I hum out a sound as I get up from my chair to move closer to the window, pulling up a seat next to him and his friend at their table. “It’s Jamie,” I correct him simply, “and yeah, looks like a hurricane.”
“Not the storm, man,” Creed says. “Those…” he laughs again, “those idiots on the dock.”
Immediately, I dart a look toward the beach and see that the dock is a mess. The waves are making the boats crash against the wood planks, debris flying everywhere. Well, that’s concerning—one of those boats is mine. More than that, I’m concerned about the actualpeoplestill there, racing around in the middle of a dangerous storm. They need to get inside.
“Oh, shit!” Creed’s friend howls with laughter when the older man on the dock wipes out, falling to his knees painfully. I wince. As the two guys next to me continue to chuckle, I look sideways at them—disappointed? Disgusted? I just… I don’t get what they think is so funny.
I turn my attention back to the workers on the dock, leaning forward in my chair to see if I recognize any of them, but the storm makesit impossible. The group is scrambling, tying down the boats while the wind blows them around like rag dolls. Their movements are frantic, sharp, desperate. And I hate that I’m sitting here as a witness instead of helping them. I feel the storm too, but instead of battling it, I’m surrounded by people who don’t care. Not about the storm. Not about the workers on the dock.
There’s nothing even remotely humorous about that.
Wind rips the blue tarp out of one of the girl’s hands, nearly hurling her into the water. I flinch in response, almost like I can catch it.
Creed laughs again, louder this time. When I sigh heavily, annoyed, he turns to me. “Oh, come on, Jamie,” he says. “Don’t look so concerned. They’re fine. They were bred for this shit. Don’t go soft for a bunch of Chasers.”
You know what, I’m pretty sure I do remember this guy, and he was always an asshole. Still… considering I promised my parents that I would stay out of trouble this summer, it wouldn’t be smart to begin the season by punching out one of the prodigal sons.
I shrug like it’s nothing. “I’m just worried about my boat,” I tell him.
To this, both guys nod emphatically, and Creed even gives me a hand slap of understanding. As he pulls back, I furrow my brow.
“What’s your problem with them, anyway?” I ask, keeping my tone even.
“What,Chasers?” he repeats. “Oh, come on. You know the story.”
I stare back at him, only vaguely aware of where the nickname comes from. Probably because I spent my summers having fun with the dock workers instead of judging them. I swallow hard, imagining they wouldn’t be all that happy to see me now.
Creed smiles and elbows the guy next to him. “Mike,” he says to his friend. “Jamie here wants to know why we don’t like Chasers. Where do we even start?”
Looks like I’m about to get a history lesson by the two dumbest guys in town. I should have stayed in the suite and listened to my parents fight.
Just then, out of the corner of my eye, I notice a girl walk into the restaurant. When I turn in her direction, her face immediately brightens. Trouble or a well-timed interruption, I’ll accept either. At least it’s a familiar face.
“Jamie Matthews?” she calls loudly enough to make the restaurant server next to the door jump. “Oh my gosh—you’re here,” she squeals.
I hold up my hand in a half-hearted wave, slightly embarrassed by the scene she’s making. The guys next to me are slack-jawed as they watch us. I’m sure they know who she is.
The gorgeous girl is Jordan Miles—the daughter of my mother’s friend who owns part of this resort. I’ve met Jordan a few times before, although we’ve generally run in different circles. But a few months ago, she and her family came for a party at my house in Connecticut. We hung out that night, skipping the boring adult shit to go night swimming. Nothing happened between us; we were just bored. But there is a kind of history there. At least our parents certainly think so.
Jordan is indeed beautiful. Her shiny black hair is clipped level with her chin, her lips full and her eyelashes fluffy. She’s tall and skinny in an elegant way. Not exactly my type, except for on paper. Although we’ve talked for hours at this point, I can honestly say that I know nothing about her personality. Kind of a red flag.
Jordan comes rushing toward me, using staggered steps in her high heels as another girl walks in behind her. They have matching designer duffel bags, so I imagine they’re here together. The redheaded girl is new, or at least, I’ve never seen her before. She’s flawless in that cold and completely unapproachable way. The girl smacks loudly on gum, looking me over and taking her time to size me up. She must approve because sheparts her dark red lips to smile at me. She then blows a large pink bubble before letting it pop over her lips.
“I can’t believe this,” Jordan says to me as she arrives at the table.
“Hey, Jordan,” I say, getting up to greet her. She trots around the table to hug me tightly. I pat her back encouragingly. “How’s it going?” I add when she lets go.
“Better now!” she says, beaming. “Your mother told me you arrived in Cape Hope this morning—terrible day for it,” she adds with a laugh.
“Yes, it is a hurricane,” I reply.
“Still, I was wondering when you were going to find me and say hello.”
“Again,” I say with a soft smile, “the hurricane.”
Jordan glances over at the other guys at the table, her shine immediately dimming. “Hi,” she tells them with a flick of a wave. Her friend doesn’t even glance their way. Instead, she’s checking her lipstick in her phone camera, still chewing her gum.
Creed is more than happy to fill in the awkward silence. “Hi, Jordan,” he says. “Andhello,Hailey,” he adds dramatically. “Don’t be stuck-up.”
