Inseverable: A Carolina Beach Novel (6 page)

He does a double-take. “What?”

“Are you a virgin?” I repeat.

“Why the hell would you ask me that?”

I try to keep my expression quizzical instead of full out laughing at my own ridiculousness. “I’m not trying to judge you—really I’m not. I’m just trying to figure you out. Now, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. But if you were it would explain your shyness.”

“You think I’m shy?” he asks in that slow way he does when he can’t believe the things shooting out of my mouth.

“Among other things.” The ocean breeze picks up, and the waves crash, forcing me to speak up to be sure he can hear me. “You can tell me if you are. I promise not to tell anyone, cross my heart.”

It’s not that I believe there’s a snowball’s chance in Hades that this boy hasn’t single-handedly popped enough cherries to make a pie, it’s more like I want him to keep talking. No, I
need
to keep him talking. Me and Callahan . . . I don’t know. I think we’re actually getting to know each other. And I really like who I’m getting to know.

“No. I’m not a virgin,” he admits, something that may or not be a smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “What about you?”

I almost can’t believe he went there, mostly because I can’t believe he’s speaking all on his own. I smile to myself thinking I should’ve checked on his hound status long before this.

Instead of answering, yes or no, I say, “If I tell you I am, would you believe me?”

“No.”

“No? You callin’ me a slut?” I ask in my thickest southern accent.

And good day in the morning, that’s when I see it, his very first grin―even though he’s fighting with all that he has to beat it down.

“Maybe,” he finally manages.

“
Maybe
you’re calling me a slut?”

That smile he’s trying to destroy turns into a laugh―we’re talking full-out guffaw. And right then and there I can’t tell who’s more stunned, me or him.

His expression darkens, as if embarrassed or angry he allowed that long-denied laugh to release. So instead of pushing him too far I give him space. A lot of it. Maybe too much.

I spot my lifeguard stand just ahead, saddened that our very first and real conversation is quickly coming to an end.

“I meant you could be a virgin, but I doubt it.”

His words are so low they barely register over the sound of waves splashing along the shore. But I hear them well enough.

“Why?” I ask.

I slow to a stop just in front of my designated perch. Already the first of the beach goers are pulling into the lot. In the distance, a man grunts and curses, likely trying to lift something heavier than sin followed by the delighted squeals of a few children, and their momma’s urgent voice telling them not to run.

Callahan stops a few feet away from me, and although he knows I’m still behind him, he keeps his back to me. I kick the sand at my feet, but my attention remains on him, waiting for him to tell me more before this moment between us is gone for good.

Right about where I’m standing has become our unofficial drop off / pick-up point. It’s where I say hello, and usually wave goodbye―followed by an inappropriate comment on my part of course.

As I continue to watch him, I decide he probably intended to make a quick escape. He easily could have, knowing my duties would keep me from chasing after him. Instead he waits with his hands on those baby-makin’ hips of his as if wrestling with what to say.

This time I don’t move. I’m not playing games, not really. I’m mostly just being my goofy self. But if we’re going to be friends, real ones I mean, I can’t always be the one running after him. So I wait, certain he won’t walk back to me.

But then he does.

His steps are slow and purposeful, halting about an arm’s length in front of me. When he says nothing, and I know our time is quickly running out, I decide that maybe I’m the one who needs to speak.

“What did you mean by what you said?” I ask him.

He works his jaw, appearing just a little shy as those baby blues fix on my face. “I just figured at least a few guys have tried to get with you.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But you’re assuming I said yes,” I tell him. “At least a few times, by the sounds of it.” It’s what I say, but this time, I’m the one who’s suddenly shy.

“I’m not judging you if you did.”

His thick brows draw in tight. To anyone passing by, he may appear angry. But I catch the trickles of concern in his tone. He thinks he may have insulted me.

“You could have said no,” he adds. “And you probably did for a long time. But pretty girls like you don’t usually stay virgins for long.”

My lips part and I feel myself straighten. “You think I’m pretty?”

His eyes widen as if he can’t believe what he just said―or what I just said―or
something
.

“Trin!”

His stare locks on mine.

“Trin!”

I stand there waiting.

“Trin!”

