“The limo is getting serviced,” Sawyer mutters as he reverses out of the spot.
The window’s still rolled down, so I stick a hand out, letting the wind sift through my fingers as he turns onto the main road and accelerates. A minute later, we fly past the country club where I ate dinner earlier.
The cab has a bench seat. The lack of separation makes the front section feel larger.
I shift my knee a little to the left, closer to the gearshift, getting more comfortable. “I like your truck,” I tell him.
Sawyer glances over, only one hand on the wheel. Still, I feel safe.
Maybe because the road is otherwise empty. Maybe because this truck seems so solid, one step removed from a tank. Maybe because of … him.
He scans my face like he’s looking for a lie, and I squash the urge to squirm. Funny, since I didn’t flinch when I actually lied to him.
“What do you like about it?”
I slip one foot out of a sandal and slide it under me. Rest an arm on the window and recline against it. “It’s … spacious.”
Sawyer snorts, refocusing on the road. “Subtle.”
Warmth floods my cheeks. “That wasn’t what I meant.”
I assumed we’d hook up tonight. The expectation is there, and my lingerie was carefully chosen, assuming he’d see it. I’m as prepared as possible. But I’m not the experienced seductress I pretend to be, and I’m worried Sawyer is going to realize that. He already has suspicions.
He takes a left, turning the truck off the asphalt street we were on and rolling along a gravel road instead.
I peer through the windshield, looking for any clues about our destination. Waiting for some flicker of apprehension to appear when there are no signs of civilization ahead.
I never thought Third was capable of what he did. But there were moments I felt uneasy around him. I’m not sure what to make of the fact that nothing Sawyer does incites fear in me. That my instincts are screamingstaywhen, rationally, they should be telling me to run from any scenario involving being alone with a stranger in an unfamiliar place.
The road curves. Sawyer brakes for the bend, then even more once we’re around it. Headlights sweep across an open stretch of sand, water lapping the shoreline a dozen feet from where he stops.
“What is this place?” I ask.
“Somewhere I like to come sometimes.”
Metal creaks as Sawyer opens his door. He shucks his shirt, tossing it on the seat, then walks toward the water.
I’m not wearing a bikini. I spent the past hour styling my hair and applying a careful layer of makeup to make it seem like I was wearing none.
But I know, watching Sawyer wade in, I’ll be swimming tonight.
8
Isqueal as he dives for me, inhaling a lungful of salt water when a wave closes over my head. I surface with a burning throat, splashing Sawyer between hacking coughs. “Youasshole.”
“Get some new insults, Kensington,” he says, swimming away.
I huff and twist onto my back, floating along the surface as I stare up at the sky. It’s almost a full moon, bathing everything with a silvery glow that’s ethereal. I can’t remember the last time I felt this light, and it has nothing to do with buoyancy.
I feelnormal, swimming late at night with a boy I really like. No envy-inducing trust fund, no pending college decision, no polite answers to formulate.
My fingers and toes are pruned by the time we finally head ashore. Sand sticks to my feet as I step out of the shallows, the crunch of dried seaweed uncomfortable. At first, I think that’s what the sharp prick is. But it’s followed by a burst of pain and a warm trickle I’m concerned is blood.
“Shit,” I hiss, pausing.
“What?” Sawyer asks, stopping too.
“My foot. I stepped on?—”
