THIRTY MINUTES LATER, WE FIND ourselves at a party that is being thrown by a guy named Stephen. A friend of a friend through Sienna. Whoever he is, he needs to get in touch with Dez.
This party is like Dez’s wet dream.
Alcohol of every kind lines the kitchen counters, plastic cups already littering the floor. Loud music pours through the house, a strong bass shaking the walls.
Most of the people spill out into the backyard.
From a charity gala to a house party, this dress is not for every event. The long skirt feels constricting, the fabric starting to irritate me. I’m allergic to expensive items that only get worn once. And now I’m wearing it to the spill zone. If someone so much as drips anything on this dress, there will be a fight.
“Thanks,” I say to Bash as he hands me a beer before moving to my side.
“Want to finish talking?” He watches me as he tips back his beer.
I shake my head, sampling mine.
Beer is probably my third favorite drink—right behind Rum Runners and fruity Mojitos.
“What’s your favorite drink?”
He chuckles. “Whiskey.”
“Just straight whiskey?” I ask and when Bash nods, my throat burns from just thinking about it. I need some kind of chaser. I wrinkle my nose in disgust, making him laugh even harder.
“Aren’t you a little young to know what that tastes like?”
I wave my beverage in his face. “Says the guy who just handed me this.”
I don’t add that I was also drunk the night we made out. Even though it was probably obvious. No need to drag up the awkward.
Unless he wants to.
Or I get drunk enough to lose the small filter I have on my tongue.
Whichever happens first.
He takes another swig before saying, “Touché.”
We’re silent for a while, just taking in the party scene around us.
“I’ve missed this.”
“What? Beer?”
“No, you brat.” He gestures around us. “This.”
I must look as confused as I feel because Bash laughs at me before explaining, “Parties. Hanging out with friends.” He looks down at me, and he appears a lot younger than he actually is in this moment. “I haven’t just hung out in a long time.”
“Aw, the life of being a pro surfer taking a toll on you? I mean, you are getting pretty up there. Age-wise, I mean.”
“Ha-ha,” he deadpans. “Everything in my life lately has been about work. Don’t get me wrong, surfing is what I want to do. It’s just sometimes the things that they want me to do out of the water aren’t what I want. So I’m taking a break from everything for awhile.”
“I get it,” I tell him, but pause when what he said finally registers. “Wait. You’re not entering any competitions?”
He shakes his head, not saying anything. Before I can get anything out of him, though, Xavier decides it’s time to crash our little two-person group.
“Sup?” Xavier asks as he casually winds his arm around my neck.
I don’t miss the glare Bash is giving to Zay’s arm.
“Just talking about surfing,” I answer.
Xavier nods, moving his hand down my body until it’s around my waist. My body stiffens and Bash’s eyes narrow even more.
Our reactions are for completely different reasons.
Xavier’s touching one of my scars, and he knows it. I don’t like it when people accidentally bump into me because I don’t want them to brush against my raised skin. I hate people touching them.
I push Xavier until his arm drops away.
“Yeah, after what happened—OW!” Xavier glowers down at me as he bites back a curse.
“Oh, sorry Zay! Did I almost impale your foot?” Feigning innocence, I look up at him with big, wide eyes. I’m not even sorry I just jammed my stiletto heel into his foot—which is barefoot.
I mean, oops.
“You know, Em, you used to be graceful. I guess when you lost your board it also got rid of your balance.” He chuckles, which turns into a full laugh as he sees the look on my face. “Maybe one day you’ll be allowed back out in the water.”
No one but Geer, Brit, and recently Bash know I still surf. After my accident and then the incident after that, my parents went ballistic. They told me I was carelessly putting myself at risk, and until I learned how to respect the sea, I was banned from surfing.
That day a big part of who I was died.
“She was in it a few days ago?” Bash looks at me with the same confusion in his voice, and I know without checking Zay is too.
Zay tries to laugh it off, but when I don’t join him, he stops. With two pairs of eyes staring at me, their focus unwavering and so intent, my body starts moving like an eel. Squirming on my feet. The legs of dozens of spiders run up my back. My entire body trembles.
I hear an “Em?” the same time as “Firecracker?”
My head shakes, wanting them to go, to make them stop talking without having to vocalize it. I can’t speak.
Pretty sure I’m having trouble breathing, my chest tightens and my vision begins to fade as lights dance in my line of sight.
My fingers feel the stabbing of a thousand needles and the only sound my ears pick up are waves crashing and guttural screams.
I’m flying.
That is always my first thought when I catch a wave, but this time I really feel it.
My board is gliding effortlessly as I maneuver on the wave. I just landed a trick and I go to do another before I get caught in the break line, but my footing feels off.
Instead of taking the time to fix it, impulse takes over and my board soars into the air, above the wave.
I give a victory cry as I come back down, but my landing quickly becomes a wipeout.
I’m flipped off from the side, getting pulled under the wave. My board comes with since it’s attached to my ankle, but one of the fins slams into my head.
Pushing my way towards the surface, I only have time to gasp a lungful of air before another wave crashes on top of me, sending me under again.
I try to swim back to the surface when something sharp and powerful and painful clamps onto my leg, tugging me down.
Panic starts to fight its way inside when I look down in a blurry haze and see what’s pulling me. Around my leg are the jaws of a very large shark whose black eyes are taunting me.
A scream rips through my throat, filling my body with cold saltwater.
My free limbs start flailing, struggling to get away. The shark tugs, pulling my body with it and pain rips through my leg. It becomes harder to see the shark, my blood begins to ink the water around us, making the cloudy, salty water even murkier.
I know I’m going to die.