And still he says nothing.

“
Trinity
!”

I whip my head around. “
What
?”

Sean stops short. I didn’t mean to yell. But every girl needs a moment with a cute guy. Can’t he see I’m having mine?

“Found the surfboard we use for rescues,” he says.

I throw my hands out. “That’s
awesome
―” I realize I’m still yelling and try to calm. “Sorry. That’s good. Good. Uh. Thank . . . you.”

He nods, backing away with his hands out. “PMS. I get it. I’ll try to find you some chocolate.”

I turn my head to say something―anything―to Callahan. But he’s gone, long gone. With a sigh, I watch his brawny form disappear down the beach.

Chapter Six

Callahan

Jed wasn’t messing when he said the start of the season would kick in come June. Bobbie Lee, the owner, hired three cocktail waitresses and another two bartenders to mix in the outside bar. The combined forces should have been enough, but they weren’t. Not with the tourists coming in droves, and the die-hard regulars who never miss a Friday night.

I fill a tray with shots of rum and hand the waitress a bucket of ice stuffed with Coronas. Cindy, Sally―something like that―gives me a wink and a not-so subtle thrust from her chest.

“Thanks, Callahan,” she says, adding yet another wink in case I missed the first.

I ignore her and keep pouring, working fast. The only good thing about the crowd is that my shift is flying. I’m beat, and beat up. Haven’t slept much this week despite all my grueling work-outs and my even longer runs.

A familiar laugh catches my attention out on the deck. Trinity. Of course she’s laughing. That woman probably hasn’t known a bad day in her life by the sounds of it. She glances up and catches my stare. Her smile vanishes when she sees me and she looks away, back to those friends she always skips in with.

I can’t really blame her considering I’d spent the entire week ditching her. Instead of running at seven like I had been, I run at five (I’m up anyway) or wait till sundown on nights I don’t work. I say it’s because I don’t want or need the company she offers. I tell myself she annoys me. And I do my best to convince myself that being alone is the right thing for a man like me. Don’t need friends. Lost too many as is.

It’s what I tell myself constantly. But after last night, I know it’s all bullshit.

Magenta Grove Beach Resort officially closes at seven. What I mean by “officially” is that the lifeguards are no longer on duty and it’s a swim at your own risk deal. I thought I was safe waiting for that moon to rise. But when I reached her post, she was there. My eyes cut to where she and a couple of lifeguards were piling out of that small shack they use as an office.

Near as I could figure, they were finishing up a meeting. Her laughter trailed as I neared so I knew she saw me. This time she didn’t wave. Didn’t smile. Didn’t have anything to say. In a way, I expected her to say or do
something
. What I didn’t expect was that look of hurt I caught as I passed by.

Shit. That hurt barreled over me like a rolling tree.

I told her she was pretty. And I meant it. She damn well is. What I didn’t mean was for it to come out of my mouth. Same way I didn’t mean for that laugh to escape. Lord, I can’t remember the last time I laughed. Or smiled. Except with Trinity.

I shake my head.
What the hell’s wrong with you, soldier?

I fill another tray. Margarita on the rocks here, a shot of Jaeger there, and more Budweiser bottles than that skinny waitress seems capable of carrying. She hefts it onto her shoulder, barely spilling a drop and heads over to the table filled with frat boys who can’t seem to shut the fuck up.

Jed keeps his eyes on them and our new waitress, knowing they’re probably seconds from starting shit. But while I know I should watch them too, my attention returns to Trinity.

I wasn’t sure what she expected to achieve running alongside me. For being a big ballbuster, it’s clear she’s plenty smart. And it doesn’t take a smart woman to figure out I want to be left alone. But she wouldn’t leave me until I made her.

The thought pisses me off. I had no right dumping her like she was nothing. As annoying as I find her, she’s not a bad person.

I fill another pitcher, pour more shots, trying to keep my head on work where it belongs. I don’t want to feel
anything
. Maybe that’s why Trinity pisses me off more than she should, around her I feel . . . everything. The way she―aw, hell―I don’t know. There’s just something about her . . .

A redhead slinks into the barstool in front of me and waves a few bills. I glance up, so she knows I see her. “What’ll it be?” I ask.

