Hide Me Page 3

  I back down and decide to change the tone of our conversation, take the edge off.

  “All right.” Her fingers dip into the ointment and she spreads it over my torn-up skin gently, even though her features have gone stony. “I guess it’s a part of me now whether you like it or not.” It’s a joke. It’s clearly a joke, said in my joking voice, but she doesn’t brush it off or roll her eyes or chuckle along. She blinks back tears and works like mad to get her shaking hands under control enough to twist the lid back on the Udder Butter.

  “It’s not a joke.” Her eyes meet mine, and they’re flashing with some kind of pain that goes right down to her fucking marrow. It’s raw and now pissed as hell. She slaps the gauze on with more force than is strictly necessary, and I wince around her roughness as she rips the tape in rushed, angry jerks. I glance up and Rocko is counting out a stack of bills, oblivious to the abuse his employee is inflicting on me. Which is for the best. I want to fix this. Whatever I just screwed up with this girl.

  I want to make it better, tell her I know the pain of no one understanding a damn thing, tell her that jokes or drinks or pointless, shallow fun bury it for the moment, but that only makes it hurt more when it rips through and rears its ugly ass head again when you least expect it.

  But before I can say anything, she’s stomping away, throwing things back in their rightful drawers. “Hey,” I call out. “Whit?” I slide off the table and curl a hand around her shoulder. “I was being a dick, all right?” For a second she goes still, then relaxes under my touch. She turns her head and looks over her shoulder at me, just slightly.

  “I think what I was trying to say but being an asshole about is thank you. So, hear me out for a minute, all right? I’ve been going through some shit, and I wasn’t planning on getting anything done tonight because I wanted to make my mom happy, she wanted me to get a meaningful tattoo this time, but I knew there wasn’t gonna be anything here that could have any real meaning for me. Then here you are, and here’s this tattoo that, I don’t really know why, but it honestly feels like you reached into my head and pulled out the one thing that could possibly make any sense of all the craziness I’ve been feeling. So thank you.” I hold my hands up in surrender. “That’s all. Thank you.”

  She turns around slowly, so close she’s in my arms and I can move less than a handful of inches and have my mouth on hers.

  “You’re welcome.” The words slip out quick and rigid. The next words are slightly more relaxed. “Sorry. It’s been a really long day.” She twirls out of my arms and away from me and gathers her purse and that annoying phone I want to smash into a thousand pieces, suddenly in a rush to leave. Me. She waves to Rocko, and turns to me as I’m pulling my hoodie over my head. “Well, it was cool meeting you.”

  I ignore her attempt at a sendoff and push the door open with one hand, so she can walk out in front of me. She tucks her hair behind her ears and heads to a white Chrysler LeBaron that’s kinda pimp. She leans against the driver’s side door and smiles, but it’s not a real one. It’s too angular, too polite, like there’s too much thought in it. I want to see a smile that rips out of somewhere deep and changes the shape and shine of her eyes.

  “Thanks for walking me to my car. So, um, I guess I’ll see you around.” She pops the door open and leans in, setting her bag on the passenger seat neatly, then looks back at me with expectation clear on her face. Only it’s like she’s expecting me to go, which I’m not about to do. She’s definitely not expecting me to step closer, run my thumb over those sexy lips, watch while her eyes widen with shock then burn with sexy desire, and kiss her.

  But that’s exactly what I do anyway.

  It’s a good as all hell kiss. I hook my arm around her waist and pull her so her body is locked close to mine. She leans her head back, and I put my lips on the curve of her neck and kiss up under her jaw, right where the crushed leaf smell meets that perfect clean-girl-skin smell. I pull back and look at her parted lips, closed eyes, dark, curved eyebrows pressed almost together like she’s over-thinking this. Before she can change her mind, I press my mouth to hers again.

  She opens her lips, and I’m a little shocked by the hungry slide of her tongue and the low moan that echoes from her mouth into mine.

  I pull my hands down to her hips and squeeze tight, wanting to feel her skin under my fingers. She turns her head and deepens the kiss, her hands cupping the back of my neck with a possessive need that makes me hard and blots out all thoughts other than her and the clawing desire to get her in the backseat as quickly as possible and peel back everything until it’s just the two of us and what we want bared between us.

