“Well, I know that.” I stand up from the toilet seat. “Now, if you excuse me, it’s time for my embarrassing exit.”
More laughter follows me out of the bathroom. I hope she falls into the sink.
“Oof!” My mouth gets a good taste of shirt.
Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.
This has to be the fourth or fifth time I’ve collided with the same body.
“I think you’re doing this on purpose now.” Hilarity colors his tone. “But I’m okay with it.”
Bash’s shirt is a mess. I wince taking in the sight of my mucus slathered on it.
He stands in front of me, in this empty hallway, looking like he wants to laugh. There’s not a trace of disgust, despite me ruining his shirt. Good man.
The corners of his lips are twitching as he fights to keep them down.
“I’m sorry about your shirt,” I tell him, not taking my eyes off my aftermath.
He glances down before his eyes return to me. “Don’t worry about it.”
My hands smother my face. “Don’t worry about it? I snotafied your shirt! That’s disgusting. I can’t believe I actually did that.”
“Hey.” Bash pulls my hands away, holding them at my sides. “Don’t do that. Whatever happened is done, it needed to get out and it did. I’m not going to ask about it tonight, but I think after you ruined my favorite shirt it’s only fair, that later on down the road, you tell me about it. When you’re ready.”
“That’s not your favorite shirt.”
He smirks. Damn that smirk is nice. “How do you know?”
“You’re too laid back for a dressy button down.”
He nods, smiling a little, and I watch in rapt attention as he lets go of my hands and moves his own to the buttons of his shirt.
My heart rate kicks up into the danger zone as he slowly undoes one button, then another.
All while not taking his eyes off me.
Saliva starts to pool in my mouth, as my breathing quickens.
It’s like a first class seat for all the naughty parts in my brain come to life. It is getting very hot around us, and I’m sure it’s all me.
He’s on his fourth button, the upper part of his tanned skin staring me right in my face. I bite my lip and I feel his gaze hone in on the movement. His eyes darken and he takes a step toward me.
I retreat back.
This is becoming too much. The intensity radiating from his eyes and the way my body is reacting, it’s more than anything I’ve felt with any guy in the past.
I can’t. I can’t.
I gotta do something.
“Come surfing with me tomorrow.” Subject changer thy name is Emery.
He blinks, and whatever seducing spell he was under is broken. My face must look as stricken as I think it does because instead of calling me on it, he only says, “Was already planning to, Firecracker.”
DAMN IT.
I see a figure further down the beach, standing with her hands on her hips as she watches the water. A surfboard sits by her feet.
I don’t know how she does it, but even when I wake up earlier to get my workout in and head to the beach sooner than I usually do, she still beats me. What does Emery do, sleep on the sand?
At this point, I don’t think I’d put it past her. Emery sneezes more dedication than I do. She puts me and all the other dudes I know on the circuit to shame with how much time she puts in.
I mean, Jesus Christ, the girl was upset when I didn’t show up for a few days of surfing. And I feel like shit for not letting her know.
It’s been a while since someone has actually cared that much and I wasn’t expecting her to take it so personally. I’m not used to people actually caring about me the person. For so long it’s been about me the surfer. Those few days I didn’t leave my room. I didn’t do anything. I rotated between staring at my wall and mindlessly watching TV. I didn’t even sleep.
I scheduled a video chat session with my therapist for later today.
Emery doesn’t hear me approach, so I sneak up behind her and grab her sides. She shrieks, dropping to the sand, elbowing me in the process. I grunt, bending at the waist, and feel her eyes on me. She’s glaring. I know it.
“What the hell, Bash?” Yep, she’s glaring, but her lips are twitching. Like she’s trying hard not to laugh. The girl likes to give me a hard time.
“Just wanting to let you know I was here.” I extend my hand out to her.
She takes it and I pull her up. “A simple hello would’ve sufficed.” She tries to wipe the sand off her wetsuit. I start to help and she shoots me a look before removing my hand from her ass. “Nice try, Cleaton.”
“Only trying to lend a helping hand.” I throw said hands up in surrender.
“Want to help? You can carry my board out for almost giving me a heart attack.” She doesn’t wait for me to agree before the board is being shoved at me. I start laughing and take it.
“Can we talk for a second?” I ask as I set her board down next to mine.
Emery’s eyes get wide and she looks like she wants to bolt. If she runs, I will tackle her. Gently. Luckily, it doesn’t come to that because Emery sinks to the sand again and says, “Sure.”
I sit next to her, taking off my shirt in the process, in part to surf but the other part is to see Emery’s reaction. We haven’t talked about the night we met at all and, as much as I want to bring it up now, I know it’s not something she wants to talk about—yet.
Because we will. Because I want to do it again and from the way Emery’s eyes are roaming over my bare chest, I know she does too.
She’s just scared.
Behind the lust and the interest I see in her eyes as she hones in on my tattoo, I see the fear. I don’t know why it’s there, but I don’t want her to be afraid of me.
“I just wanted to say I’m sorry for last week. I should’ve told you I wasn’t coming. There really isn’t an excuse for it.”
