Hide Me Page 6

  I catch that pouty bottom lip and suck it in, loving the salty and sweet taste of her mouth. I slide my hands around the curve of her ass, under my Pixies shirt, up her back, and pull her tighter, kissing her fast and hard so she won’t have time to change her mind.

  Not that she seems like she will. Whatever doubt she might have had flips off like a switch, and Whit spreads her legs wider so she’s crushed against my instant hard-on. She moans into my mouth, tugs her hands at the bottom of my shirt and I tear my mouth away from hers as she pulls it half over my head, leaving it hanging off one shoulder, and kiss along the soft line of her neck, back behind her ear, right over that W.

  And then mid hot-as-all-hell make out, I wonder if W stands for a guy? Someone she left behind in Amish country? First love, first heartbreak? We talked a good game about not getting tied up in any one person and she knows I know about her booty calls with the douchebag. But this is rattling my cage for some reason.

  It all is, suddenly. I realize that every minute I spend with Whit makes me more possessive, and I suck hardcore at sharing. She brings out something possessive in me, and I find myself wanting to know her, body and soul, and to make her want to be touched by me. Only me, ideally.

  My fingers tug at the strings of her bikini top and loosen it at the back. My hands come around and coast over her soft, hot skin, moving up under the loose fabric of her top and filling with the perfect weight of her tits. Every shred of testosterone in me is full-drive ahead. Her hands are in my hair, running over my shoulders, moving down to unbuckle my jeans. I skim along the inside of one thigh and slip my finger under the fabric of her bottoms. She’s slick already, and my mind loses any control over where we’re going or what we’re doing.

  The barking hoorahs of a bunch of idiot jarheads jogging on the beach cracks the quiet of my Jeep and makes Whit’s head fly up. Her eyes lose their sexy glaze and snap, bright and totally full of regret.

  “No. No, Deo. This… I haven’t been honest with you about… I just can’t…” She trails off, desperately trying to tie her top back on under my shirt. She scuttles back off my lap and onto the passenger seat, sticking her feet into her flip-flops.

  I’m still half in a sex daze, and reason is blurry. Why isn’t she on my lap? Why aren’t my hands on her? Why does life suck so much suddenly?

  “Is it about the other guy? The call you took last night? Because, trust me, Whit, I’m no fucking angel.” I watch her pat her hair down and look around, frenzied, like she’s afraid we’ll get caught together.

  “It’s that. It is that, but other things. You’re… You just aren’t like him. That other guy. And I don’t want… What you want is not the same as what I have with him, and I don’t want to mix it up. Or fuck it up. God, I’m fucking this all up.” She puts her head in her hands and her dark hair slides over her pale fingers. “I didn’t expect this to happen, and I think it was a mistake. Okay. That’s all.”

  “That’s all?” I’m irritated as all hell. That’s all. “So it’s back to your dickhead fuck-buddy tonight?”

  “That’s none of your business, Deo.” Her voice is icy.

  “Maybe it wasn’t. Then we had this day together, and you and me make a hell of a lot of sense, Whit. What we had today was real, and I’m not about to go in reverse for no reason.”

  “Everything is real.” Her voice is the unexpected jagged puncture of glass in my foot at the beach. “Every damn thing we do is real because we’re here living right now.” She’s close to tears.

  I drop the attitude. “Okay. Back up, all right? I’m just confused, Whit. We were together, right? We were having a good time, right?” She nods and relaxes, her breath less labored and her hands less shaky. Good. “Then a bunch of meathead soldier clones ruined the mood and now we’re here. What happened between all that? ’Cause something doesn’t make sense, and I can’t connect the dots.”

  She’d been calming down, but she lets her hands sink into her choppy hair. Before she drops her head forward, I see her eyes screwed shut.

  “I can’t, I can’t do this,” she whispers. “Not right now. I just…”

  All of a sudden she grabs the door handle and slams her shoulder against the door, popping it open. Before I can process what’s happening, she tumbles out and sprints to her car, snatching the little bundle of clothes she shed this morning. I watch her yank the shorts over her hips, rip my shirt off and throw it in the Jeep, then pull her tank on. It’s impossible to miss the wrenching sound of a sob that tears from her throat. I jump out of my side of the car and make it to her in time to grab her shoulders, trying to steady her.

