Hide Me Read online

  Deo’s sweatshirt instantly warmed my skin, but his words bring a fresh prickle of goose bumps to my arms. “Right. Um, why would you want to get to me? I thought things were cool?”

  The partial smile disappears, and his mouth is all sexy-stern and his eyes focus in on me, the pupils so huge in the dim light I almost can’t see any of their golden color. “Things are great, Whit. Except I don’t know how to be friends with someone so damn funny and gorgeous, someone who turns me on just by biting her damn lip, or making a face when she eats my mom’s freaky hippie food—”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Don’t give me that, I saw it.” His expression relaxes and he laughs, a sweet, sexy rasp that dissolves the goose bumps on my arms and makes my blood simmer.

  “I’m sorry I can’t be what you want me to be.” I’m surprised by how quiet my voice is; it barely carries over the repeated crash and suck of the waves. I sit down in the peeling yellow chair next to him and pull my legs up to my chest.

  He kicks at the sand. “That’s the problem, Whit. You’re every single thing I want. And for once, I can’t have it, and it blows.”

  It’s like he took the words right out of the deepest, most secretive part of my heart, the tiny room that’s locked up now with the key swallowed for good measure. It’s so tempting, so very tempting, to tell him that. But I know with absolute certainty that it would be a colossal mistake… There’s a chance he could figure out how to unlock that piece, and that’s a risk that’s too scary for me to think about. I already buried my former self so Wakefield could live again through the new me, and I refuse to resurrect the old Whitley from Pennsylvania, even for Deo.

  So I try to offer him a truce we can both live with. “Look, I’m new at this whole friends thing, too. But if you want, we can sort of figure it out together? I promise, I’ll be a much better friend than anything else to you.”

  “I doubt that,” he says, eyeing my legs and grinning for the first time since I followed him outside. He runs his hand across the several days’ worth of scruff on his cheeks and it sounds like sandpaper.

  “You need to shave.” He really doesn’t. It looks sexy as hell on him.

  His grin goes from reluctant to electric in a single beat. “If I shave, can we try again at sweeping the chimney?”

  “Deo!” I swat at his arm and he ducks away, laughing deep and mellow. “What does that even mean? And what is it with this family and their freaky sex talk?”

  “I’m kidding, Whit. Yeah, of course we can try the friends thing. But I warn you, it’ll be killer trying to resist all of this.” He motions to his own gorgeous body and flashes a wide, toothy grin heavy with pure confidence. I’m panicked to realize that, despite my resolve to not get involved with anyone, especially someone as carefree as Deo, I sorta think he’s right.

  …

  The sky is a blazing orange with the sunrise the next morning as Deo walks down the hot sand toward the water with a surfboard tucked under each arm. He stops and stabs the boards upright into the sand.

  “This one is yours.” He points to the larger of the beat-up boards.

  “Why exactly is yours smaller? That hardly seems fair.” I put one hand on the rough board and eye it up and down, silently praying my decent amount of natural athleticism will apply to this surfing venture, and I won’t wind up totally humiliating myself in front of Deo.

  He shakes his shaggy head and winks at me. “Shows how much you know. It’ll be easier for you to learn on this one, trust me.”

  He runs his palm across the one designated as mine.

  He leans so close I can smell the throat-drying mix of aromas from his skin: part clean sweat, part sunscreen, and part cool, sexy Deo. “I just stripped all the wax off and put a fresh coat on, so you should be good to go.”

  “Aside from the fact that I have no clue what to do.” I pull my hair back into the smallest of nubs and secure it with a ponytail holder.

  “Well, yeah, there’s that. But I’m an excellent teacher. First thing I’m gonna have you do is just watch the waves with me for a minute.” He crouches down onto the sand and, like a good student, I do the same.

  “Why exactly are we doing this?” I ask, doing my best to ignore the bulge of his tanned leg muscles. “Shouldn’t you be teaching me how to paddle-up or whatever?” If I’m being honest with myself, I’m scared. I’m scared of sharks, I’m scared of drowning, I’m scared I’ll make a fool out of myself—but I’m also excited to try something new with Deo at my side.

