“You see?” I finally whisper. “This is why I don’t tell the truth. Because it sounds so awful. I sound like a mercenary gold-digger with a family who only cares about someone’s bank account.” I swallow and stare at the grass until the sun scalds my eyes. “I sound like that because it’s true. God, I make myself sick.”
I start to push off the stone so I can dash away to throw up out of sight, but Jace stops me by taking my hand.
“Hey,” he says quietly. “Think about your painting, remember?”
I try to focus, but it’s not working. “I can’t do this—”
“It worked before. Try again. What colors are in it?”
“Purple, white …”
“Yeah? What else?”
“Green,” I whisper. Green like his eyes, which are as pretty as any O’Keefe painting I’ve studied.
“Why do you like it so much?”
“It’s … it’s part of a series she did about a flower. Number five in the series is a close-up, so close that it’s abstract, and unless you knew it was a flower you wouldn’t realize. It’s just a swirl of vivid colors. But they fit together, as part of the whole.” I realize that my stomach has calmed, and smile wryly. “Okay, you’re good at this. I feel better.”
“I had a lot of practice.”
Jace rubs his thumb across my palm, and something inside me goes still with surprise. He can’t possibly think much of me after all I told him about my family. But his gaze is gentle.
“Were your parents pressuring you to marry Hunter?”
I grimace. “They didn’t have to. We were perfect together.”
Jace smirks. “Bullshit. Hunter’s idea of art is a poster of the Saints winning the Super Bowl.”
A laugh tumbles out of me, because it’s true. Whenever I tried to talk to Hunter about my art history classes, his eyes would glaze over. He’d listen to me to be polite but after awhile I stopped bringing it up.
Jace knocks my shoulder with his. “Besides, if you were so perfect together, why did you break up?”
I hesitate. “Because I told him the truth. About my family’s finances.” That’s only half true though. I also told him about the scam my parents talked me into. Hunter could’ve shrugged off our lack of funds; it was the other confession he couldn’t stomach. “I don’t blame him for cutting me loose.”
Jace frowns. “You don’t blame him for deeming you unworthy because you’re poor? I’m calling bullshit again.”
Letting go of Jace’s hand, I cast about for a way to change the topic. This is making Hunter sound like an ass, when it wasn’t about the money. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“Where do you go every weekend? Everyone says that you’re out hooking up with girls at other schools, or at strip clubs or whatever, but that’s not true, is it?”
“You’re changing the subject.”
“I spilled my guts to you, didn’t I? It’s only fair for you to do the same,” I counter.
He plucks a blade of grass from a clump beside his feet, then tosses it away before answering.
“It’s actually really boring. I work. I visit my mom and sister.” Hopping to his feet, Jace turns and jogs back up the ruin. Twisting to frown at him, I wonder if he’s running away from the question. Not that I have any room to throw stones, obviously. But I’m too curious to let it go, so I get up and follow.
My thighs are burning by the time I reach the top, but it almost feels exhilarating—yesterday I never would have been able to do that, not on an empty stomach. I’m almost looking forward to lunch.
“Explain,” I pant when I reach Jace.
“What’s to explain?”
“Now who’s got walls up?” I say, still wheezing. Jace grimaces sheepishly, then offers his hand. I take it, and he leads me down the steps toward the grassy inner courtyard again. I’m thankful for his steadying hand, as my legs are protesting at the unfamiliar exercise.
“I work at my uncle’s car repair shop on the weekends so I can save up money. I make sure I never have classes on Friday, so as long as there aren’t any Greek events I have to go to, I work Friday to Sunday and crash with my mom and sister. And stepdad. My mom got remarried last year.”
Wow. I honestly never would’ve guessed that, especially with Jace’s flirtatious personality and with his I-don’t-give-a-damn attitude. “Do you like your stepdad?” I ask, a bit hesitant because that’s a personal question. Of course, the two of us have been getting pretty personal lately.
“He’s a good guy and he’s good to my mom.” He pauses halfway down the massive stone steps. “I can’t complain, you know? My mom’s finally doing okay again.”
