Sadness tugs at the edges of my mouth, and I look down the beach, away from the place my father used to stand. After a few minutes I can think beyond them again. Grief is like that. It sneaks up when I’m least expecting it and clings for a while. The times I’m able to disengage from it, I feel thankful, and those times that I can’t, I feel like I’m dying right along with them.
My mind shifts to Ashley. She left sometime after midnight and she texted me early this morning.
Miss you already.
Three simple words.
Three simple words that brought last night rushing back to me—the look in her eyes right before she kissed me, like I was the only woman on earth she ever wanted. The first press of her lips against mine, the sensuous feel of her tongue exploring my mouth. I shiver with the memory.
She’s meeting Drake this morning for her first surfing lesson. I was so disappointed when she agreed to let him teach her to surf, but last night as I was lying in bed thinking about her—because my mind and body have become a sponge and I’m drenched in thoughts of her—I came to understand why she was so hurt that I turned to Janessa instead of her. She wanted to share in my first time, and I get that now.
I was so nervous the night I was with Janessa, trying to navigate completely unfamiliar territory while also trying to enjoy the ride. I think if I had been with Ashley that first time, while I’m sure it would have been amazing, I would have been in student mode, like I was with Janessa. It wouldn’t have been nearly as enjoyable, and I probably wouldn’t have let myself go like I did with Ash.
Janessa left me thankful for an experience, like I’d taken a class that helped me with finals. Ashley. Good Lord, Ashley. Ashley left me craving more of her touch, her kisses. She has the most tantalizing mouth, like it was made just for me. I don’t want to hide our relationship, but I don’t know how to escape the guilty feelings that come along with it, either.
I sip my coffee, watching a sailboat make its way across the ocean in the distance and wishing there were a guidebook for my life. How to Crawl Out From Under My Parents’ Expectations & Leave Guilt Behind.
“Another beautiful morning in Harborside.” Tristan pats my shoulder as he eases into the chair beside me. He runs his hand down his face and scratches his bare chest, then stretches his long, muscular arms and yawns. He does the same thing every morning, like a cat.
“Is there anything but? Even the rainy mornings are beautiful when you’re looking out at the water.” When my parents were alive, we came to Harborside for the summers, and usually during school breaks, too. I remember when we met Tristan. Wyatt and I were at the beach with our parents. It was a sweltering afternoon, and Wyatt and I were boogie boarding. Tristan was standing on the shore watching us with one hand on his hip and the other shielding his eyes from the sun, just like my dad used to do. I rode a wave all the way in and couldn’t jump off fast enough, or turn hard enough, and I plowed right into him. We couldn’t have been more than seven or eight, but he scrambled to his feet and reached for me before tending to the bloody cuts on his leg from where he was dragged against a ridge of sharp shells. Harborside has always been our home away from home, with friends like Tristan and Jesse, Brooke, Brandon, and Charley, but this summer it’s become the only home I want.
“You can say that again. Where’s Ashley? I assumed she was staying over.” He kicks his bare feet onto a chair and reaches for my coffee, arches a brow, waits for my nod, then takes a sip.
My stomach dips at the mention of Ashley, and for a minute I wonder if he knows what we did. Ashley’s spent the night before and I never got nervous the way I am now. This is so stupid. Even if he did know, of all people, the last person I should be uncomfortable around is Tristan.
“She went home last night.”
He pushes my coffee cup across the table.
“Want to talk about the thing we’re not talking about?” Tristan smiles, but he doesn’t look at me.
I cross my arms on the table and rest my forehead on them. “I hate you.”
I feel his hand on my arm. Tristan acts like another protective, caring brother, only he’s got a gentler way about him than Wyatt. Wyatt comes to my defense like a bull. Tristan is more like a Transformer. He glides in all sexy and sleek and morphs to aggressive when there’s no other alternative. I love that about him.
“Hon, I only have an assumption, and it’s a very poor one, based on limited info, since you keep your feelings pretty close to your chest.”
I turn my head and rest my cheek on my arms, peering at him out of one open eye. “What’s your assumption?”