Sawyer’s chin jerks toward the clearing. “Boys are worried you’ll drown.”
Not the snide brunette, I note.
“And you’re not?”
“Birds can fly. Right,Wren?”
I snort, attempting to ignore the silly flip that appeared when he said my name like a lilting taunt. Whenever I get home tonight, I know I’m going to lie in bed and replay the sound on repeat.
“What are you, some kind of ornithologist?”
“At least insult me with words I understand.”
I tilt my head as I study him. “You get underestimated a lot?”
There’s a brief flash of … something before his expression shutters back to neutrality. Enough of a reaction to tell me I hit a nerve.
“You’re stalling,” he states flatly.
“You’re deflecting,” I retort. “Or do you not know what that means either?”
“I see it happen all the time,” Sawyer continues like I said nothing. “Tourists looking for a little thrill, sick of sitting around while their staff does all the work. They take a boat out during a storm or drive too fast, andwewind up having to risk our own necks or the cops get a ‘donation’ to look the other way.” He shakes his head, jaw clenched. “Fucking idiots.”
“Sounds like you have some issues,” I inform him.
“Just a short fuse for people with a lot of money,” he replies.
“I have a lot of money.”
“I know,” he says, dark and sardonic.
I spin and poke the center of his chest with one finger. It’s solid muscle. Sawyer doesn’t shift back a single inch.
“That doesn’t mean you know a damn thing about me.”
“You jumping or not, Wren?”
I like the way he frames it, like it’s my choice.
I love the way he says my name. Softer, missing the sharp, mocking edge from before. I’m unsteady again, and the vertigo has nothing to do with uneven footing or surprise.
I reach for the silver chain around Sawyer’s neck to anchor myself, using it to yank his head down closer to my height. Still, I have to rise up on my tippy-toes to reach his mouth.
My lips collide with a pair that is warm and soft. I run my tongue along the length of his lower lip, inhaling his startled exhale. Smile proudly because my initial impression of Sawyer is, he’s not someone who gets caught off guard often or easily.
“In case I’m about to die,” I explain, releasing his chain and patting his hot, firm chest.
Then I turn, run, and jump off the edge.
The plummeting fall from the bluff lasts just long enough for me to second-guess my decision.
Cool water closes around my head as I sink beneath the surface of the sea. I savor the silence and darkness and weightlessness for a few seconds, then kick hard to the surface to inhale a deep breath. Shout my success at the pastel sky overhead, the exalted sound getting lost in the whipping wind and splashing surf.
Another head breaks through the waves, about ten feet away, startling me. I blink rapidly at Sawyer as my limbs churn to keep me afloat, my eyes stinging with saltiness.
He jumped in after me.
I don’t know how I should feel about that, if it was a nonvote of confidence in my abilities, but I know how Idofeel about it. Warmth spreads through my chest and into my extremities, chasing the ocean’s chill away as I tread water.