“Finally?”
“She had a rough time for a while. We all did.”
I wait for him to keep going, explain what he means, but he seems to be done.
“Jace, you’re killing me with curiosity here.”
He starts climbing down the steps again, but not before shooting a grin over his shoulder. “Good, now you know how it feels.”
We reach the bottom of the great stone staircase that is thousands of years old. The last step is the biggest one, and Jace has me stop while he hops down first. Then he reaches up, puts his hands on each side of my waist, and effortlessly swings me down.
My hands rest on his shoulders as my feet touch the grass, and I glance up at him. Our gazes collide, and I forget what I’d been meaning to ask him. Jace’s fingers tighten slightly, and a smile curls the edge of his lips. His hands slide up my sides, under the edge of my tank. I inhale, and flatten my palms on his biceps, letting my thumbs graze the lean muscle. The glare of the hot sun may be tiring, but Jace’s heat energizes me instead. I’m about to pull him into a kiss when a bell rings out and Jace straightens.
“That’s for us,” he says. “They’re handing out lunch before the bus ride back.”
I make a wordless noise of protest when he starts to release me, and Jace bends his head down so his lips brush my ear.
“Later,” he whispers, and we hike back to the bus.
The tour guide passes out a variety of bagged lunches—I end up with a ham and cheese sandwich, banana, and pretzels, all of which I eat—and soon we’re back on board the bus and heading into town. We spend a couple hours browsing the shops and street vendors; I pick out a bracelet for my mom while Jace gets a scarf for his sister. As we try on multicolored sombreros, I ask Jace if he and his sister are close.
“I pretty much raised her,” he says, then hesitates. “My parents …”
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” I say, but Jace plops a huge sombrero on my head and shrugs.
“My dad was drunk most of the time.” He goes on to tell me that since his dad couldn’t hold a job, they lived, as some of the rumors about him had said, in a trailer park, scraping by paycheck to paycheck. Not helping things was his mother’s manic-depression.
“I’m not sure how my sister and I didn’t wind up in foster care,” Jace admits. Silently, I think it’s probably a testament to how Jace was able to hold things together so it wouldn’t come to that. When he talks about the times his dad got violent, I remember the statues Jace said he would pretend to be, how that got him through. My heart breaks for his younger self, that kid wishing he were stone.
I listen and try not to say anything stupid. His stories floor me, and by the time he’s finished I’m shocked, and a little humbled. Sure, I have a mom for whom perfect was never good enough, and a dad who preferred to hide away in country clubs we couldn’t afford, but my childhood was clearly way more pleasant than Jace’s.
Still, I can’t help but be a little jealous of him, no matter how ridiculous that might sound. After all, his family has its shit together now. His dad was eventually sent to jail for something he did during one of his drunken sprees, and Jace’s uncle and aunt stepped in. They got his mom help and a divorce lawyer. Now she’s remarried and faithfully taking her medication, his sister is happy
in her new school, and Jace visits them every weekend. They’ve passed through the worst and are stronger for it. While I’m stuck in the eye of a hurricane. On this trip everything is calm and peaceful, but once I get home …
Thinking about my problems makes my stomach lurch, so when Jace abruptly turns the conversation to which cheap touristy trinket he should bring home for his mom, I let him distract me. I’d much rather debate the pros and cons of a seashell necklace versus a hand-woven hammock than stress about my money issues.
As the afternoon fades, we head back to the ship. The rest of our Baxter friends are returning from their beer-filled day at the beach, and we all make plans to meet at the hot tubs instead of going to the sit-down dinner.
Once we’re back in our cabin, Jace grabs his swimsuit and changes in the bathroom. Meanwhile, I take a seat on the bed and cross my legs, waiting for him to come out.
“You know, we could skip the hot tub and stay here,” I say suggestively. Later means now, right? With Jace near me all day, throwing him down on the nearest bed is all I was able to think about on the ride back. But he doesn’t seem to get it.
