"I would look hot," he says. When I snort, he tosses a handful of sand at me. "Your turn, Mercer. What did you want to be?"
"A dinosaur," I say matter of factly, and he laughs. "Okay, I guess I wanted to be a writer."
"And now you are. A successful one at that."
I shrug uncomfortably. "Oh, not really," I mutter. "I just make stuff up that I think people want to read."
Zane cocks his head at me, squinting in the dying pinkish light. "Sounds like a writer to me."
"No, it's not the same." I shake my head. "To me, it's not really writing, because I'm not writing what...I want to write. I'm writing what sells. It's following a successful formula, you know? All the popular books out there are just the same story, with the names changed. I don't even enjoy the process of it because I feel like a sellout."
"Hey, you paid your mom's medical bills with it, didn't you? That sounds pretty damn amazing to me." Zane reaches over to tug on a lock of my hair. "If it were that easy, we'd all be doing it."
I sigh moodily, digging my bare toes into the cool sand. "Maybe."
"Sometimes you have to compromise a little to get to the point where you can do what you want," Zane says philosophically. "I think you're at that point, Violet."
"Getting there," I murmur. I shake my head. "Let's change the subject. Uh...when did you lose your virginity?"
He slants me a look. "You first—when do you want to lose your virginity?"
I laugh nervously. "Uh-uh! I asked you first."
"Yeah, but my question's more important. So...I think your answer would be better as more of a show than a tell."
I lean forward to smack him, but he grabs me and pushes me back. We wrestle a little, and I end up lying on my back in the sand, with him on top of me.
Zane looks down at me from his superior position on top. "I win," he says smugly.
He's bracing most of his weight on his forearms, so why can't I breathe? Oh, right, he always does this to me when our bodies are touching. I'm sinking into his warmth, his scent. If we kissed, it would taste slightly salty, like the ocean air.
His face is inches from mine. "You cheated," I say softly, looking into his shiny dark eyes. "You're trying to distract me."
He gently brushes loose strands of hair from my face. "It's working, isn't it?"
"Hey, you kids! No public fornicating! Get a room!"
The sudden shout is jarring. Zane and I both look up to find a creepy skinny guy with scraggly red hair and a long beard, grinning toothlessly at us. He hitches up the back of his threadbare shorts and cackles maniacally as he wanders away.
We look at each other and laugh. Zane rolls me on top of him so I end up straddling his hips. He puts his hands behind his head in a relaxed position.
"I'd like the view a lot better if you were wearing less clothes," he murmurs. That lazy sexy smile is back on his face.
"Sure, why don't I just take my top off, then?" I glance around at the few dots of people further down the beach. "You think I could get any money for showing off the girls?"
Zane laughs. "Honey, I'll give you the grand that's in my pocket right now if you show me your girls."
"Oh, is that what's in your pocket?" I ask innocently. "So, that's what one thousand dollars feels like."
"No, that's what eight in—"
I cover his mouth, then poke him in his hard flat stomach. "So,” I clear my throat. “How old were you when you first did it?"
Zane takes my hand and kisses my palm. "Okay, but don't judge me. I was twelve."
My eyes widen in disbelief. "What?! Was it...were you...?"
"She was an older woman—thirteen." He squints adorably at me as he pauses. "I was kind of precocious. After my mom killed herself, I went a little wild. Drank a lot, slept with every girl stupid enough to say yes to me...I don't know what I was trying to prove."
I slide off of him and lie beside him in the sand. "Shoot, you were just a kid, trying to cope in a horrible situation, any way you could."
"Yeah." Zane exhales lightly and stares up at the clouded sky. "You wanna know something pretty screwed up? I wasn't sad that she was dead. I was pissed. Because she fucked up my life yet again with her crazy shit. You know, I didn't even miss her—her death was more of an inconvenience to me than anything. Guess that makes me an asshole, huh?"
I'm careful to keep my gaze heavenward. "No. You said you barely knew her, and all your memories of her were traumatic. Just 'cause she's your mom doesn't mean you're required to love her. She was just some poor crazy lady that happened to give birth to you. Maybe you were just relieved that she wasn’t suffering anymore."