Tidal (7 page)

He shook his head. “I’ve already

spoken to him—we’re going out alone.”

When I whirled on him, he held up his

hands defensively. “Look, I want you to be

relaxed. I don’t want some big ass

bodyguard making you nervous.”

“You mean he makes you nervous.” I

was angry he’d gone over my head and

talked to Miller, and I was angry at myself

for still wanting his lips on mine. I

crossed my arms. “I’m fine with him being

around,” I said.

Cooper released a sarcastic little

laugh. Then he finished backing into the

street and placed the car into drive. “I

should punch you in the face,” I muttered

as he took off, going ten miles over the

speed limit.

“What’s stopping you then?”

“I’m on probation.”

He laughed again, but this time there

wasn’t a mocking edge to it. He almost

sounded like he felt sorry for me, which

only served to make me angrier. “And just

so you know, Wills, your bodyguard

doesn’t make me nervous—not even a bit.

I don’t think you have anything to worry

about here, but I won’t let anything happen

to you. Not ever when you’re with me.”

There was a roughness to his voice that

made it impossible for me to doubt what

he’d said.

Not even a bit.

***

Cooper took me to a two-story beach

home surrounded by palm trees. “This is

Kailua Beach,” he explained, as he parked

his Jeep behind a Ford Ranger that was

probably just as old as I was. “And this is

where I live . . . and work.”

I squinted at the sand-colored stucco

house. Sure enough, there was a wooden

sign hanging above the front door that said

Blue Flame Surfing Academy
. I raised an

eyebrow and he lifted his shoulders. “I

forgot to grab our boards,” he said. “My

mind was . . . occupied.”

When he got out of the Jeep, I

followed behind him, hot on his heels. “So

you live with your boss, not an actual

roommate?”

He gave me one of those grins that

nearly stopped me in my tracks. There

was a deep dimple in his left cheek that I

hadn’t noticed before. “Well, technically,

my roommate lives with his boss.”

This time, I really did stop walking.

“You own your own surfing school?” I

squeaked.

Flashing me a confident look, he said,

“I’m the best, remember?”

He sprinted up the steps and

disappeared inside the stucco house. I

stood there, staring through the open door

into the brightly lit foyer for a few

moments. Cooper was 22—he’d said as

much last night when he told me he’d left

Australia ten years ago when he was 12. I

was sure he made good money training

people to surf and doing competitions but

this place was amazing. Oceanfront, two-

stories, and on a private lot—no doubt it

cost a fortune.

“Ugh, stop it Willow,” I said aloud.

Just because I sucked at holding on to

money didn’t mean Cooper was the same.

Walking up the stone steps, I reminded

myself that how Cooper afforded his

belongings was none of my damn

business. When I reached the foyer, which

smelled like sunblock and clean linen

plugins, I followed the sound of voices

around the corner into a shop area,

complete with t-shirts and surfing gear.

Cooper was on the other side of the

most unique sales counter I’d ever seen—

it was made of old surfboards with

writing all over them. He was talking to a

guy wearing nothing but boxer shorts who

was as tall as Miller and probably

weighed less than I did. The moment I

stepped into view, their conversation

faded and the guy dragged his hands

through his messy brown hair. He was by

no means sexy, like Cooper, or even

good-looking for that matter—his grungy

facial hair would make Zach Galifinakis

weep with pride— but when he grinned at

me, I couldn’t resist smiling back.

“I’m Cooper’s roommate,” he said.

There was a humorous gleam in his brown

eyes when he added, “I used to jack off to

your music videos.”

Nice introduction.

I’d been a horrible singer and all my

music—one album’s worth—had been

heavily auto-tuned. At least the music

videos were sexy, according to Cooper’s

pervert roommate. “How’d that work out

for you?” I asked, unsure whether I should

laugh or run in the other direction.

“Not so bad . . . if you don’t count the

tanning lotion disaster.”

Oh my God—what the hell was wrong

this guy?

Skinny Roommate grinned and walked

over to me, holding out his hand. I looked

down at it, disgusted, before I turned my

head to the side and gave him a skeptical

look. “Oh come on, that was a long time

ago,” he said, holding up both hands to

wiggle them a few inches from my face.

“See, no tan streaks.”

Gross.

He was totally crass, but for some

reason, I started to laugh. It was a

welcome distraction from thinking about

Cooper. Skinny Roommate pulled me in

for a big hug, hunching over so he could

inhale my hair. I took a step backward to

separate our crotches so he wouldn’t get

any more strokes of inspiration. “God,

who would’ve thought Willow Avery

smelled like peaches. Peaches and—”

“Stop feeling up my client, Eric,”

Cooper warned. Eric sniffed me a few

more times and then, groaning loudly,

pulled away.

He gave Cooper a dramatic glare.

“You get all the fun ones.”

Cooper ignored him. “He’s got a

girlfriend. He doesn’t surf,” he said as he

slung a black backpack over his shoulder.

He lifted two long surf boards from

behind the counter and tucked them under

his arm. “And he’s a bum.”

Eric leaned against the counter,

puffing his chest out. “Guess it goes along

with being the son of Rick, the resident

lazy, pill-dealing douchebag.” He turned

his gaze on me. “Word of advice, don’t

buy your shit from him. He’ll turn on you

like
that
.”

