Tidal (14 page)

me. Yesterday had been our second day of

standup paddle boarding and we’d rowed

through still water until every inch of my

body burned from the workout.

“Thought Eric hated his dad,” I said at

last.

“Relationships are complicated,” he

replied, giving me a meaningful look. I

curled my toes and tried to tell myself he

wasn’t talking about ours. As of yesterday,

he’d made no effort to hide the fact that he

wanted me. Respectful but at the same

time, looks that undressed me and made

my legs, and the area in between them,

feel weak.

“Okay, we’re out far enough. Up you

go,” he said.

He stood up effortlessly, and I felt a

stab of jealousy at how easy he made it

seem. Groaning, I placed the oar between

my legs and pushed myself up, wobbling a

little as I quickly grabbed the paddle.

Some greater power must have felt sorry

for me, because I managed to balance

myself without nearly toppling over like

yesterday. The form was different from

surfing—my feet were positioned on each

side of the board instead of in the middle

—but Cooper swore up and down it

would all click together once we took on

actual waves tomorrow and next week.

“Very nice,” he murmured.

“Do you think I’ll be ready in time for

the movie?” I asked. I felt my heart drop a

little when he laughed and shook his head.

“Not even close to it,” he said. I

started to give him an earful but he

narrowed his eyes. “Getting good at

anything takes years. And it’s not like

you’ll be doing the big stunts, Wills.

Dickson just needs you to look like you

know what the hell you’re doing for the

pivotal scenes. Trust me; I’m not going to

let you fail at this.”

I moved the paddle to the other side of

the board, rowed four strokes as he’d

shown me, and then switched sides. “I

don’t want to fail,” I said, but it was more

directed at the thoughts I’d had about

giving in to pills over the last few days.

“Dickson has faith in you,” he said.

“What about you?”

“I don’t think you’ll let me or yourself

down.”

That didn’t answer my question and,

frustrated, I sucked in air through my teeth.

After that, the conversation shifted to the

cast of the movie—a bunch of relatively

unknown actors if you didn’t count my

love interest who starred as a dreadlocked

werewolf on some CW show—and

Cooper’s next surf competition in

October.

When the waves picked up soon after,

we sat back down and paddled back to

shore where the beach was slowly

beginning to fill up with the morning

crowd. I slipped my enormous sunglasses

from the top of my head over my eyes and

grinned up at him.

“Do I not look like Willow Avery?” I

asked in a teasing voice.

He shot me a sideways grin. “Hottest

tourist I’ve ever seen. But even if you

were”—he winked—“Willow Avery,

nobody would bother you here.”

I sniffed. “Are you kidding?” Lifting

my paddleboard and oar, I followed him

through the sand. “You don’t know how it

is. Being noticed.”

He stopped, halfway up the beach, just

feet away from sunbathers soaking in the

hot morning sun. “Tell me then.” He

tossed his board and paddle into the sand

and I gently placed mine next to it. He

held up a finger. “I’ll be right back.”

He ran through the sand towards his

house, disappearing inside, and came out

less than a minute later carrying a bundle

of towels in his arms. He grinned as he

sprinted down to where I was sitting on

the gritty ground, shook out the towels,

and motioned for me to lie down with him.

I complied, stretching out on the soft

fabric and letting the sun warm my damp

body.

“I’ve got community service today,” I

reminded him.

“Stay with me.”

I groaned. “Why do you have to say

things like that?”

“Telling you what I want?”

“Yes,” I said through clenched teeth.

“I thought you didn’t want to do this with

me . . .” My voice trailed off because

neither of us had mentioned what we’d

talked about in his Jeep last Friday, and I

didn’t want to bring it up.

“I don’t want to do this with you if

you’re not willing,” he corrected. “It’s

just that I’m still kind of shocked by this.”

I cocked my eyebrow and he sighed,

rolling over onto the side where his tattoo

was. Propping himself up on his elbow, he

explained, “I’ve not been the best

boyfriend in the past.”

I made a strangled noise in the back of

my throat. “Let me guess? Perpetual

cheater?”

He frowned. “I don’t cheat, Wills. If I

say I’m with you—if we agree that we’re

together—we are. I just tend to sometimes

. . . put other things first.” He stared out at

the sea as he said this, and my eyes

followed his.

I understood what he was saying. I’d

had boyfriends after things had gone to

hell with Tyler—some of them good and

some of them so bad I would have been

left broken into a million and one pieces if

I hadn’t already been so screwed up— but

in each relationship, I was the one to ruin

things. I’d put my desire to drown the

world out over everything else.

Cooper rubbed his tongue back and

forth over the center of his upper lip and

curled strands of my dark hair around his

fingers. Staring down at it, he continued,

“But the thing is, I’ve known you for a

little over a week, Wills. I think about you

more than surfing. I think about you when I

wake up, when I’m giving someone else a

lesson. Fuck, I think about you when I’m

in the bathroom.”

“Nice to know you shit while picturing

me,” I said, cocking an eyebrow.

He let go of my hair and stroked the

back of my neck, staring me directly in the

eye. “No, what I’m saying is I can’t get

you off my mind. I’ve never felt like this

over a girl.”

My heart felt like it was shrinking

because I’d heard that before many times.

The only difference now was that I wanted

it to be true.

Finally, I found my voice. “Not even

my probation officer’s kid sister?” He

laughed, plopping his head back on his

towel to gaze up into the clear sky.