  I nip that bottom lip, exactly the way I’d been wanting to since I saw her bite it in the shop, and she lets out a tight sigh from somewhere deep in her throat. She pulls me closer and licks at me with a tongue so soft, my mind reels and crashes before it can imagine everything that tongue might be capable of doing. I press my hands under her shirt, just grazing the soft skin of her stomach, and start moving up for more when she tears her lips away.

  She’s breathing fast and heavy, her face pink and eyes shiny. She has no idea where she should look or what she should say, and I want to capitalize on her uncertainty by kissing her again, hard and fast, but she ducks out of the way and shakes her head slightly.

  I say the first thing that pops into my head. “It’s my birthday today.” I pull my fingers down her arm and take her hand. “My grandpa is making some lobster and we’re going to smoke some mind-blowing crazy cigars my dad sent from God knows where. We could pick up some beers. Or some wine or whatever else you want. His place is right by the water. You can see every star from the dock.”

  She pulls her hand out of my grasp and presses her palms down along the front of her skirt, shaking her head like she’s trying to get her bearings. “Happy birthday, Deo. I’d like to come by, but I…I really can’t. I gotta go.” The buzz of her constantly irritating phone interrupts her last words, and she glances down at the screen. Her eyes go wide for one split second, and then she looks flustered and embarrassed before she sends a quick reply.

  She’s sexting. With someone who isn’t me.

  It’s fine. Or it should be fine. I’ve known this girl for just over two hours. We kissed one time. It’s not like she’s wearing my varsity jacket or whatever. So why am I so royally pissed the hell off?

  “Look, it’s cool, right? Do what you gotta do. I’ll see you around, maybe?” I want…more. I want enough to make the tattoo scalding my ribs and that sweet as hell kiss burned in my memory mean something more than they do. But she’s not available, and this is probably a good thing. Whit isn’t the kind of girl I need right now. Way too uptight. Way too control-freak. The W inked behind her ear is just an anomaly. I know this girl is probably type-A, high-maintenance, high drama, and that’s not my thing. At all.

  “Deo?” I turn and look at her, hands in my hoodie pocket. She takes a few tentative steps my way. “You have a phone?” She nabs her lip between her teeth again, like she’s about to do something she knows she shouldn’t, and it makes me feel this wild surge of triumph. I have a feeling her worst instincts are leading her straight to me whether she likes it or not.

  And I’m betting she doesn’t like it much at all.

  Yet.

  I dig my phone out of my pocket and hold it out to her. She crushes it in her hand, closes her eyes for a second, and then sweeps her thumb over the screen rapidly before she shoves it back my way. “Call me. If you want. If not, it’s okay.”

  She turns on her heel, clips back to her sensible LeBaron, and fumbles with the door handle before she slides in and backs out, a little too fast.

  I’m left standing in the parking lot, phone in my hand, the screen still bright with her name and number, and I can’t stomp the goofy smile off my face. My brain flips through a million scenarios involving me, Whit, and that sweet little mouth of hers, and they melt my mind so completely, I almost manage to forget the painful st
ing on my ribs, part of me, and a decent part her.

  Whether she likes it or not.

  Chapter Four

  WHIT

  Ryan smiles as he pulls the door to his apartment open for me. His blue eyes are droopy, like he just woke up, and his light brown hair is a crazy mess. But no matter what, he’s hot, and right now, that’s all that matters. I know it seems skeezy that I just kissed Deo and here I am, meeting Ryan for a little action, but it wasn’t planned. Deo just snuck up on me. And one thing I’ve learned quickly is that surprises are never a good thing. So I’m here to quash whatever that was with Deo back at Rocko’s shop, and Ryan has proven over and over that he’s good at helping me escape.

  I barely take a step through the door when he closes it behind me and presses my back against the cool wood. His lips pry mine open and his tongue gets right down to exploring the landscape of my mouth before we even say hello. I can feel him already hard against me, which would be difficult to conceal, since he’s not wearing anything apart from a pair of boxers. Ryan doesn’t bother dressing up. It’s all going to end up scattered across the apartment, anyway. And that’s why I’m here, right?