As he snapped his fingers to

emphasize the final word, my gaze

dropped to the floor. I could take jokes

about him getting off with tanning lotion

without so much as blinking an eye but the

moment he mentioned my escape of

choice, my whole body burned. I knew it

was another joke—that he probably hadn’t

even thought about what he was saying—

and yet I felt like he knew every thought

that had crossed my mind in the past few

days.

I felt like I was standing in a room full

of people snapping photos of me, judging

my every move, my every word. Judging

whether or not I’d suddenly cave and

wind right back up in rehab.

I wouldn’t.

I put on my most convincing smile—

the look of someone totally fixed and un-

screwed up. It was my best role to date,

and a recurring one at that. Then, I lifted

my head. “Noted,” I said, in a confident

voice.

Eric’s face was red and Cooper was

glaring at him. Eric didn’t even glance at

me when he said, “You kids have fun and

no touching in bad places.”

“Stay away from the tanning lotion,” I

retorted, as Cooper motioned for me to

follow him out the double doors behind

the counter. Eric’s laughter made me

glance back and he was beaming at me

again.

“Don’t worry. That shit left shimmery

streaks on my hands.”

“Is he always like that?” I asked

Cooper as we walked down short, tiled

hallway and outside to a beamed wooden

deck. There were strings of lantern lights

hanging above our heads, but I didn’t have

time to look at them closely. He was

already heading out toward the beach. I

left my bag and phone under a chair.

“Eric’s like that every day,” Cooper

answered once I caught up with him. We

trekked through the sand toward the beach,

our bodies so close the back of my hand

skimmed the smooth edge of one of the

boards he carried.

“You’re kind of an odd couple.”

He grinned and I felt my lips move

into a smile too. “The oddest.” He

stopped, fifteen feet from the shoreline,

and situated our boards down on the sand.

I stood a few steps behind him. When he

rose to his feet, he stared out at the sea

and said, “Eric was my roommate

freshman year at UH and I guess you can

say we hit it off. Rick—his dad—kicked

him out a few months ago when we

graduated and he’s been living with me

ever since.”

“Even though he uses tanning lotion

for lube and teases you about your girly

coconut shampoo?” I joked.

“He’s honest,” Cooper said matter-of-

factly. He dragged his shirt over his head,

and my eyes greedily drank in his bare

skin. Starting from the small of his back

and working my way up, to a long, jagged

scar that raced diagonally from his left

shoulder blade to just under his right

armpit.

When I winced, he turned to face me

and gave me a bitter smile. “Ready to do

this?” Without another word, he stuffed

his shirt inside his black bag, swooped up

our boards and jogged down to the edge of

the sand.

Sighing, I pulled off my own top and

shimmied out of my shorts, rolling them

into a tight wad afterward. Cooper

shielded his eyes from the sun with one

hand and called out, “Didn’t take you for a

one-piece type of girl.”

And as I walked toward him, I found

myself hugging my balled up clothes to my

stomach, creating friction against my own

scar until my skin ached. “There’s a lot

you don’t take me for, huh?” I said when I

came close enough to touch him.

He winked at me. “Just makes getting

to know you more interesting.”

Chapter Five

Cooper didn’t elaborate on what he

said, not that I expected him to, but that

didn’t stop me from wanting and needing

more from him. Was this the way it was

going to be? Little comments— offhand

remarks—that would haunt me long after

they slipped past his lips?

“The sea is fucking amazing this

morning,” Cooper said at last, breaking

the silence. “It’s unpredictable and moody

—and you never know when it’ll try to

screw you over—but I can’t stay away.”

He turned to stare out at the unending blue,

which gleamed under the clear morning

sky. I took two wobbly steps forward,

following his gaze with my own. To be

completely honest, the sea didn’t seem any

different from any other time I’d looked at

it. It was still frightening to me.

But that hazy expression that took over

his face, the way every hard line of his

body seemed to gravitate toward the

waves—I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I

wanted to feel that passionate about

something other than the one thing I

couldn’t, no shouldn’t have.

Just as long as that
something

wouldn’t drown me, landing me in rehab

again.

“It’s nice,” I said. A blast of cold

foam hit my bare feet, causing me to suck

in a deep breath, but he didn’t notice. He

was still mesmerized. Too transfixed to

realize when I stopped gazing at the ocean

to take a few steps backward and to the

side. So rooted to the spot that he must not

have felt my gaze heating the side of his

face, on the tattoo written across his rib—

I couldn’t make out what it said—and

again to the scar on his back.

Had he gotten it surfing?

When I closed my eyes for a moment, I

could see myself with a similar scar. A

scar that matched the one across my lower

belly.

Not today, Willow. Focus on him, on

learning this shit, and not on
that
.

I opened my eyes and sucked in a deep

breath. “You ever gotten hurt surfing?” I

asked in a husky voice. It seemed better

than coming right out and asking how he’d

gotten injured. He turned his head a

fraction to give me an amused look. I let

him study me for another thirty seconds,

then I snorted, crossing my arms over my

chest. Did he have to make me feel like

his blue eyes were burning two holes into

my face?

“It’s a simple yes or no answer,” I

stated.

“You ever gotten hurt acting?” he

asked.

All the time
. I could have told him

what I was really thinking, that acting had

hurt me more emotionally than physically,

but then I cleared my throat and shrugged.

I pretended to be interested in a piece of

lint on my swimsuit. “If you count stubbing

a toe or breaking a fingernail on a prop,

then yeah. Guess I have.”