  Plus there’s so much damn sunshine in this state. Trying to deal with the heat while I attempt to ignore Deo’s gorgeous muscles is more than I can handle. I need to cool off in the ocean water.

  “Paddle-out, doll.” He shakes his head and laughs. “Look, that wave right there?” He points out into the endless sea. “It may look small to you, but I bet it’s double-your-head high. You need to get a feel for the current. You need to watch the sets break and see where you can swim if you get into trouble.”

  He really knows his stuff. It’s more than impressive. Every time I’ve been to the beach with Deo, he surprises me with his passion, and it’s quickly crossing the line from educational and interesting to irresistibly sexy.

  I chew my lower lip hard and stomp those thoughts out. Friends. That’s what we are. That’s what makes sense. And I’m the one who recommended it, because I know how dangerously intoxicating he can be. But I can do this. We’re just friends out surfing. Totally friendly. Not at all awkward or sexually charged.

  “Stand up,” he says, jerking me out of my embarrassing thoughts. I’m adjusting the ties on my stupid bikini that I swore I’d never wear again when Deo reaches out and pulls me. I stumble forward a few steps, kicking sand up behind me.

  “Thought so, goofy-footed.” He looks triumphant.

  I glare, fuming over the fact that he almost made me expose one boob while I was trying to catch myself. “What the hell, Deo?”

  As expected, his eye is right on my exposed side-boob, which I cover with a frantic snap of stretchy red fabric. His eyes are quietly appreciative, and it sends a warm, hot hum through me. “Sorry, I had to figure out which foot you put forward. I couldn’t warn you. In surfing, if you think about it, you’ll fall.”

  “This is a ton of stuff. Are you sure this is safe?” Now that I’m as modestly covered as my teeny tiny bikini allows, my outrage shifts gears and turns into stomach-churning worry.

  All the peeping-tom, mischievous, laid-back surfer elements of Deo’s little show slide away, and his eyes become as calm and serious as his voice.

  “Whit, I can’t promise you much of anything, but I promise I’ll never intentionally let you get hurt.”

  My heart leaps and thuds in my chest. That’s an awfully big promise, especially from someone who currently holds more power than anyone else to do exactly that.

  “Yeah, but I think our tolerance for pain might be way different,” I say shakily, trying to lighten the mood.

  He furrows his brow then nods as if some piece to this whole million-piece puzzle we’re putting together finally snaps into place. “Is that what’s scaring you so damn bad?”

  I suck in my bottom lip, just like I always do when I’m nervous, or totally brain dead and don’t know what the hell to say, and suddenly he’s staring at me, at my mouth, with a hungry, needy look, and I really think he’s about to kiss me. And I may lean forward, just an inch, toward those lips that I know so damn well.

  Even though that’s not in the friend zone, at all.

  He blinks several times and shakes his head, like someone said the magic word and he’s no longer hypnotized. Or maybe I just stopped biting my lip.

  “Let’s get in the water and cool off,” he says, his voice slightly rough.

  I just nod, since I don’t trust my voice at the moment.

  We wade into the salty water, each dragging our boards with us, and even the tingling crispness of the water isn’t doing enough to counteract the se
aring temperature from Deo’s hand, burning a hole in me as it rests protectively on the small of my back, and I lean into it and try not to think of man-eating ocean predators, powerful riptides, or the possibility of my bikini top coming spontaneously unknotted—all the things that terrify me about the ocean.

  I’m about waist-deep when Deo looks at me and rubs a warm hand on my shoulder, as if he can sense my nerves. “Don’t worry, we aren’t going any farther. I think today, I’ll just teach you how to paddle-out.” He reaches up like he’s going to touch my face, then seems to think better of it, and forms his lips into a tight line. “Okay, climb up on the board and lay your body on the center of it.”

  I try to maneuver my way on, but it’s not as easy as he makes it sound.