“No way. My legs are sore from all of those steps. I can’t wait to soak it out.” He grabs his sunglasses and heads for the door. “I’ll save you a seat, okay?” Before I can say anything, he’s gone.
I make a wry face at the door, but step over to the dresser. I guess I’ll have to wait for later. Sighing, I pull open the top drawer and am rummaging for my bathing suits when the door opens again.
Jace ducks his head back in. “Hey,” he says. He looks uncertain, an expression I’ve never seen on his face before.
“Yeah?”
“I don’t … I don’t talk about my personal stuff around the rest of the group,” he says. “The stuff about my family.”
Oh. I get it. I make a zipping sound as I swipe my fingers across my lips, and Jace relaxes.
“I’ll see you up there,” he says before he takes off again.
I’m smiling as I change into my blue halter bikini. I’m glad that Jace confided in me. We’ve shared secrets—secrets I haven’t even told Yasmin—and I’m still here. I’m still standing. With Jace around, my life back home feels so far away. My stomach dips when I remember the problems awaiting me, but I think about Jack in the Pulpit Abstraction No. 5, and the anxiety gets manageable. It’s not gone, but I can handle it.
With what Jace told me about his past … if he could survive all of that, maybe, just maybe, there’s a way for me to survive what’s coming up for me too.
In any case, for the rest of this trip, I’m not going to think about anything but now. All I want to do is get lost in Jace’s eyes. Drive him crazy with lust like he does to me, so we can spend the next few days worrying about nothing but each other’s bodies. I grin, because I can’t remember ever feeling so … wild.
I start tying the halter straps of my two-piece together, but then my hands go still. This suit is flattering but modest, more prim than sexy. It’s how I was feeling when I packed for the cruise, but totally not what I want to wear now. Then I remember the string bikini that Yasmin bought me as a Christmas gift. It’s a deep red, barely-there string bikini that makes me blush just holding it up in front of me. But I packed it because Yas would’ve been hurt if I didn’t.
I wriggle into the red bikini before I realize that I should do a more careful shaving of my bikini line to wear it. Is it worth the time? Thinking of Jace’s expression when he sees me, I grin. Hell, yes it is. I’ll make later happen on my terms.
I dive for the shower.
Chapter 15
Jace
When I reach the hot tub area, it’s like stepping into an Alpha frat party back home. Loud music. Cups of beer. And plenty of Kappa girls lounging around, although they’re wearing a lot less clothing. Samantha waves from the pool as I pass her, but I only nod in her direction.
“Boo, you don’t want to talk to me?” Samantha calls out flirtatiously, giving me the trademark pout that makes several of my Alpha brothers drool. I wave vaguely, pretending not to notice her annoyance as she turns back to her friends.
I head toward the hot tubs and think back over the day. God, I can’t believe I told Georgia all of that stuff about my family. A couple of the guys, like Andy, know how I visit my mom and sister all the time, but I haven’t told anyone about my past in such detail since I arrived at Baxter. I mean, yeah, I’m the one who decided to open up to Georgia, but I didn’t mean to ramble so long about my mom’s problems and my dad’s abuse. The dark times in my family history aren’t things I like to share—and for good reason. Remembering the shock on Georgia’s face when I told her that my dad was in prison, my gut tightens.
What does she think of me now?
I sink into one of the hot tubs and shake my head. Georgia was just so easy to talk to, and she finally opened up to me about the whole thing with Hunter and her family. For once, I felt comfortable sharing my past with someone.
But telling Georgia about my life only seems to underscore the very different backgrounds we come from. The Cantwells might be broke now, but Georgia was raised on country club memberships and whatever tech gadget she needed to impress people. Meanwhile, I spent my childhood learning how to argue with electric company reps to get the account turned back on without a late fee.
Chill out, I tell myself, and try to let the warm water soak my annoying uncertainty away. So what if our families are from opposite sides of the tracks?
“Hey, you want a margarita, bro? Hunter’s buying this round,” Dan asks me. I hesitate because I don’t want to freeload off of Hunter, but Dan is already turning away. “Never mind, I’ll get a pitcher and cups for everyone!”