  “Whit, what’s wrong? Look at me, please. Are you crying?” Panic wells up fast inside me. “Let me help you. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

  She blinks fast and hard, swiping her eyes with her wrist. “It’s…nothing.”

  She’s lying, obviously. Clearly.

  “It’s definitely not nothing,” I say, my voice smoothing out. My fingers work the knots that are bunched on her shoulders. “Anyone could see it’s not nothing. If I said or did anything that made you upset, tell me. I know I can be an ass, but you just gotta tell me.”

  Her neck is bent down and a tiny whimper breaks raw from her throat, but she shakes her head and steadies her voice. “I swear, it’s not you. You’ve been… Today was amazing.” She puts one shaky hand up and presses it to my chest, then pushes me away from her.

  The last thing I want to do is let her go, but it’s not my choice. My hands drop to my sides. She looks even smaller, her shoulders buckled around her body.

  “Something’s wrong,” I say, keeping my voice low.

  She nods, then looks up at me, those big brown eyes swimming with hurt I realize goes deep. Way deeper than today. Deep enough that I can believe what she’s feeling isn’t really about me at all.

  “There’s a lot wrong with me, Deo,” she says, blinking back tears. “There’s a lot that’s really, really messed up about me. You’re a great guy, and you should probably take this chance to run.” She tries to laugh, but it gets stuck in her throat. “Wow, this is a first date disaster for the record books.”

  The frustration of not knowing what made her so upset rips at me, but it’s nowhere near as strong as the desire to help her, however she needs help. Even if that doesn’t even make any damn sense. This isn’t me. I don’t even know why I care this much. I mean, she’s hot as hell, but digging deep isn’t my style.

  “This has been an awesome first date.” I’m not even lying.

  She edges back to her car, tracing her fingers along the hood. “Your optimism is freakish.”

  There it is. Almost a smile, hiding out just at the corner of her lips.

  “Hey, how ’bout you let me drop you off at your place? You’re pretty upset. You shouldn’t be driving. I’ll get my buddy to come out with me and bring your car back later.” I know she’s going to say no before she even shakes her head.

  “You know, I think I kind of need to clear my head. A long drive sounds perfect.” Her brows furrow low over her eyes when she looks at me. “Look, today was incredible, and you’re a really nice guy. But maybe…” She pulls in a big, shaky breath. “Maybe it would be a good idea if you didn’t call me again.”

  “That would be a terrible idea.” I take a step closer to her and she darts back, all the way to her car door.

  “Deo, I’m being serious. I’m telling you don’t.” She jams her keys in the ignition, her voice fierce, and I realize she’s blowing me off. “Just…you and me together is probably a bad idea. Trust me.”

  “Trust you? You tell me today was incredible, you tell me I’m a nice guy, all before you start crying and tell me not to call you?” I walk over to the driver’s side, put my hands on the roof and lean in. She shrinks, and I wish we could rewind time. That she could be in my arms again, that I could make things right. I’m desperate to know how everything went from being so good to so damn bad like the flip of a switch. “I think I at l
east deserve an explanation, Whit. Was it the PDA? I’m sorry if I pushed things too far.” Her mouth is pressed in a tight, thin line as she shakes her head. “Was it something I said? Meeting my mom? Are we moving too fast? Too slow? You gotta give me a clue if you want this to work.”

  “Who said I want this to work?” she asks, her voice like a dagger in my gut. “Damn it, Deo, do you ever listen? Take a hint!” She rests her forehead on the steering wheel, pounding the dash with her fist. “I should never have agreed to go out with you. This was all a big mistake. I’m fucked up, okay? Really fucked up, and I’m sorry if I don’t want a damn therapy session in the parking lot right now! You need to back the hell off. You need to leave me alone!”

  “You’re not fucked up.” I know in my gut I’m speaking the truth. “Or you’re not any more fucked up than anyone else.”

  “You don’t even know me,” she says slowly, every word deliberate and heavy as hell.

  “I want to.” I cross my arms over my chest.

