Love, Lucas (7 page)

I laugh. He sounds like he’s from a different century.

“That sounded really lame, right?” He laughs too. “I was trying to be polite, not weird. I’m serious though. I’d like some company and who better than you?”

“Oh.” This time I swear my whole body turns red. I’m flattered he thinks I’m interesting enough to hang out with, but not quite sure what to say. I didn’t come here looking for a relationship . . . but honestly, I really could use a friend.

“So, will you come?”

I glance at him and try not to get lost in his brown-eyed gaze. Which is surprisingly hard. “Sure. What time?”

He stands and I grab my camera as he takes my hand and helps me up. “How about six? We can grab some dinner and I’ll show you around the pier.”

“Okay.”

“Mind if I walk you back to your place?”

I shake my head. “Not at all.”

He helps me down from the rocks and grabs his surfboard which has been lying on the sand. I didn’t even notice it before. It’s yellow. Almost the same color as my dress. He holds it under one arm and I can’t help but stare at him again.

“Get any good pictures today?”

“A few.”

“You’ll have to show me some of them. Sometime . . .” He trails off and smiles at the look on my face. “What?”

I wring my hands together and chew on my lip. “I don’t know. I don’t really show a lot of people my work.”

“Well, you should. I can tell you love it. Taking pictures, I mean.”

“It’s fun. Therapeutic, I guess.”

“Therapeutic?”

I stop walking for a second and clear my throat. “Um . . . never mind.” I’m not going there.

Thankfully, he leaves it alone.

We reach the house sooner than I want. It’s nice hanging out with someone close to my age.

“I’ll see you tonight then?”

“Yes. Thanks for walking me back.”

He pats me on the back and his hand lingers a little longer than it should. “No problem.”

I say goodbye and walk inside, shutting the door behind me. I’m not sure what to think about this. Am I doing the right thing? Mom told me to make friends, but me and a guy alone together? I’m not sure that’s what she meant. Even so, he said he’d teach me how to surf. And Lucas would be proud of me for learning something new. So, the main reason I’m going with Carson is because I want to thank him for volunteering to teach me to surf. Yes. That’s it. It’s not a date; it’s not a romantic stroll on the pier. It’s business only.

With that thought, I head to my room and stare at the pile of clothes heaped in my closet. What am I going to wear tonight?

CHAPTER 7

I’m addicted to Lucas’s random thoughts. Before I start stressing out about Carson, I read an entry in the notebook. His words are calming. I know I should wait and save one for each day, but I need to read what he has to say next.

DEAR OAKLEY,

YOU KNOW HOW I LIKE TO SING IN THE SHOWER AT HOME? I TOTALLY DO IT HERE, TOO. A KID ON MY FLOOR SAYS I HAVE A PRETTY AWESOME VOICE. HE EVEN GAVE ME A RECOMMENDATION TO SING TOMORROW. I THINK IT’S HILARIOUS THAT HE CAN HEAR ME, SINCE HE'S ALL THE WAY DOWN THE HALL. THAT MEANS I’M LOUDER THAN I THOUGHT I WAS. MAYBE I’LL TONE IT DOWN A LITTLE . . .

NAH. I’M GOOD.

I WOULD ASK YOU TO SING A DUET, BUT YOU KNOW . . . HA HA.

LOVE, LUCAS

Did he have to bring up my crappy singing voice again? With a smile on my face, I close the notebook and go get ready.

Carson picks me up at six. When I open the front door, he stares at me and clears his throat. “You look amazing.”

“Thanks.” I wouldn’t say
amazing
, but I did put on a little more makeup and actually thought about what to wear. Which, since this was just a business outing, made no sense at all. I look down at my light blue tank and my favorite jeans and blush. They’re not the nicest but I have to admit, the jeans make my butt look pretty good. At least that’s what my friends used to tell me.

“Hey, Carson.” Jo peeks around the corner and waves.

“Hey, Jo! Do you need my help anytime soon?”

“I’m sure I could use you this week. Just stop in anytime.” She smiles and leaves us alone.