“It’s okay,” she says. “I kind of got used to having you with me and I don’t like people who bail.”
I watch as Emery mindlessly traces her fingers in the sand. Swirls and circles and zigzags. “I promise I won’t bail again and if something comes up, I’ll let you know.”
“I want to say you don’t have to, but after how I acted this weekend and how I felt, I think it’s a requirement now.”
“Do it.”
“No.”
“Emery,” I sigh as she shoots me daggers. “Haven’t you ever wanted to live life on the edge?”
She slaps her laminated menu down on the table, using her hands to push herself up and across the table. “You want to experiment with your breakfast, that’s fine. I’m getting pancakes because this place has my favorite.” She settles back into her seat. “You can’t persuade me otherwise.”
I bet I can.
I smile at her, not saying anything. Her hair is dripping little puddles on the table, still wet from earlier this morning.
After surfing, I wanted to take her out to breakfast. It took some convincing before she finally agreed. Sometimes she can be like a little deer lost in a car’s headlights and as stubborn as a cat.
It’s cute and frustrating.
After she finally agreed to come out with me, she suggested we go to this local place that’s like a house turned restaurant.
It’s super small, outdated, and packed.
Once we’re finally seated, Emery doesn’t even look at the menu, claiming this place happens to be her favorite breakfast spot.
I, on the other hand, need a moment. With a glance at the menu, I see something I can’t help but dare her to try.
A seafood omelet.
She scrunches her face like the pug she accused me of being and I can’t stop annoying her, trying to convince her to get it.
It sounds interesting.
I’m going to order it.
I just dared her because it’s fun watching her get all riled up.
I want to be around
her longer than just the time we spend surfing. The only people I have here are Dez and Emery and I prefer Emery’s face over Dez’s.
Speaking of the fucker, I’ve been meaning to ask if what Dez has told me is true and for her to explain, ’cause I’m hella confused. “I have a question.”
“For fuck’s sake, Bash, I don’t want the omelet because I don’t believe eggs and seafood go together!”
“Good to know.” My lips twitch and I take a sip of coffee to stop an actual smile. These face muscles have been getting a good workout by being around her. “But that’s not my question.”
She’s in the middle of raising her coffee cup to her lips and lowers it without taking a sip. “Shoot.”
“Why doesn’t Dez think you surf anymore?” I’ve waited a while to ask, not feeling it’s any of my business, but now knowing that Ren Lawson is her father, I recognize her name from the surf circuit. She was good. Better than good. On her way to breaking records. Then one day, she just stopped.
Quit.
I haven’t even thought about looking up the answer online. I respect Emery too much for that.
Plus, I wouldn’t want her to look me up online when she can come directly to the source.
Fucking mature, I know.
“Something happened and I gave it up.” She nibbles her bottom lip. My brain forgets everything as I hone in on the movement.
I want to lean over the table and nibble that bottom lip for her. I want to do more than that.
Focus, Cleaton, you Goddamn asshole.
“Or rather, my parents made me give it up. And I was okay with it for a little while, but not anymore.” She sighs, sounding a lot more tired than she was a moment ago. “I’m not supposed to surf, Bash. Which is why I get up so early to do it. No one but Brit, Geer, and Sienna know. And, well, you.” She gives me a bright smile that doesn’t meet her eyes. “Welcome to the club! We have no benefits and the vote for club president is coming up, so if interested, you better start campaigning now.”
“Are you always this sarcastic when you’re being defensive?”
“More, usually,” she says, smiling around her coffee mug.
She might think she’s smart giving me a half answer, but I know what she’s doing and she’s not getting off the hook so easily. “What happened?”
Emery looks down at her hands, focusing on her thumbnail as she bites her lip before looking back at me. “You could look it up, you know. Ren Lawson’s daughter quits surfing was a huge topic back in the day. Just type my name into a search engine.”
I shake my head. “That’s an invasion of privacy, Em. Even with your permission, I’m not comfortable doing that. I know what it feels like to have people know my every detail before I have a chance to tell them. I don’t want that feeling to come between us.”
“It’s easier this way, Bash.” Her voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it. Almost broken. “I’m a comfortable person. I will act how I act no matter where I am, with no apologizes, but talking about this with you makes me uncomfortable.”
She holds up her hand before I can interject. “Let me finish. I’m uncomfortable to talk about this with you because you’re the only person in this town that doesn’t know what happened. I’ve spent the last few years being on the receiving end of pity look after pity look and if you start to give me that look I don’t know what will happen.” She looks down before looking back up, meeting my stare. “I like how you look at me.”
“How do I look at you?” My voice matches hers, with my stare just as soft.
To me, she’s always been a form of sunshine that has been bottled up, but right now it’s like storm clouds are blocking the sun’s rays.
“Like I’m not broken.”
I don’t realize how close we are to each other, both of us leaning across the table, our foreheads almost touching until the waitress comes to take our order.
We both pull away with a sigh.
Settling back into her seat, Emery orders her pancake stack and a side of home fries.