  “Don’t lean back like that. You’ll make the nose rise, that’ll create too much resistance,” Deo explains. He physically moves me onto the board, his strong hands gripping my hips as he slides me slowly around like the tasty shark morsel that I’m about to become.

  I start to panic, all of my nervous fears suddenly jumping and crashing into each other under the black ocean waves. Every instinct in my body screams for me to get off this damn board and swim as fast as I can back to the safety of the shore.

  Deo rubs his hands up along my thighs in a way that’s more protective than sexual. “Whit, look at me.” I turn my head in the direction of his voice and register the sharp promise in his eyes. “I will not let you get hurt. Trust me. I promise you.”

  And, despite all shark-related, wipeout-fearing logic, I do trust him. The look in his eyes calms my erratic heartbeat, and I feel sure I can do this, this crazy, amazing thing I’ve always wanted to do. Deo gives me courage to full-on attack every fear that’s keeping me from trying. From doing what scares the crap out of me.

  I swallow hard, make my best attempt at a smile, and let myself just trust that he’ll be there to watch my back in case I crash and burn. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

  …

  “So, what’d you think?” He asks as he carries the boards back up the beach. My arms are limp noodles, and my legs don’t want to work properly. I keep stumbling and bumping into Deo as I attempt to lift one foot after the other in the soft, sinking sand.

  “It was great!” I search my mind for better words to describe the rush of being so immersed in the ocean, the thrill of mastering this skill that scared me for such a long time, the sweet realization that I could put my trust in Deo and let go for a little while. But all I manage is a wet, dopey grin.

  “Come on, for real?” He stashes the boards in his Jeep and opens the passenger side door for me, his body warm and so close I want to lick it.

  Bad friend, really bad friend, Whit.

  “Thanks, buddy,” I say, even though I’m aware it’s more than slightly obnoxious, as I hop into the Jeep. I need to voice our boundaries before my addled mind and body forget and lead us somewhere we can’t come back from. “I think next time will be better, you know, when I’m not so nervous. And maybe next time we get together, I can teach you something.” My tongue feels weirdly thick, I assume from all the salt water and sheer, amazing exhaustion.

  Deo climbs in the driver’s side and starts the Jeep with a grin. “Doll, I have no doubt you could teach me things. Where to?”

  “Hungry?” I ask.

  “Always,” he replies. “Any place in mind?”

  I give him semi-directions to the café. I’ve never come from the beach before so he has to wing it a little, but I at least get him in the general area.

  “This is way out here, huh?” Deo asks as we pull up to the tiny restaurant. The awning is red and white now. In the pictures Wakefield sent it was forest green. That detail made me crazy the first few times I came. I wanted to sit at the tiny table just like Wakefield did. The one by the window and watch the people on the streets. I wanted the damn awning to be the same, too.

  “It’s my favorite,” I say.

  That’s a lie. The eggs are always runny and the toast is always burned. But I can’t bring myself to eat anywhere else. Someday, I’m going to have the best meal of my life, and I’m going to understand why Wakefield ate here everyday.

  The crowd is thick this morning, with the interior benches full and several people even sitting on the curb.

  “Table for two, please,” Deo tells the hostess. She frowns at me and tosses her long, brown ponytail over her shoulder.

  I’m not sure if the frown is because I’m here nearly every single day, ordering the same meal and staying a little too long. Or if it’s because she’s sized Deo up and decided I don’t deserve him. Maybe I don’t. I don’t deserve the way he makes me smile, that’s for sure.

  “Wait is gonna be about forty-five minutes,” she says. She slides a pencil behind her ear like this is a diner from the fifties.

  “You want to wait, doll? It’s fine with me,” Deo says. “Or we can go somewhere else. Anywhere you want, I’m game.”

  We could wait. We could. But there’s really no reason to other than it’s my tradition. And the food is crap. I don’t want to push my weirdness on Deo any more than I already have.

  “That’s okay, we’ll go somewhere else,” I say.

  I turn toward the door and barely make it outside before Deo catches my forearm.

