Page 59 of Rebel Summer

“You were significantly less annoying tonight, so Ivy seemed fitting.”

We were quiet for a few minutes, but I found I didn’t want to go to sleep yet. Talking or hugging seemed to be the only way to calm my nerves. And Dax was all the way over there.

“What’s our plan if Lucas comes back?”

“I can’t believe you went out with a guy named Lucas.”

“I’ve known a few Lucases, and they’ve all been nice,” I insisted.

“Complete prep school wasters.”

Despite myself, I laughed. “What’s our plan?”

“I’m going to go to sleep. If he comes, you take him out this time. I’m tired.”

I laid back against my pillow with a smile. The wind still hummed, and the windows still rattled, but the noise no longer bothered me. I did, however, find it ironic that, out of all the people on this island, Dax Miller was the only one I wanted on my couch tonight.

Several loud bangs jolted me awake. I sat upright in my bed while I looked around in confusion. For as rocky as the night started, once Dax had settled onto my couch, sleep had come easily. Another loud thump at the door. I grabbed my phone off the nightstand. It was 1:00 am. Dax flung his blanket off the couch and strode toward the door. I wasn’t about to leave Dax alone to face a drunk Lucas on the other side, so I scrambled over to where he was standing, his hand on the knob, ready to turn.

“Wait,” I whisper-shouted, grabbing his hand to hold him off. “What are you doing?” I motioned toward the door. “Where’s the peephole?”

“It doesn’t have one.”

“What?” I exploded in a soft-aggressive-whisper kind of way. “Why not?”

“I haven’t put one in yet.” His shrug was so casual. Dax’s eyes drifted down at my bare legs clad in green shorts that hit me mid-thigh before glancing away. It was then that I realized underneath my cute, matching silky short-sleeved top, I wasn’t wearing a bra. Nope. Last night, once I was settled under my covers and was certain Dax wouldn’t see, I peeled off the inhumane contraption so I could sleep in comfort. I debated my next move. What if it wasn’t Lucas, and someone was in trouble or hurt, and I had to race to the hospital?

“Shoot! Just a second.” I scampered to the back bedroom, grabbed my bra off the floor, and dive-bombed into the bathroom in time for Dax to ignore me and open the door.

Inside the bathroom, my fingers fumbled with clasps and buttons. When I finally burst out, Dax stood, leaning against the frame of the door, holding it open just enough to show half of his body.

“Do you know where she is?” my dad’s voice broke through the quiet. It was one in the morning, and I was certain I was not in the mood for whatever he was here for.

Dax tossed a glance at me over his shoulder, controlled anger and defiance etched in the stiffness of his body.

He swung the door open wider, though still keeping a firm grip. But it was enough for my dad to see me walking out of the bathroom in my pajamas with my hair probably a fright.

But hey, at least I had a bra on.

My dad’s eyes widened as he took in the pair of us. Dax stood with his bare chest and gray joggers slung low on his hips. I had noticed his bare chest at the door earlier, but I thought it was going to be the thing that would scare off Lucas, so I allowed it to stay naked. Not that he would have put a shirt on at my request. But…now it was going to be the thing that ticked off my dad.

Dad looked at Dax as though he were a piece of trash one might find on the sidewalk. “Your influence knows no bounds.”

“This isn’t what it looks like,” I said.

Anger flooded my body at the way he looked at Dax, what he assumed about Dax, especially after the night we’d had. I didn’t owe him an explanation. But he was still my dad, and I knew how this looked, and I wasn’t about to go down on assumption alone.

“Dax lives on the other side of the duplex. He’s here right now because Lucas ended up being a jerk, and Dax stopped him from hurting me. He’s sleeping on my couch in case he comes back.”

My dad attempted to step across the threshold, but Dax’s arm remained firm, holding the door open but barring him access.

Clayton Brooks’s Wikipedia bio states him being five foot eleven. He was five foot nine on a good day; Dax towered over him. My dad grew more stone-faced, but he stepped back.

With a scoff, he motioned toward me with his hand. “Well, I’m not sure what to believe. That’s not the story Lucas told. You lied to me about where you were staying. Last week, if somebody would have called you a liar, I would have gone to my grave to deny it.”

Dax snorted.

He scowled at Dax. “You got something to say?”

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