I don’t say goodbye to Mom. I haven’t seen her since earlier. Maybe tomorrow I’ll ask her about her phone conversation with Dad and why she looks so tired all the time, but for now, I’m going to enjoy myself.

“You ready?” Carson asks.

“Yep.” My palms are sweaty and I’m sure my armpits are, too. How embarrassing. I should have worn a darker shirt.

Carson seems at ease as he walks me to his Jeep. I stare at the beast in front of me. I’ve never ridden in a Jeep before. It’s green and black and I’m sure really windy. I’m glad my hair is in a ponytail. He opens the passenger door for me and I climb in with trembling hands.

“This is nice,” I say as he climbs in the driver’s seat and starts it up.

“Thanks. She’s my baby. I named her Helga.”

Helga?
I think it’s kind of goofy when guys name their cars, but I decide to keep that thought to myself.

We sit in silence as he drives down the street. I’m not sure what to say, how to act. I have no idea where to put my hands, so I keep them in my lap. I want to fold my arms, but figure I’d look uncomfortable or cold or something when I’m boiling hot. Still sweating, actually. Good times.

I don’t know where he’s taking me or what we’re going to do, I’m just glad to be out of the house with another person. And as a bonus, a really attractive and nice person.

After a few minutes of driving, he pulls into a parking lot. A bunch of cute shops line the street and he parks in front of a surfing one called Nye’s Surf Shop. He gets out and I do the same. I’m not about to make him walk around to open the door for me, which by the look on his face, he was clearly coming to do. I smile and shrug.

This isn’t a date. I have to keep reminding myself of that fact.

The air is warm and a slight breeze tousles my hair. I cross my arms and join Carson as we walk toward the shop together.

A white sign with bright blue paint sits next to the door. S
URFING
L
ESSONS
A
VAILABLE
. D
ETAILS
I
NSIDE
.

I’m curious if Carson is going to get someone from this shop to teach me how to surf instead of giving me lessons himself. Before I can ask, he pulls the screen door open and a little bell jingles. He waits until I walk inside and lets the door shut behind him.

The shop is amazing. Surfboards are everywhere in every color you can imagine. They hang on wires attached to the ceiling, are stacked neatly against the wall, and a few are actually hung on the wall. I’m not sure if they’re decorations or if they are actually available for purchase.

I notice a price tag on one and get my answer.

There are shirts, wet suits, board shorts, and tank tops hung on the racks throughout the store. Hats, sunglasses, and other little things are on displays as well. I see a cute pair of pink board shorts and stop myself from checking the price on them. I’m not here to shop, but if I were, I’d totally buy them.

“Hey, Dillon,” Carson says.

I look up to see Dillon waiting at the counter. He’s rubbing something on an orange surfboard and when he sees me, he breaks into a smile.

I take a step forward so I’m standing by Carson. It smells like coconuts and I’m not sure if it’s Dillon or the surfboard.

“Oakley,” he says, taking a pair of sunglasses off his head and pointing at its logo. He laughs.

Like I haven’t heard that one before. I smile anyway.

“What brings you two here?” He glances curiously at Carson.

“Just taking Oakley out to see the pier.”

So that’s where we’re going. Huntington Pier. I’ve heard of it, but obviously haven’t been.

Dillon shoots Carson a look I can’t read. “Really? It’s pretty cool.”

“I’m taking her on a bike ride first.”

What? Is he joking?

“Why didn’t you just ride your bikes instead of drive?”

“Because my bike is
here
. And so is Keilani’s. Oakley’s going to borrow hers. She won’t mind.”

Dillon laughs. “That’s what you think. She’ll kick your butt if she finds out.”

Carson shrugs. “I can take her.”

I stare at both of them with wide eyes. He would beat up a girl over a bike? He must be joking.

“I get off in an hour or so. Maybe I’ll join ya,” Dillon says.

Carson glances at me and hesitates before nodding. “Sure.”

“We can show Oakley how to have a good time.” He smiles. “There’s tons of stuff to do around here.”

“Sounds like a party,” I say. Dillon raises an eyebrow and gives me a wicked grin, which confirms I’ve said the wrong thing.

