“Yeah.” I grab the door handle, pushing it open with my shoulder. “I’m going to wait for Weston.”
“Ah.” Mom nods, hazel eyes sparkling mischievously. “Okay.”
“We’re friends,” I snap.
“Mm-hmm.” She smiles, peeling off her wetsuit and shimmying down to the yellow one-piece she’s wearing beneath it. “I used to befriendswith the bad boy surfer too.”
Am I that transparent?
“Just be careful, okay?” Mom asks. “I like Weston a lot, but I don’t want you to jump into anything too fast, before you’ve had time to process everything you’ve been through this summer—and all that he’s gone through too.” At my frown, she pulls me in for a hug, pressing her lips to my forehead. “Give the both of you some grace, some time to grow into this friendship.” Pulling back, she smiles at me with sparkling eyes. “Because falling in love with your best friend is the greatest feeling in the world.”
I respond with a resigned nod before my mom spins and strides off toward the house. Stripping out of my wetsuit and adjusting the straps of my green bikini before I gather it up, along with the rest of them, I toss them in the corner of the garage to be washed later. Next, I drag each of the heavy bags that contain the inflatable paddleboards inside and prop them up in the corner where my dad stores them, dusting off the dried sand.
I begin a load of laundry—mostly beach towels—and empty out the ice chests my cousins lugged up here earlier this morning.
I know my mom means well, and while my dad and I haven’t discussed it, I have high doubts he’d disagree with anything she says. Plus, Weston mentioned my father told him to stay away from me. That pissed me off, and the familiar vexation surges in me now. I understand they’re protective of me, especially after what I’ve gone through, but their misplaced concern ignites a defensive flame in me.
Despite only knowing him a few weeks, Weston has proven time and again to be nothing but respectful and kind. He’s also funny. He constantly makes me laugh, and his aura is addicting. I crave his presence because I feel good around him. Less broken, and more like me.
We both tried to fight that at first—him because he needs to focus on his future, and me because I need to get mine back ontrack, but I think we’ve both realized now that we’re better when we’re together, and I can’t see how it could be wrong to lean into that feeling.
Then there is the aspect of Weston that I nearly made a fool of myself by admitting last night when I was drunk: thedesire.For months, I’ve struggled to look in the mirror, struggled to feel anything other than disgust and disappointment with my own body. Not to mention the physical side effects of my abortion—I woke up this morning to find that I was spotting.Again.
My libido has not only been nonexistent, but fighting against me. That is, until Weston entered the picture. Now he’s the image behind my eyes every time they’re closed. He’s the spark between my thighs, and the touch reigniting my dormant desire.
I want him, and while I want to nurture this budding friendship between us at the same time, I don’t know how much longer I can go without his touch.
As I’m organizing the extra drinks in the garage fridge, I hear the hum of distant voices growing louder.
“You did well today. I think it’s time to take you out of the cove and have you begin practicing on larger waves. There are a couple spots up the coastline I’d like to take you to, so we’ll start on Monday,” my dad’s voice echoes outside the garage.
“Okay,” Weston replies. “That sounds great.”
“Can you put the boards away for me? The house is a fucking mess, and I don’t want Darby having to clean up inside alone.”
“Absolutely. I’ll take care of it.”
Dad’s Crocs squeak with each step he makes against the concrete outside before the garage door creaks open, and Weston enters, wetsuit folded at his hips as he holds a board in each hand.
He’s beautiful.
Wet, dark hair falls at the center of his forehead, thick brows hover over those gray-blue eyes, widening when he notices me.He licks his lips, swallowing as a bead of water runs down the center of his bare chest. I watch until it disappears.
“Hey,” he says, breaking my trance, stripping out of his wetsuit and down to the pair of swim shorts he’s wearing beneath it.
“Hi. I waited for you.”
“Did you?”
My eyes are still locked on his waist, and I take a slow perusal of his chest, raking them back up his body, catching his gaze again. “I did. I have a question for you.”
“I suppose I must have an answer for you.” He grins, walking the boards over to the corner of the garage and sliding one into the stands before propping the other onto the shaping board. “Don’t let me forget to wax those later.”
I nod as he leans against the wall, crossing his arms, settling in. Nerves prick my stomach, and I’m suddenly filled with apprehension. I breathe deep, summoning all my courage. “You said last night you’re afraid. Of never experiencing the full range of emotion. Love and intimacy.”
His brows draw together in surprise, before he huffs a laugh, rubbing his jaw and dropping his gaze to his feet. “You remember?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
