Wet (The Water's Edge #1) (30 page)

Four weeks ago. The sunrise from West’s balcony.

A new comment under the picture caught my attention. Aubrey telling the world, “I love that particular view.”

I froze and checked the timestamp.

Earlier fucking today.

Unable to help myself, I clicked on her name and navigated to her page, creeping through her endless parade of toothy selfies.

I stopped and scrolled back and forth. There were three of West on there from the last month. All in public, at casual restaurants I recognized. He’d mentioned working on gala stuff more in the last few weeks, but I hadn’t realized he’d been meeting with
her
. One was him in profile, leaning back in a chair, one foot resting on the opposite knee. Another was taken at the Wreck, the pile of peanut shells in front of him an indication of how long they must have been together. Most recently, four days ago, was at Starbucks. Two cups of coffee sitting next to each other, their names scrawled on the cardboard, his big hand wrapped around the one labeled his.

I closed the laptop. It didn’t mean anything. Well, it did, but not like that. Being the main sponsor of the gala was huge for his growing business, considering it was the biggest social event of the year on Reynold’s Island. He had a lot riding on it, and the fact that it was being held on his grandparents’ sprawling estate only made him more anxious to have everything go well.

I knew he was nervous about it — about proving himself, especially to his parents, who would be flying down for the big event. He’d tried to brush me off that day in the hammock, telling me he didn’t get nervous. But his hand had gripped my foot as he’d said the words, and I heard the hesitation in his voice, his usual cockiness missing.

Still, it rankled that he hadn’t mentioned the meetings with Aubrey, even in passing.

“So are you and West official now, or what?” Theo asked around a mouthful of glazed doughnut. We were walking up the driveway to West’s house, where the Fourth of July barbecue was already in full swing. I was contributing a couple boxes of Krispy Kreme’s to the event, and Theo had insisted on sacrificing one for quality-control purposes.

I slipped my sunglasses on, stalling for time.

Were we? We hadn’t had
that
talk yet, but I wasn’t seeing anyone else, and most nights found us sharing the same bed. Work had been good for West the last few weeks, and a lot of nights, by the time he knocked on my window, it was too late to do anything but fall asleep wrapped in each other’s arms. Usually, he was gone before me in the morning, a paper airplane left behind on his pillow with his daily note to me. If for some reason we slept apart, I found the plane tucked under my windshield wiper.

So, yeah, at this point, I kind of expected us to end the day together.

Maybe we
were
a couple, but I wasn’t sure about the official part.

I mumbled something unintelligible and broke off a piece of his doughnut for myself, popping the sticky mess in my mouth and licking my fingers to keep from having to say anything further.

He raised his eyebrows, reading the evasion perfectly. “Don’t worry about it, Sadie. He doesn’t do girlfriends — don’t take it personally.”

Ouch
.

It stung to be lumped in the same category as all the other women who had passed through his life. Like the chicks in the bar bathroom. Like Aubrey.

I wanted to believe we had something special. That we
were
something special.

Even if we hadn’t put a label on it.

A small crowd was already gathered on the patio by the grill, but I needed a drink first to wash away the sudden sour taste in my mouth from Theo’s innocent question. Grabbing the boxes from him, I climbed the stairs to the front porch. Ever the gentleman, Theo bounded ahead of me to get the door, holding it open for me to pass.

His question shouldn’t have taken me by surprise — the majority of the time West and I had spent hanging out had been just the two of us. Besides a few times at the Wreck and the drive-in a month ago, most people hadn’t really seen us together, other than Rue, who still glared daggers at me in the morning when he lingered after she had woken up. Our friends were curious, especially with West’s tendency toward flings, not relationships.

Hell, I was curious how he was going to act today. This was his house, his friends, his party.

Was I his girl? Or his dirty, little secret?

When I entered the kitchen, Theo on my heels, people were standing three deep around the counter, tapping the keg and mixing drinks with stronger stuff from glass bottles. I headed for the telltale red cooler, hoping it was full of the Wreck’s signature grog.

Jackpot! I filled a red plastic cup, chugged a third of it right there, and topped it back off. Glancing around, I took in all the bodies milling around the small bungalow. I didn’t recognize most of them, and it made me uneasy, wondering if that was an indication of how little I knew about West.

Slowing down, I nursed my drink and reminded myself that wasn’t true.

I knew West.

I knew the important stuff.

I knew he took his role of big brother seriously, that family, especially his siblings, was his main priority. I knew he had ambition, choosing to carve his own path with his own money instead of following the easy road, but it wasn’t driven by greed or vanity. I knew he had a soft side — his airmail messages to me were all the proof I needed. I knew he was stubborn and sexy and smart. I knew that while he was comfortable in a suit with society’s upper crust, he was more comfortable in a rundown bar, eating peanuts from a plastic pail. I knew he had the patience of a saint, determined to make me love the ocean with the same passion he did. I knew his heart was his biggest muscle because he put it into everything he did.

I knew the little things too.

I knew he never let his gas tank fall below half-full. I knew he liked plain M&M’s, but not the red ones, because he swore they tasted different from the rest. I knew he was ticklish if I ran my fingers over the base of his spine. I knew he couldn’t sleep well at night if the ceiling fan wasn’t on. I knew he liked my hair down and wild around my face, because he was always tugging my hair tie free if I had it pulled back. I knew how his voice sounded groaning my name into my throat when he found his release between my thighs.