  No strings. Just fun.

  No conversation. No lobster dinners.

  “Well, you’re not wasting any time tonight, huh?” I ask, pulling away and looking up into his eyes. He’s taller than I am, but so are most guys.

  He moans. “What’s the point? We both know what this is, Whit. And I have an early class.”

  “I didn’t have to come,” I say.

  I tuck my short hair back behind my ears and fight the urge to bail. I want him. It’s not a secret. That’s why I’m here night after night. Ryan is nice enough, good-looking enough, fun enough. He doesn’t make me feel like this relationship, or arrangement, is shady. He treats me right when we’re together, and, good Lord, the boy is a god in the sack.

  “I always want you to come. Let me prove it.” His voice is low and sexy in my ears.

  He smiles and pulls me back in, running his hands up the back of my shirt and unhooking the red lace bra that I put on this morning, obviously with him in mind. His lips crush into mine as he pushes me back onto the sofa, and Ryan makes good on his promise.

  This is always the most awkward part of our arrangement. When the sex is over and Ryan is passed out and I’ve got to scrounge around the apartment in the dark, hunting for my clothes. I tiptoe to the refrigerator and pull it open, letting the light filter through the front rooms.

  “Gotcha,” I say. I smile because I’ve managed to find the next-to-nothing thong Ryan peeled off of me and flung across the apartment earlier. It’s wrapped around the leg of an end table. I sort of thought it was a goner. “Well done, Whit.” I mentally pat myself on the back, run a hand through my choppy hair, and then move on to tracking down the killer heels I wore over. There’s no way in the world I’m leaving without those.

  I know I should feel some form of shame that I’m in this situation. That I regularly put myself in this situation. But I don’t. I’ve learned the hard way recently that life is too fucking short, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to take a second of it for granted. I’m living doubly hard from now on. I owe Wakefield that much after all he sacrificed. No one should have to leave this earth at eighteen. No matter how honorable their death is. And since he can’t be around anymore to live it up, I’ll do it for him.

  I slide the black pencil skirt over my hips and zip it up. Even the noise of the zipper cuts through the silence in the apartment, and I feel like a first-rate asshole, because what I want least in life right now is to wake Ryan up. Good-byes are never any good, and really, who wants to say thank you to their fuck-buddy for getting them off? It goes against the no-strings-attached beauty of our arrangement. I hold my gorgeous shoes in my hand as I crawl around the front of the apartment, trying to put my hands on the small purse I’d tossed aside when Ryan met me at the door.

  Out of nowhere, Ryan’s quiet apartment turns into a fucking big band concert when my stupid phone starts ringing.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  I easily find my purse now that it’s illuminating the room with each note my phone plays from the inside. “Whit?” Ryan calls groggily from the sofa.

  “Sorry!” I squeak. “I’ll shut it off and get out of here.”

  “Thanks for a good time.” His voice trails off at the end. I cringe because it’s exactly what I was trying to avoid.

  “I’ll call you,” I promise guiltily. He mumbles something that’s so full of sleep I can’t understand it, just as I silence my phone. I pull out my car keys and sprint down the stairs to my car. It isn’t until I’m outside in the fresh air that I feel like I can breathe again. I check my missed calls as I walk to the LeBaron. I don’t recognize the number.

  Perfect.

  A wrong number at this hour.

  I settle into the car and rub my eyes. It’s nearly three a.m. I have to be in class at eight.

  I turn onto PCH and my ringtone screams through the quiet of the night again. I hit the speakerphone button and toss my phone into my lap, because wearing a Bluetooth is never going to happen.

  “Hello?” The windows are down and the car is full of salty, damp air. It feels magnificent, but, damn, it makes it hard to hear.

  “Whit? Is that you?” a slurring male voice asks. Great. A drunk dial.

  “Indeed it is,” I sigh. “Who the hell is this?”