My body is losing a lot of blood, along with energy and the surface is becoming an impossible distance to reach. But I’m a Lawson and even a Lawson getting attacked by a shark isn’t keeping me from at least trying to fight back.
The jaw loosens a little, so I shove my fist into his snout the same time I stab a finger in one of the eyes.
Suddenly the weight on my thigh is gone and I see the shark look at me with a cold, calculating stare.
My lungs are starting to suffocate from the lack of oxygen and I feel close to passing out. After one lap around my body, my attacker swims away.
I don’t stop to see if it is coming back. I push water out of my way, using my arms as I kick as hard as I can with one leg while my other just hangs in a bloody mess.
“Help!” I gasp, letting the crisp air fly into my body, to my lungs.
“HELP!” I scream maniacally. I’ve drifted a lot farther from shore. Away from the crowd, away from my parents. “SOMEONE HELP ME!”
My body is fading, a black shadow of sleep trying to lure me in. My vision is blurry, but I’m able to make out a small boat racing in my direction.
I start to scream for help again, but it turns into an ear-deafening scream as another shark, a smaller one, latches onto my torso, pulling me under the water once more.
I crash into a hard body, arms curling around my waist. Even though the hold on me isn’t tight, it feels as suffocating as the shark’s teeth slicing into my flesh.
I struggle to get out of the hold, a sweat breaking out along my hairline.
“Calm down, Firecracker.” The voice is like a bucket of cold water that chills my fiery skin.
I stop fighting.
I’m not there, I’m not there, I’m on land, I’m on land.
Blinking out the haze, the first thing I see is Sienna. The next is the moon.
It’s shining proudly above us, giving off enough light to see the panic upsetting her face. Arms spin me around and Bash has the twin expression of Sienna.
I try to say something, but it’s hard for the words in my brain to come out of my mouth.
Instead of talking, I begin to sob. Big, ugly, snotty sobbing and Bash is on the receiving end of it as I bury my head in his chest. His arms tighten around me again and this time I don’t fight him off, instead nuzzling closer to his chest.
Bash is rubbing my back softly and if he pushes down a little harder he would feel the bumpy raised skin that covers one side of my back. If he spins me around, he would feel that it wraps around to my front as well.
My leg is just as bad.
My scars. My reminders.
Sometimes all a girl needs is a good cry fest. It’s healthy. A cleanse that needs to happen to wash away the ugly and the hurt to make room for something more—something happier and good.
Unfortunately, crying into the chest of a hot surfer and thinking he won’t question why his dress shirt is now one of the largest tissues he has ever seen is not that time.
As soon as my tears start to trickle down my face, Sienna grabs my hand, walks us into the house, and pulls me into the nearest bathroom.
She pushes me down onto a closed toilet seat and starts to wipe the mascara tracks off my face. While I sit, still sniffling, I watch as she searches the tiny room for a face cloth.
Once she finds one and runs it under water hot enough to cause steam to roll off the fabric, she gently places it over my face.
The steam from the towel mixes with my sticky wet face to create such an odd, yet enjoyable feeling. My pores begin to open and my eyes sting a little less. It’s not a towel with healing powers or anything, but it does feel good on my face.
After it turns lukewarm, I pass it back to Sienna, who tosses it into the sink. She regards me thoughtfully with her arms crossed. “Want to share?”
I start to shake my head but stop. “I had a flashback from the day in Hawaii.”
Her eyes close as the memory surfaces in her mind. Sienna was competing that day too.
“It’s been two years.” Her voice sounds as small as I feel in that moment.
“Three,” I whisper.
After the second shark pulled me under, I don’t remember anything between seeing the boat and waking up in the hospital with my parents crying by my bedside.
Seeing my dad cry is something not even sandpaper can erase from my memory.
“I never gave up surfing,” I admit. The words descend around us and my heart rate starts to pick up. I bite my lip and squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for Sienna to explode with betrayal.
“I never thought you actually would,” she tells me. I crack open my eyes. Well…she looks calm. “Zay did, but my brother doesn’t know shit. He never competed against you.”
“You’re not mad?”
“Why would I be mad? I’m not your parents. Besides, they’re on crack if they think they can keep you out of the water.”
I snort, trying to stand up. “Right? I was born in a water birth.”
For the record, my parents don’t do crack.
She laughs, but pushes me back down as she shakes her head. “Not-uh. You are not leaving here until you tell me what is going on with you and Sebastian Cleaton.”
“Bash,” I correct without thinking and wince. “Nothing is going on. I just met him and I think we’re friends. We’ve surfed a few times.”
That sounds lame, even to my ears, but I’m not about to romanticize anything for her. Especially since there was nothing romantic going on in the first place and I’m not good when things start to be less casual.
“Yeah, friends who are in looove.” She wiggles her eyebrows.
“What, are we twelve again?” I sputter; some spit comes out of my mouth. “Sienna, you’re too into fairytales. I just met him and we’ve hung out a few times. If I feel anything for him it would be lust but—shit.”
Sienna cackles—yes actually cackles—and punches her fists into the air. Her head is thrown back so it appears upside down in the mirror as she continues to laugh. “HA! I knew it! Spill!”
“I think it’s no secret that I find him attractive. A lot of people do.” Most of America—or whoever decides on those bachelor magazine picks.
“Emery Marie.” Sienna looks ready to strangle me, but she’s not getting anything else out of me. Nope, nope, nope.
“Sienna Santos, do you know that I love you so very much and you have the prettiest hair?” Sienna doesn’t have a middle name, so she doesn’t get the luxury of having one used against her.
I reach a hand out to touch her blonde locks but she slaps my hand away.
“You’re so cute.” She sounds anything but amused.
“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.”