Before the waitress can ask for mine, Emery says, “He’ll have the seafood omelet. Heavy on the seafood.” She wears a smug smile as she reaches across the table, grabbing my open menu and passing them both back to the waitress, who walks away with a smile.
“You think you’re slick.” I lean back in my seat.
“Slick? I’m sorry, I didn’t know I was having breakfast with one of my parent’s friends.”
I roll my eyes. “Really, Emery. I’m disappointed. That was one of your weaker comebacks.”
“It’s not my fault you’re intimidated by a woman ordering for you.” She shrugs.
“I’m so intimidated that when we leave I’ll have to go chop some wood and drink a case of beer just to feel like a man again.” I shake my head. “Order for me all you want, Firecracker. I liked it.”
“Don’t need to renew your man card?” She cocks her head slightly to the side.
“Don’t have to.” I lean across the table again. “I already did it when you called me a pug. My ego took a hit.”
She snorts into her coffee, which makes me chuckle. The sound still feels strange to my ears, but less and less every time I laugh.
Emery teases me some more with her sarcastic humor while we wait for our food. Instead of going back to our conversation before the waitress came over, we talk about safer, generic topics. Like exchanging middle names and favorite colors and TV shows.
Mine: Michael, green, and documentaries on nature, especially ones focused on the ocean.
Hers: Marie, blue, and depending on her mood it’s either something full of angst or a comedy.
When our food finally arrives, I cut into my omelet, forking a mouthful of delicious goodness into my mouth. Moaning as I do. Emery shoots me a look of disgust while cutting into her pancakes.
“If you want to try it all you have to do is say, ‘Bash is right and I should let him pick all my meals from now on.’”
“Dream on, pretty boy.” She takes a bite of pancakes and hums in delight.
I’m about to take another bite of my food when I feel my phone vibrate in my back pocket. For the third time since entering the diner.
I don’t even flinch.
I’m over it.
They aren’t going to ruin this for me.
The vibration of my phone wakes me up. My hand hits my nightstand, smacking the wood and searching for the device. I roll onto my back, taking my phone with me.
What are you doing tonight?
I blink the sleep out of my eyes as I groan, shaking my head at the text. I just saw her—glancing at the time—six hours ago.
Fuck.
Napping isn’t something I do regularly, but when I do, I don’t nap. I fucking nap. Not sleeping the best has really been doing a number on me. I’ve been asleep since I walked in my door and stripped off my clothes.
I don’t know. I just woke up, woman.
It’s been a solid week of us surfing—I haven’t missed one day. The look on Emery’s face when she sees me every morning tells me she’s happy about that too.
She is the definition of clockwork. Showing up every morning at the same time, surfboard and wetsuit ready to go.
The first couple of times I saw her wearing a wetsuit, I was taken aback. The Atlantic Ocean is nowhere near as cold as the Pacific and Florida isn’t exactly known for their cold winters, but to each their own.
Well, chug an energy drink. I need your full attention.
Intrigue and concern flood me at the same time. What if something happened? What if she needs my help? What if she doesn’t want to hang out anymore? Just waking up makes me paranoid, evidently.
Using my elbow, I push myself up against the headboard.
She has my full attention now.
What’s up?
The little bubble with the three dots pops up and I clench my jaw, not allowing my brain to jump to any ideas. I’m trying really fucking hard to be rational and wait for her response, bu
t with Emery, she can say anything right now and that makes me nervous.
Tuesday nights are taco and trivia night down by the water at this bar. My friends and I always do it when we’re in town. Want to join?
I feel like a fucking moron for overreacting. My entire body deflates. Jesus, what is up with me?
Emery is what’s up.
I can’t stop thinking about her and it’s driving me insane not knowing if she can’t stop thinking about me.
Are you saying I’m your friend, Emery Marie Lawson?
Friends who made out one time. Friends who want to make out again. At least this friend does.
Badly.
I want to explore her body, to see if her skin tastes as sweet as her mouth did.
Last week at the event when I saw her with that guy, it made me want to rip his arms off her and throw him across the room. In total caveman fury.
I haven’t so much as hugged her since that night. I’m a patient man in the water, waiting for the right wave, but I can only see Emery for so long without wanting to touch her. If she wants me.
If that’s what the kids are calling it these days ;)
I smile, typing out my response to her, telling her to tell me the name of the place and a time. As it sends, I make a decision.
Whether we win this trivia shit or not, my night is ending the same.
With Emery’s lips on mine.
TRIVIA NIGHT HAS BEEN A tradition since last year. It’s hosted by a bar on the beach every Tuesday night. Trivia Taco Tuesday is my favorite day of the entire week. Mostly because I can get my favorite tacos for half the price, and who doesn’t love tacos?
Brit and I already have a table by the window, looking out toward the ocean while we wait for the rest of our party. A plate of half-eaten fries sits between us.
Usually, she and I get to the bar a half hour early to have a little best friend bonding time.
I spin the straw around my cup, stirring my soda, as I watch Brit pick nervously at the napkin-wrapped silverware. Her camera sits to her side.
Pushing my drink away, I wave my hand in her face. “If you don’t stop that, there’s going to be hamster bedding on the table.”
Break Line Page 10