  “The dude you didn’t eat lobster with.” I’m a little less annoyed now, because I can practically hear his adorable-as-all-hell smile over the phone.

  I can’t help but laugh. I’ll cut him some slack for this douchebag move since it’s his birthday.

  “Sounds like you had a little more than lobster there, Deo.”

  “Indeed I did. Can I be honest?” His voice is deep and sexy, even in his inebriated state.

  “It’s your birthday, honesty is practically a requirement.”

  “I can’t stop thinking about you. The way you kissed me tonight—”

  “Back up there. I kissed you?”

  “That’s how I remember it,” he chuckles. “Anyway, since it is my birthday month—”

  “Oh, so now you get a whole damn month?”

  “I deserve it,” he says. Cocky son of a bitch. Still, I feel my cheeks aching from the grin I’ve had plastered across my face since I answered the phone.

  “Right.”

  “Like I was saying. I know you had a hot date tonight, and I don’t know if it’s a serious arrangement or just casual or whatever. And it’s not really my business,” he says, kind of like he doesn’t care. Which he shouldn’t, because it isn’t any of his business. But the smile that had been making my face ache falls a little. “But I’d like you to give me a shot if that’s in the cards. So there. I put it out there on my birthday because I’d like to see you again, Whit. Whaddaya say?”

  I stare at the red light in front of me, waiting for it to turn green. I’m the only car for miles in every direction.

  “What’d you have in mind?”

  I know the answer to this already, of course. I saw the way he looked at me tonight. And after that kiss, there’s no mistaking what he wants to do.

  “I thought I could bring you by the house to meet my mom.” His slur has a playful tinge to it.

  Not what I expected.

  “I’m sorry, what?” I gasp.

  “Lighten up, girl. I’m kidding. I don’t know. We can go to the beach. What’s your favorite one?”

  “Um, I haven’t actually been to the beach since I moved here. Or, um, ever.” I run my fingers along the steering wheel and try to imagine going to the ocean, listening to the waves, breathing that potent salt air deep into my lungs.

  It’s the one place from Wakefield’s photos I haven’t been to. I’ve been to the record store, the farmers’ market, the café he ate at several times a week. Hell, I even went and got a job at the shop where he got his first tattoo.

  But for s
ome reason, I haven’t been to the ocean yet. I’m not sure what’s kept me away.

  Deo’s voice borders on horrified. “You haven’t been to the ocean? Really? Never? Well no shit! Then we’re going. Tomorrow. I refuse to take no for an answer.”

  I’ve got to admit, I’m surprised he didn’t outright say he wanted to fuck me. Have to give him a little credit for that.

  “Where are you from, anyway?” he asks with frank interest.

  My fingers tighten on the steering wheel, and I have to let my foot up off the gas a little. Thinking about the place I left makes me stress-speed. “Pennsylvania,” I answer through gritted teeth.

  His laugh is loud and loose. “Ah, that explains the stick up your ass.”

  I could be offended, but there’s something easy and fun about Deo, and it makes me relax a little. “Well, we can’t all be professional beach bums.”

  “Who says?” he demands, and I can hear a smile I like picturing on his face curving over his words.

  It’s weird how this is the first time I’ve ever been on the phone with Deo, but we have an easy back and forth like we’ve been chumming around for years. “You’re obviously drunk, and I have class in the morning, so I’m going to let you go.”

  “Okay, what time should I pick you up, then?” He doesn’t try to hide the excitement in his voice. I kind of love that.

  I guess it’d be easier to face the beach for the first time if I’m not alone. Even if it means I’m with a virtual stranger. “You don’t give up, do you?” I say through a laugh.

  “One o’clock it is!” Deo says.

  Chapter Five

  DEO

  “You called her?” Cohen’s voice sways and slides through the dark as he navigates pissing off the side of my grandpa’s deck. Grandpa is passed out on the couch, snoring so loud I can barely hear my friend’s question.

  “Yup. Wooed her with my many charms.” I pop the dilapidated lawn chair on its back two legs and balance my feet on the deck railing, letting the sweet buzz of too much beer mix with the memory of Whit’s dark eyes and hot, sexy kisses.