Carson clears his throat next to me. “You ready?”

“Sure.” But I’m really not. I haven’t ridden a bike in years and I’m pretty sure it’s going to be a disaster. Actually, I’m positive it will be.

“See you later, Dill,” Carson says.

I feel Dillon’s eyes on me as I follow Carson to the back of the store.

He leads me through a doorway with beads hanging down to the ground, past a bunch of surfboards and a pile of boxes, and finally to the very back of the store. Several bikes lean against the wall and he points at a light blue one and hands me a helmet. “You can ride this one.”

I stare at him, the helmet in my hand.

“What?” he asks. “You know how to ride a bike?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Then you’ll be fine.” He smiles and opens the back door. It’s getting dark but there are streetlights everywhere. He walks his bike out to the boardwalk. Lots of people are out even though it’s almost sunset. How would it be to live in a place like this forever? I don’t think I’d mind it.

“This is the boardwalk, which I’m sure you already know. It’s the same boardwalk across the street from your aunt’s house, but we’re about six miles away. It stretches from Sunset Beach, goes through Huntington Beach for about nine miles, and then you can go three or so more miles until you hit Newport Peninsula. It’s a great workout if you’re into that sort of thing.”

I nod. “Cool.”

“The pier’s right there. Past all those shops.”

I look where he’s pointing. There’re a bunch of shoppers and I’m pretty sure I’m going to kill someone.

“That’s where we’re going.” He smiles and puts his helmet on. “Don’t run anyone over, okay?” He grins and gets on his bike.

“I’ll try not to.” I feel really self-conscious but put my helmet on and swing my leg over the seat of my borrowed bike anyway. It’s a little big and my toes barely touch the ground. Carson stands up on his pedals and bounces next to me. He’s obviously a biker. My friend Emmy back home would get along great with him. I watch him bounce a few more times until he notices the look on my face and laughs.

“Don’t worry. I’ll stay with you.”

Not very reassuring, but I smile and pretend my heart’s not beating a million miles an hour. I push off the ground and while I’m a little wobbly at first, my feet find the pedals and we’re off.

We pass a lot of people, most with shopping bags, and they’re all super friendly. A lot of them have dogs and I try to maneuver my bike as far away as possible so I don’t hit one or get chased.

I swear it takes forever to reach the pier but it’s probably only been five minutes. I’m sweating and a little out of breath, which is ridiculous. We didn’t even go that far.

Carson jumps off his bike and wheels it over to a bike rail, pulls out two locks, and puts one of them on his bike. I wobble as I put my feet down to stop. My toes scrape the ground and I’m grateful I have real shoes on instead of flip-flops. That would have been a mess.

“Here,” he says, locking my bike next to his. He steps back and takes in a deep breath. “Let’s go get something to eat.”

People are everywhere. A lot of women wearing string bikini tops and short shorts. A few guys stand in front of a bar, tattoos covering half their torsos and arms, holding drinks and look like they’re having a good time. We pass a guy playing some little drums and another guy probably in his twenties singing while playing his guitar.

I take it all in since it’s nothing like back home. I know my parents sheltered me and it probably shows.

Carson stops at a hot dog stand. “Best hot dogs you’ll ever taste,” he says. “I figured I could show you around more if we got hot dogs. I’m going to have to take you to Ruby’s one of these days.” He gestures to a building with a red roof at the end of the pier.

I smile. “That would be cool.”

He walks up to the window and orders two hot dogs, then turns back to me. “What would you like on yours?”

“A little bit of ketchup and a lot of mustard.”

A few minutes later, we’re walking down the boardwalk, hot dogs in hand. And Carson wasn’t lying. It really is the best hot dog I’ve tasted.

“Mustard, huh? I’m more of a ketchup kind of guy. And relish.”

I wrinkle my nose. “I’m not a fan of relish. Or pickles. Though I do like the smell of them. Which I’m aware is weird.”

He laughs and throws his wrapper in a garbage can. “You’re funny.”

I take one more bite and throw my wrapper away as well.