  “Hey, hey, hey, slow down,” he says. “It’s just breakfast. We’ll grab something around the corner. Or we can go back and change and I can take you out for a sit-down, proper meal. I’ll pull out all the stops. You just have to tell me what you want. Because the way you stormed out of there says there’s something else besides the killer short stack.”

  I frown. “It’s ridiculous.”

  “Please, there’s nothing running around in that pretty little head of yours that I don’t want to know.”

  Deo pulls me over to a massive cement planter and tugs me down onto his lap. His skin is warm, like always, and I lean into him as he wraps his arms around my waist.

  “This was Wakefield’s favorite place.” I swipe my index finger along the skin where the W is permanently inked. I watch Deo’s eyes dart around. Searching for an answer, any answer to why I am so damn weird. “My brother.”

  Deo nods slowly. “Okay, so your brother used to live around here?”

  I nod. “He did.”

  I remember how excited Wakefield was when he enlisted and learned that he was going to be stationed in Southern California after basic. He said he was positive it was paradise. That it was the place he belonged from the start. It became his true home.

  “And…?”

  I glance around the parking lot. “Do we need to do this now?”

  “We don’t have to. But I’d like you to give me a shot at being there for you. You almost cried over some eggs, doll. Seems like you may need someone.”

  Wakefield is dead.

  I could say the words. I could let him in.

  But saying the words doesn’t ever get any easier. Whether it’s when I would run into our old dentist at the market and he’d inevitably asked how Wake was doing. Or when the telemarketers would call, trying to sell my brother the newest and best security system on the market. Or when I say it in my head, to myself. Because some mornings I wake up and forget that he’s gone, and I have to remind myself. I forget that he was only overseas for six weeks before he was gone forever. It just doesn’t get any easier. Probably never will.

  So I swallow the words down.

  “Honestly, I really don’t want to talk about it.”

  Deo is rubbing his hands up and down my arms. He keeps his chin down, his normal grin now a thin, straight line.

  “I’m sorry, Whit,” he says, with all the sympathy and sincerity a person can have. But I don’t want pity or sadness from him.

  I just want to live.

  That’s what I came here to do. Honor my brother’s memory, live the life he never had the chance to. I want to tell him that’s why I’m sure our relationship won’t last, because I don’t do commitment.
Wakefield lived in the moment. I have to be that way, too. I put my hand through the hair I chopped at last night, after agreeing to try surfing with Deo this morning.

  “You have nothing to be sorry for,” I say instead. I give him a quick peck on the lips and then say, “I’d really like to drop it for now. Can we do that?”

  Deo smiles. “I told you whatever you want. That’s what friends do, right? Listen when they’re needed. Shut the hell up when it’s needed.”

  He holds my hand a little tighter on the walk back to the car, and he keeps his promise. He doesn’t push for anything else.

  I try to tell myself that burying that guilt deep is what’s best. That it’s helping me move forward.

  But maybe that’s a lie.

  Like the one that follows when I say, “Yep. Friends.”

  We end up back at my apartment because it’s one of those days with a friend that you’re never quite ready to have come to an end.

  “Do you want a beer?” I pace over to the fridge as he sprawls on my tiny loveseat.

  He narrows his eyes at me. “Have you been holding out on me? I thought you weren’t old enough to drink?”

  I laugh and pull my wallet out of my bamboo beach bag.

  “I have a fake ID.” I proudly produce the Pennsylvania State ID that I paid a shit-ton of money for. The picture is just over a year old, and it’s out of state now that I’m in California, but it hasn’t failed me yet.

  “No shit.” Deo plucks the license from my hands. “Wow, your hair was so long. Doesn’t even look like you.”

  That’s because it’s not me. It’s just a girl I used to know. Someone who didn’t understand how complicated and unfair life could be.

  “Anyway, beer?” I ask, holding the cold import up, afraid to turn around and face him. I’m scared things I don’t want to say will just come spilling out whether I want them to or not. I’m scared that I’ll tell him all about the real me. And then my friend, or whatever Deo is, will look at me so different. Much more different than the girl I’m trying so hard to be.