I smiled to myself, taking another fortifying sip. I might not know these people, but I knew West. And I liked all his pieces and parts.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up, my body responding to his presence, and my eyes searched for him. I spotted him coming out of his bedroom, a beanie pulled low over his forehead. His gaze raked me from head to toe, and I held still for his heated inspection. Getting ready for the party earlier, I’d used the standard girl technique where you take way too long to look like you just threw something on at the last minute. My faded tee hung casually over a comfy cotton skirt, a hot-pink tank just peeking out under the shirt’s hemline. Trusty rubber flip flops, a purple hair tie around my wrist, and the messy-on-purpose waves I’d managed to coax my hair into completed the look.

He approved, if the way he pushed through the crowd was any indication.

Reaching my side, he curved an arm low around my hip, pulling me against him, before dipping his head to nuzzle below my ear.

“I missed you,” he murmured, running his nose along my jaw before dropping a quick kiss on my lips.

I hooked two fingers under the waistband of his board shorts and tugged. “You allergic to shirts again today?”

His bare chest was inches from my face, his skin tanned from his time on the boat. My palm itched to stroke the expanse of muscle, to trace the ridges of his abdomen.

A soft chuckle escaped his lips, pulling my attention higher. “Maybe I like the way you can’t concentrate on anyone but me when I don’t wear one.”

I made a show of looking around the living area. “There are a lot of good-looking guys here,” I mused. “Feeling insecure?”

He smirked. “Should I?”

I wrinkled my nose at him and poked his stomach, making him take a step back, before throwing the question back at him. “Should I?”

“Should you what?”

“Feel insecure?” My voice wobbled just a little, my uncertainty from Theo’s remark bleeding through.

The heat in his eyes changed, from a bright flare to a low steady flame, the blue more prevalent than the gray today. He leaned down until our foreheads touched and cupped my cheek with his free hand. “Never.”

His thumb stroked my cheekbone, and I closed my eyes, melting against him. Pressing a kiss to the top of my head, he eased back, putting some space in between us. “Come with me. I gotta help Wyatt with the grill or there won’t be anything edible to feed all these people.”

The next hour was a blur of introductions, burgers, bratwursts, and beer. Josie, who had helped rescue me after my parasailing fiasco, and Kendra, my fellow lifeguard, were both there, and the three of us began setting out the prepped food on a picnic table that had been borrowed from the Wreck, judging by the graffiti that covered it. We filled disposable aluminum trays with buns, toppings, and condiments while we waited for the men to finish grilling the meat. Josie was showing us a new tattoo along her ribs, a Shakespearean quote written in script, when the sound of crunching aluminum caught my attention.

Whipping around, I saw General Beauregard wolfing down huge slobbery mouthfuls of bread. Clapping loudly to startle him, I hollered and shooed him away, tail tucked between his legs, and managed to save the hotdog buns. The hamburger buns, on the other hand, were a total loss.

Walking over to see what all the commotion was about, West stared down at the mess. Scratching his chest, he yelled to his brother, “We got any more upstairs?”

Wyatt shrugged and poked at the grill, raising his beer to his lips.

Rolling my eyes, I headed for the stairs.

“Thanks, babe!” West called out. A small grin curved my lips as I walked away. He hadn’t hesitated to call me that in front of his friends. That meant something, right?

Upstairs, the kitchen was mostly deserted, except for a couple making out in the corner. I poked around the cabinets, but I couldn’t find any extra bread. Eyeing my doughnuts, I carried them back downstairs.

West chuckled when he saw the green-and-white boxes in my hands. “Skipping straight to dessert?”

Ignoring him, I got a plate and stacked a doughnut, burger, bacon, cheese, and another doughnut. “Buns!” I told him in triumph.

He looked at me dubiously. Narrowing my eyes, I picked up my sandwich and opened wide, trying to get a full bite of the tall burger. Sugary, greasy perfection filled my mouth, and I moaned, the burger juice dripping down my hand without anything to absorb it. I licked my pinky to get the mess and then took another huge bite.

Leaning over, he took a bite for himself, surprise filtering across his face as he chewed.

“Admit it, it’s awesome,” I said, gloating.

“It is,” he said, stepping closer and lowering his voice. “And I don’t know why, but you look fucking hot trying to eat it.”

Closing my eyes halfway, I made a show out of taking the next bite, tipping my head back while I chewed, and swiping my tongue down the side of my hand again. He held his beer bottle in front of his crotch, and I wondered if he was trying to hide something.

“Damn, woman. I need to get my girlfriend one of those.”

The unfamiliar voice startled me back to the present. Conversation had died down around us, and a handful of guys were looking between my mouth and my half-eaten doughnut burger. My face flamed, and I dropped the burger onto my plate, snatching up a paper towel to wipe my mouth and fingers off.

The same guy, broad-shouldered with the start of a beer belly, kept watching me. “Are you gonna finish eating it? I can wait.”

“Maybe later,” I mumbled, my hands fluttering, and West stepped to the side, blocking me from the guy’s view.

“Food’s ready!” he announced, pointing at the picnic table and moving out of the way of the surging crowd. “Doughnut burgers are the specialty of the day.”

We moved to the edge of the patio, and he made short work of the rest of my burger. I was too self-conscious to eat another bite in public. “We fucking have to make these again sometime. Privately. Where only I’m around to watch you eat it.”

I laughed and nodded my agreement, and a heated look passed between us.

He started to bend closer, and I closed my eyes in anticipation. A loud greeting and the sound of someone slapping West on the back ruined the moment. I sighed, swallowing back my budding arousal. Arguing good-naturedly, a motley handful of his fishing buddies had joined us, wanting to talk shop. He’d introduced us earlier, but I’d forgotten most of their names already. They started talking about the big tournament coming up in Charleston next weekend, and I pretended to listen and understand what they were saying. Mostly, I was happy to just watch West in his element.

He talked with his hands a lot when he joked, and I was distracted watching the muscles in his shoulders bunch and flex, the waves on his tattoo undulating with his movements.