Well, hey. I’m not going to thumb my nose at free booze. I lean back against the tub, wondering when Georgia will arrive. The hot tub is filling up. I stretch out my arms and legs to take up more space than I need, so that Georgia will have plenty of room to squeeze in when she gets here. Hopefully soon.
The two hot tubs are shaped like kidneys, facing each other. The one I’m sitting in is already crammed with Baxter students, plus a scattering of new friends we met on the ship. Yasmin’s bartender guy, for instance, sits next to her on the opposite side of my hot tub. He keeps checking his watch, saying he has to go to work in half an hour, but I have no doubt he’ll be late with the way Yasmin is cuddled up next to him.
“Here you go, man.” Dan hands a margarita-filled cup to me, breaking me out of my thoughts.
“Thanks. So how was the beach?”
He groans. “Parker mostly ignored me for some guy from Maine.” As he rattles on about his plans to win her attention back, I can’t help but scan the deck, searching for that familiar pair of blue eyes and tempting lips. I drum my fingers against the hot tub wall, impatient to see Georgia even though we spent the day together.
“So what did you do all day?” says Dan. “Didn’t you go on a hike or something?”
“Yeah, to the Mayan ruins.”
“Trust you to pick the most boring excursion. I bet none of the girls at the ruins wore a bikini, right?”
I laugh with him and admit that no, no one on the excursion wore a swimsuit. I don’t mention how cute and sexy Georgia had looked with her hair curling damply around her neck, her tank top clinging to her in a way that made it hard to focus on the ancient stones. Maybe it wasn’t the most relaxing of excursions, but she’d seemed to have a good time. I remember the look in her eyes, shy but excited, when she called the ruins art.
Hunter walks past the hot tub with a glass of bourbon in hand. Probably top shelf, not the stuff I can afford. I can’t help but frown at Hunter, who wears his wealth like a t-shirt—casually. He has the best room on the ship, but I can’t even resent him for it because he’s so easygoing and … well, nice. Like right now, he doesn’t hold off on buying drinks for his friends to get the party started, even if the gesture costs one of my monthly paychecks. All for one round of booze.
Sti
ll, I have a hard time understanding why Georgia was set on marrying him. He’s so wrong for her. Except for the money, of course. But Hunter is a moron if he gave her up just because he found out her family was broke. After all, the Fairbanks could probably swallow a six-figure debt without more than a wince. That’s the part that I don’t get. If Hunter doesn’t mind shelling out a few hundred bucks to buy everyone drinks, why would he care if his girlfriend had financial issues? It seems odd …
Then my brain goes blank, and I can’t even remember what I was thinking about, because the hottest creature I have ever seen is walking toward the hot tub. My gaze lingers on her long legs and that tiny red bikini bottom, barely more than a scrap of crimson fabric with ties across the hips. My eyes trail up over the small waist to the breasts covered by their own tiny red scraps, and then I realize who it is.
Holy hell, Georgia Cantwell, you’re going to kill me. I am half hard already, especially since her gaze is fixed on mine. Georgia’s mouth curves up in a shy smile.
Yasmin sees her and jumps up from her seat. “You wore my present! Do you like it?”
“I love it,” Georgia answers. Is it me, or is her voice huskier than usual? “Thanks, Yas. Oh, I put my stuff on your lounge chair with your bag, is that okay?”
“Of course. Here, we’ll make some room for you.” Yasmin nudges her bartender friend with her knee. He scoots over, but keeps staring at Georgia’s chest. I frown. A part of me totally understands how he feels, but another part of me wants to clock him in the jaw.
Georgia glances my way and shakes her head. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I don’t want to squish you guys. I see a spot over there.” She steps around the hot tub on those long legs of hers, and I can’t help but think about them wrapped around my hips. She walks over to my side of the hot tub and kicks off her flip-flops. I guess I didn’t scare her off earlier with my family’s past, because she climbs right on in beside me, her legs brushing up against mine as she gets situated.
Full Steam Ahead Page 11
