitress her menu. “Mira is dangerous.” I place my order and the waitress walks off. “She’s a man magnet. But holy shit, you missed the fight she and Lewis got into after we dropped you at your place.” Nessa squints. “I was a little out of it, so some of it’s fuzzy. The part I caught was Mira yelling at Lewis because he walked you to your door. What did she think, he’d let you crawl? That girl has jealousy issues.”

  There’s no reason for Mira to be jealous. She proved to me and everyone at the club that she can get any guy she wants. I’m not competition, I’m in the way—like I was with the A-hole, only he had no problem setting me aside for his girlfriend back home once school ended. I hate the idea that men think I’m disposable.

  In my quest to not be like my mother—hooking up with and discarding men at will—I’ve somehow become the opposite, staying in relationships I shouldn’t, or maybe I’m selecting the wrong guys.

  “Is it normal for them to fight this much?”

  Nessa shakes her head. “No, definitely not. Mira can be cranky, but this is extreme. I don’t know what’s gotten into her. From what I overheard, in between spacing out, she was overreacting or being controlling—something like that. Lewis puts up with too much.”

  I wonder if it would be easier to be around Lewis if he and Mira had a solid relationship. This battle between them has my mind spinning unlikely scenarios of them breaking up. He’s with someone else. I’m not dating an A-hole part two.

  Our food arrives and my burger is so good I hum in the back of my throat. Of course I eat the entire thing, while Nessa consumes a third of hers and declares herself full. The French fries are spiced, and dipped in sweet ketchup, the best lingering hangover remedy. I’m feeling so good I actually consider ordering another Rum Runner, which turns out to be this orange, smoothie-style fruit drink. There’s juice in there—nutrients—it can’t be that bad for me.

  The sun beats down and Nessa slips off her T-shirt, revealing a tiny black bikini top against her slender, delicate frame. “Beach time?”

  Liver, you’re getting a break. “Sure.”

  We pay our bill and walk out on the sand, staking a spot near the dock where vacationers and Beacon workers in blue T-shirts walk back and forth, doing … I’m not exactly sure what. Hanging out? Guarding the dock? It’s lively, considering the few boats coming in and out. Most of the activity stems from canoes and paddleboats passing beneath, en route to the Beacon beach.

  I’m watching people in their canoes and whatnot duck their heads as they drift under the beams of the dock, when a paddleboarder, bent on one knee, glides past. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention, my stomach tightening in anticipation. I can’t see his face, but I don’t have to.

  How the eff?

  Nessa adjusts her triangle bikini top, oblivious. No one knew we were coming today. We made last-minute plans.

  Every aspect of Lewis comes into focus one by one, as if I’m watching a movie in slow motion. I see the dark, ruffled hair, the bare, tanned skin, the flex of muscles as he shifts his fingers on the front of the paddleboard to support his weight while he kneels to clear the dock, his calf muscle bulging on the leg footing the board. He passes the pier, stands with his paddle in one hand, and glances at the beach. His gaze immediately narrows on me, and my breath locks in my throat.

  Nessa leans in. “Oh my gosh, is that Lewis?”

  I’m too disoriented to answer. He’s paddling to shore and I’m staring at his body like he just stepped out of the shower in a porno. I’ve never seen a porno, but I imagine this is what it would be like. Lewis without a shirt is erotic. Indecent. His chest and arms—I couldn’t look away the first time I saw his forearms at the dinner party, with his shirt pushed to his elbows. They were interesting and masculine, the bands of muscle and the hint of veins. Now I see all the way up to thick biceps sloping into strong, broad shoulders that shift and contort as he guides the paddle.

  What’s wrong with me? I’m not a guy-checker-outer. I mean, I notice an attractive face, but I never much cared about muscles. With Lewis, I’m very interested in every dip and masculine edge. It’s like he was built to draw my eye—my own personal eye candy, when I didn’t realize I had an eye candy type.

  He steps off the board into ankle-deep water, towing board and paddle up the beach a few feet. Slipping out a cell phone sealed inside a Ziploc from the side pocket of his maroon board shorts, he taps the screen before returning it to his pocket and walking over.

  I glance away. This close he’ll read everything on my face and know I’m checking him out. God, when did I become this girl?

  My heart races so fast the sides of my vision blur. I dig my feet in the sand until the cold depth sends a shiver up my back, distracting me. It lasts for all of two seconds, until I sense him in front of me, and then my heart goes all jittery again.

  “We were just talking about you,” Nessa says cheerily.

  “Interesting, I was just thinking about you.” My gaze flickers to Lewis, his hair sticking up in the front, a light sheen on his chest from the sun and exertion. His board shorts sit low on his hips, every smooth abdominal muscle visible, including the thick ones that disappear into his clothes … I blink. I’m doing it again!

  He’s staring, unsmiling, with a curious intensity in his eyes.

  I glance at the horizon for grounding. Should I leave? Say I need to use the bathroom? This pull is infuriating—undeniable and addictive. And what if he brings up the other night? My humiliation will be complete.

  Lewis looks up and raises his hand. Zach jogs toward us in navy board shorts, no shirt. Two women in bikini
s, somewhat older, watch him pass. Zach’s not as tall as Lewis, but he’s cut like an athlete and good looking.

  Lewis slaps Zach’s hand in the air and Zach ruffles the top of Nessa’s head. “Hey, kid.” He nods at me with a grin. “Gen.”

  Nessa is hot in her tiny black bikini. Her frame is petite and she hasn’t an ounce of fat on her body, but Zach’s endearment is what a guy says to his sister, almost like he’s purposely putting her in the friend zone. Nessa told me once that she’s never dated Zach or his friends. It blows my mind that one of them hasn’t tried to hook up with her.

  Lewis sits beside me, his warm arm brushing mine. My breath catches. “Feeling okay after the other night?”

  Of course he brings it up.

  I glance at him. Big mistake. Shoulders curled in, arms wrapped around his knees, his lips are inches from mine, the scent of sunscreen and Lewis penetrating my senses. His gaze drops and catches on my mouth. Because I’m staring at his? “Sorry about that.” I wipe the sand off my legs, keeping my hands busy. “I was a mess.”

  He knocks my shoulder with his, which launches me into Nessa. It was a nudge, but he’s huge. Nessa rolls with the motion, intent on her Rum Runner conversation with Zach.

  “You were funny,” Lewis says, concentrating on the lake, the corner of his mouth turned up.

  “I doubt that.”

  He reaches out his hand, palm up. “Let me see your phone.”

  “Why?”

  He blinks as if to say, Don’t be difficult. I dig for it in my tote and hand it to him. He scrolls to my contacts and I lean over, taking the opportunity to inhale because he smells amazing.

  He types in a number.

  “What’s that for?”

  “Don’t drive home when—just call me next time. I work late. I’m always up. It’s not a big deal to give you a ride.”

  Is he serious? “Um, I don’t need a chauffeur. I hardly ever get drunk.” Try never. I can’t remember the last time.