“Nice to know Miranda’s sister is

professional, but to answer your question

—no, I didn’t. We were high school

sweethearts, Wills. Lo—relationships

were different then.”

“Were you about to say you loved

me?” I joked, leaning over him to stare

down into his eyes. My hair fell in a

canopy over his face and he inhaled the

scent of it—some Victoria’s Secret

shampoo my mom had mailed me. I

shivered. “Because just so you know, I

don’t believe in love at first sight,” I

whispered.

“Neither do I.”

I dropped my own body flat on the

towel, barely breathing when I asked,

“Then what are we going to do?”

“Be honest with me for a second,

Wills.”

“Yes.”

“If things were different, would we

have already given in to this yet?”

He was asking me what would have

happened if Tyler hadn’t jaded me, and I

answered without missing a beat. “Yes.”

Cooper groaned, and out the corner of

my eye I saw him rub his hands over his

face. “I’m still trying to figure you out.”

His voice was lulling but powerful enough

not to be drowned out by the roar of the

sea and the piercing screams of kids

playing by the shoreline.

Closing my eyes, I shook my head.

“I’m not that difficult.” I slid over toward

him until our bodies touched—shoulder to

shoulder, hip to hip. Our towels had

separated, leaving my right side exposed

to the coarse beach floor, but I didn’t care.

I needed this closeness. He smelled like

warm air and salt water and it

intermingled with the scent of coconut

wax drifting from our boards a few feet

away.

Cooper turned his face, gazing at me

intensely. “Are you kidding, Wills?

You’re the most difficult person I’ve ever

met.”

But he was wrong, I wasn’t difficult.

I was just cautious.

Chapter Nine

“So, did you ever kiss him?” a soft

voice asked, and I stopped in the middle

of swooping the mop across the linoleum

floor to face the little girl it belonged to.

Her nose was wrinkled, as she waited for

me to answer.

I switched the mop to my left hand,

and then flexed the right to get rid of a

sharp cramp. “Who?”

“Gavin Sawyer.”

It was Wednesday evening, a little

after six, and I’d been at the homeless

shelter since before noon. Cooper had

called me unexpectedly this morning,

moving our early afternoon surf lesson to

eight o clock this evening. When I’d asked

why, I could practically hear his shrug

through the connection. “Got an

appointment,” he said.

If I had been the one making the

request, he’d have asked me a hundred

questions.

“Well, did you?” the girl asked,

dragging my mind back to the present.

She’d been in here for at least an hour,

sitting at the end of one of the d-hall

tables, writing in a spiral notebook as I

scrubbed the tables.

And now that I was mopping just a

few feet away from where she sat, she

was asking me about my pre-rehab

boyfriend, Gavin.

Plunking the mop down inside of the

yellow bucket full of murky water, I bent

over and scooted it up against the wall.

Wiping my damp hands on the front of my

dark jeans, I slid down across from the

little girl. “Why would you think I ever

kissed him?” When I gave her a serious

look, she rolled her dark brown eyes and

tossed her curly chestnut-colored hair

over one shoulder.

“Because I’m eleven and I’m not

stupid. Besides, I saw you on the Teen

Music Awards with him last year before

my mom and dad . . .” She looked down,

playing with the corner of the notebook,

bending an unraveled bit of spiral with the

tips of her fingers. Her unspoken words

lingered in the air, so heavy that my world

felt like it was spinning off its axis. When

she took a deep, shaky breath and raised

her eyes back to mine, my chest clenched

up, hurting for her. What had happened to

her parents in the last nine months for her

to end up here, in a homeless shelter

meant for women and kids?

Why the fuck was life so unfair?

“I adore his band,” she said in a lisp.

“
Green-Eyed Girl
is my favorite song—I

bet it was about you.”

No, it wasn’t. Because everything

about Gavin, from his catchy pop music to

his perfectly coiffed highlighted hair, was

manufactured by the network his show

aired on.

“So,” the little girl said, folding her

hands together and tilting her body

forward, “stop avoiding the question. Did

you ever kiss him?”

“Only once,” I replied, my voice

gentle. Because, to be honest, I couldn’t

tell her that the guy she worshipped—the

boy band, teen-magazine prince—was

nothing more than a coke snorting, fan-

hating shitbag. Hoping to steer the

conversation away from Gavin and back

to something that would make her smile, I

pointed down at her notebook and peered

over. She lunged forward to cover the

page with her hands and chest. I drew

back, holding my hands up in front of me.

“Just wanted to see what you were

writing,” I said defensively.

She cocked her head to the side,

pursing her lips together as if she was

trying to decide whether or not to tell me.

Finally, reluctantly, she said, “I’m

drawing.”

“Can I see?”

She looked surprised—wide-eyed and

cherry red face surprised—before she

mumbled, “It’s not very good.” But she sat

back, pushing her notebook in my

direction, keeping her fingers at the edges

like she was too afraid to let go. For a

long time, I stared down at the drawing—

a princess made out of bubblegum from a

cartoon I was guilty of watching a few

times.

“This is awesome! Got any of

Marceline?”

Her mouth dropped, and I held back a

grin. “You like
Adventure Time
?”

Nodding, I started to quote a line from

the show—the only line I actually

remembered—but the sound of a throat

clearing startled me. The girl and I both

turned our heads to where Dave was now

standing at the foot of the table smiling.

“Willow, can I speak to you?”

My face sunk into a frown, but I

pushed away from the table and followed