Yes! I want you to prove it. My body is screaming,Prove ituntil my eyes roll back in my head and I can’t walk properly.“Sure. I dare you to prove it on this very public, very crowded beach,” I shoot back instead. “I mean you’ll be fine when your junk is on the Internet and no one wants you to endorse anything except condoms, right?”
His sly smile falters. I turn and head for the shore. He’s right behind me; seconds later his hands are on my shoulders as we make our way out of the surf. My beach cover-up, a short white gauzy cotton dress, is sticking to me everywhere and completely see-through. I start to tug it off, making sure my bathing suit doesn’t go with it.
When I glance up at Avery, he’s staring down at my body, and his light brown eyes have darkened to the color of espresso. I feel a rush of heat ripple through my veins again. “You’re looking at me like I’m a meal,” I whisper.
“I bet you’re delicious.”
Holy shit.
I swallow and try to clear my head, because it suddenly feels very foggy as I search for a reason he’s coming on to me—one that I can live with. “You’re drunk.”
“So are you,” he replies, and takes a step toward me so he’s right on top of me now. Our wet, nearly naked bodies are almost touching.
I’m not drunk, but he doesn’t need to know that. For some reason it feels safer if I let him think I am.
He dips his head closer to my ear, the water from his hair dripping onto my shoulder as he asks, “Wanna make horny, drunk, crazy decisions together?”
“Avery! Hey!”
The greeting is like a cattle prod to me. I take a quick step back from Avery, and his head snaps up. His flirty, happy demeanor and smiling face morph into a look of frustration. He swears. “What the fuck?!”
I shield my eyes from the sun and glance down the beach. A few feet away are two girls. One blonde and one redhead. I don’t recognize either. “Fans?”
Avery sighs and runs a hand through his hair, sending salty water droplets everywhere. “No. Jesus Christ…that’s Liz.”
His ex-girlfriend?! Is he serious?
He storms off in the opposite direction of the main group, where the two girls have come to a stop. They’re both glaring at me. When he’s close enough, the blonde rips her death stare from me, morphs her expression into a smile and plasters herself to Avery in a hug.
I wrench my eyes away and make my way back up to the party. When I get there, I grab my towel off the chair from earlier and dry off.
Alex is doing the same. He grins. “Did you drown Avery? Beau will be thrilled.”
I glance over my shoulder to where he’s still talking to the blonde and the redhead. “He’s over there. With his ex-girlfriend.”
“What? But she lives in New Brunswick!”
I appreciate his total lack of understanding over the situation, because that’s how I feel too. When he looks at me, stunned, I just shrug.
“Which one is she?” he asks.
“I think the blonde, but I don’t know.”
“Well, I’m going to find out.”
Alex drops his towel and starts down the beach toward the trio. I do the opposite, wrapping my towel around myself and marching off the beach toward Ty’s place. After I’ve located my beach bag and pulled a clean T-shirt on over my bikini, I head back outside, but the group has disappeared, Alex included.
An hour later, I’m trying my best to forget about Avery and enjoy the party, but people are talking. Alex, especially, is talking. He’d come back a few minutes ago to report that Liz and her friend had decided to come here on vacation. Apparently Liz had thought it would be fun, and she was actually going to surprise Avery tomorrow with a visit, but running into him on the beach was a perfect coincidence. I didn’t ask where they were now and he didn’t volunteer the information.
Finally, at around ten, when only a handful of us remained around the dying fire, I curled up in a chair and watched the embers. I woke up to someone giving me a small shake. “Come on, Steph. Let’s get you home.”
The fire was gone and I was cold—and somehow still tipsy. I’d had a couple more mojitos. I have to remember to rein it in. No more booze for me. I need to get back on track. Alcohol has never been my trigger and it was never my problem—as a teenager I had popped my first pill before I even tasted a beer—but I trusted recovery specialists when they said it could be a slippery slope.
I look up at Alex Larue’s big, round, smiling face. He gently grabs my arms near my elbows and lifts me to my feet.
“Where is everyone?” I ask, and notice two other people wandering up the path to Ty’s place. I think it’s Nikolai and the girl he brought named Nadya.
“Some went home. Some are crashing at Ty’s, and he’s crashing at your place,” Alex explains.