  “Trust me, you don’t. You really don’t.” She sits up suddenly, and I move away when she revs the engine. Just before she takes off, she gives me a long look, and I swear I can read the regret clear as day in her eyes. “Good-bye, Deo.”

  I don’t know how long I stand in the sandy parking lot, but I finally realize she’s not coming back and I’m not accomplishing anything by staying here. I bend down to pick up the T-shirt that fell out of the Jeep and when I bring it up to my nose, I can smell her scent still lingering in the fabric.

  I get in my Jeep and drive back to my grandpa’s, the smell and taste of this girl on my body and in my mouth, and her number snug in my phone. I want to call her, find out what short-circuited, why we went from bliss to meltdown in three minutes flat.

  But when I get to the privacy of my room, shades of my parents creep up. The tantrums. The fights that ended with fist-shaped holes in the sheet-rock and piles of gasoline-soaked clothes and pictures burning on the front lawn before the inevitable apologies and vases of roses and long, locked interludes in the bedroom. It’s not like things got that explosive with Whit today, but it’s definitely made me pause and wonder what the hell I’m walking into. And if this is something I really want.

  I know what crazy emotions like that lead to, and I don’t want it. I can’t have it. Going through it once was enough for me. I consider calling Cara, my go-to friend-with-benefits, but I know no girl is gonna do it for me after I had Whit in my arms so recently. For the first time in probably ever, it actually makes sense why my mom might put up with my dad.

  I make my way to the ocean, because the only thing to do when I feel so low is get on my board and forget there’s dry land for a while. I try to put Whit out of my head, but the memories of our date keep popping up over and over again. And I don’t try to avoid thinking about her.

  The truth is, she might buy the whole “you don’t want to know me” line, but I don’t. I think about how good and open her laugh was, echoing off the water. The way she looked at the ocean like a little kid staring into the window of a candy store. How she got along with my zany, sweet mother. How damn good it felt to kiss her, to hold her.

  But is all that good worth the crazy? Because Whit definitely has a shit-ton of secrets she guards ferociously, and I’m not sure she’s ready to let anyone in. Which sure as hell doesn’t make things easy for me.

  My mom and dad had a relationship that was great when it was good and a fucking disaster when it wasn’t—and most of the time, they were stuck right in the middle of full-on disaster mode. I’ve lived my entire life trying to avoid the kind of drama I was surrounded with as a kid.

  I ride the waves until every muscle in my body aches and the damp chill seeps through my wetsuit. Back on shore, the stars fade and the sky lightens from purple to pink and gold, and it suddenly hits me that living life avoiding complications at all costs means I’ve never really taken a chance. Never chased anything or anyone I really cared about. I’ve always been content to just sit and wait for whatever fell in my lap.

  And I probably could have kept going that way with zero problem. Until a gorgeous girl with wounded eyes and a huge laugh turned my head and made me wake up. She makes me want…more.

  The warmth of the rising sun makes my limbs go slack, and I realize my body is as tired as my brain. I head to Grandpa’s house and my bed, but I never feel the zen vibe surfing usually leaves me with. Every other time I’ve gone out with troubles bogging down my brain, I’ve come back with a clear head. But last night’s outing made me realize passion on the waves might not cut it anymore.

  I need passion in my life. The question is, am I brave enough to risk going after it?

  Chapter Eight

  WHIT

  I blow off my evening class because that’s what you do when you almost fuck some guy in his Jeep and then he brings up a piece of your past that you thought you could keep locked away. And that’s the issue, right there. It doesn’t matter if I’m in a bikini, in a hot guy’s arms with the California sunshine and Pacific waves reminding me that I’m two thousand miles away from it all—it’s always right there. I’m an idiot to think I could outrun it.

  But I’m not enough of an idiot to drag someone as sweet as Deo into all the darkness I wrestle with daily. I thought he’d be a good distraction, but I couldn’t even avoid the past for a couple of hours on our date. I do owe him an explanation, but I’m afraid seeing him again will just lead to him insisting I’m not a total screw up and that we can be together more. And I need to keep my former self buried, which I have trouble doing around him. Because it’s way too hard to resist his amazing kisses and sweet smile, not to mention the way he makes me feel safe and open.