She grins and leans forward so her rack presses against the bar and elevates it slightly. “Three blow jobs.” Her eyes travel downward and she laughs. “Or whatcha think, maybe four, cowboy?”

I make three shots, take the bills, and then walk to the opposite register when she and her friends make a show of swallowing them down. The frat boys holler, of course, egging them on. I roll my eyes only to find Trinity standing right in front of me with two empty pitchers clutched in her hands.

She offers me a weak smile. “Hey,” she says.

I nod, but that’s all I offer. She’s not drunk or rude, not like some of the assholes that have stumbled in tonight. But that doesn’t mean I’ll be any friendlier. For all I think it was a dick move to ignore her like I did, what’s done is done, and I shouldn’t encourage her.

“What are you having?” I ask.

She blinks back at me, like she wants to talk and not just order. But then she swallows hard, speaking quietly. “Just Bud, please.”

I reach for the pitchers and move down the bar to the taps. One of the frat boys, the biggest in the group, abandons the redhead when someone else catches his eye. He stalks forward like he’s hot shit. My grip on the handles tightens as I watch him plop down next to Trinity.

“Dude. You’re spilling your beer,” a guy in a bright yellow shirt points out.

I switch the pitchers, keeping my eyes trained on Trinity. Frat Boy leans on the bar, making a show of checking her out. I half expect Trinity to talk to him. Hell, she talks to everyone. ‘Cept even though he seems to be talking to her, she keeps her attention ahead.

He asks her something. Whatever it is has her shaking her head, either in disbelief or rejection. He leans closer, pressing his mouth close to her ear.

Trinity whips around, smacking him across the face as she wrenches away from him, her bright eyes firing with anger. I can’t be sure if his mouth actually made contact with her, or if he said something that offended her. At this point, I don’t really care. I’m already to them, set to pummel the shit out of this asshole no matter what he did to her.

I slam the one pitcher I’d managed to fill directly in front of him. He’s so close to her, Trinity had to slip off the stool just to put some space between them.

“The hell?” Frat Boy yells when the beer sloshes and soaks his shirt.

I don’t ask what his problem is. I don’t tell him he’s had enough. What I do is lean forward and shove my face in his. “Get the
fuck
away from her.”

I’m vaguely aware of the advancing crowd. Frat Boy’s friends are edging forward, and so are Trinity’s.

“Break his jaw, Clayton,” one of the other frat boys yells.

“Shutup, asshole,” Trinity’s friend fires back.

Yelling and taunts ensue. Every local there has had enough of these pricks. I don’t pay them no mind. Every speck of me is focused on Clayton, or whatever the hell his name is. He’s big. Probably plays ball. And based on that shit eatin’ grin cutting a line into his face, he probably thinks he can take me.

Problem is, he’s messing with the wrong soldier.

“It’s okay, Callahan,” Trinity insists, her hand gripping my arm.

“No, it’s not,” I rumble.

“Trin!”

Trinity’s friend, the blonde, tries to haul her back. Good, get her out of the way. It’s just me and him now. But here the crowd is too dense and this guy plays for keeps, he drags Trinity back before her friend gets her too far and squeezes her ass, all the while looking at me.

I barely catch the punch Trinity nails him with because I’m already flying over the bar and grabbing him by the throat, hauling him away from her. With a turn of my hips, I slam him to the floor.

Something hard cracks against the base of my skull. I shake off the pain and nail the frat boy who hit me with the beer bottle across the jaw. It’s then all hell breaks loose. Everyone’s fighting, and I mean everyone.

Fists are flying as me and Clayton go blow for blow. I’m punching him with all my weight, steering him toward the front doors.

The crowd moves with me, beating the piss out of those limp dicks. I keep swinging, keep connecting, and forcing Clayton outside and into the lot. My last punch connects with his head; he stumbles back and lands on his ass beside a sedan.

I turn around, knowing he’s not getting up, and scan the lot for Trinity. Her blonde friend is being hauled off the redhead who was hitting on me by another lifeguard. The lifeguard’s lip is split, and his shirt’s ripped, but he’s laughing his ass off as he pulls Trin’s friend against him.