  Open is dangerous. I need to keep things firmly closed for my own good.

  I refuse to risk hurting him. But just because I know I have to stay away doesn’t mean I can snap my fingers and kick thoughts of him out of my brain. My homework is done, my apartment is clean, and I desperately need to keep myself occupied. It’s my day off, but I call Rocko to see if he needs me anyway.

  While the shop phone rings and rings, I try to block the very sexy memory of Deo’s tongue grazing across my collarbone and that hungry look in his eyes that made me want to give him anything in the world just to make him feel as good as he was making me feel.

  And then my past reared its ugly head and Deo poked and prodded until we both made a mess out of the whole damn thing.

  I open the drawer to my vanity with my free hand and watch myself in the mirror as I chop off a few more strands.

  Rocko insists things are fine at the shop and I should go have fun. It’s been a really slow day, probably because there’s a huge art festival nearby that’s made the traffic on the road in front of the shop slow to a crawl. I don’t really know what fun means anymore. Fun hasn’t been on the agenda in a while. Unless you count my twice-weekly hookups with Ryan. That gives me an idea. I text Ryan.

  You up for round two? My place this time.

  I know he’ll say yes. He’s never let me down. I get that sex isn’t a good coping mechanism for grief; I’m not a total moron. That’s not why I’m doing this thing with Ryan. I’m doing it because it lets my brain switch to autopilot and my body take control.

  The main reason I left Pennsylvania was because there was too much emotion all the time. Too much feeling. It’s exhausting. There’s none of that drama with Ryan. It’s just pure fun. The type of fun my friends were having after high school, but I was too much of a grunt. Too focused on myself. I can detach from everything else and just enjoy the ride, figuratively speaking, naturally. There’s a line, though. Ryan never asks me out, we don’t go to the movies or even to Taco Bell. Or the damn beach.

  I peel back the wrapper on a sticky pastry and cram it into my mouth just as Ryan replies, saying he’s on his way. Before I shower, I grab my phone one last time. And, with a shaking hand and a burning lead ball in my gut, I delete Deo’s number.

  “Come
in!” I yell from my cozy spot on the sofa. After my shower, the effects of having been out in the sun all day do a number on me. I stifle another yawn as Ryan lets himself into my craptastic apartment. By the time I decided to take the free ride to Imperial Coast College, rather than my first choice school, the University of Delaware, all the dorms were full and my financial aid and the money I make at Rocko’s shop don’t exactly afford me a penthouse. Still, it’s mine, and that was the whole point of the move, right?

  “Looking fancy,” Ryan says. He motions toward my choice of attire. Not the usual form-fitting, uncomfortable skirt and heels. No thick layer of pinup-style makeup. Just me. Freshly showered in cotton shorts and a tank top. I laugh and wave him over, glad that things are back to normal for me. This is what I want; easy, no-strings-attached Ryan. Not complicated, drive-me-crazy Deo. My hand is bandaged, and I notice Ryan glance at it. He doesn’t ask what happened. I don’t know why I sort of thought he would, and I’m not sure how I feel that he doesn’t ask. But that’s not our thing, I remind myself. Just like I don’t ask what he does the other five nights of the week, he doesn’t delve into my life outside of our meetings. That’s what makes this all work.

  Right?

  “I think I like this look even better.” Ryan smiles appreciatively at the minuscule shorts.

  “Just for you.” I force a smile. Ryan knows exactly how to walk that fine line between complimenting me in a way that I appreciate and saying anything that takes my breath away and makes me feel all light-headed. Deo has no concept that there even is a line. And I’m usually good about tossing little blasé compliments back and forth with him, but what I just said is a bold lie.

  This clean, scrubbed, laid-back look isn’t neat and nice Pennsylvania Whit and it isn’t sexpot, pinup California Whit. It’s me.

  Just me.

  And I never felt comfortable enough to show it to anyone until my date with Deo. Now I just feel overexposed, which is stupid. Ryan has seen me in the naughtiest little lacy numbers I had to go to sexy specialty lingerie shops to get. So why do I feel like covering up now?