Page 13 of The Summer I First Saw You
“Fuck you, Christian!” I shout.
I’ve saidfuck youto him often since last winter, but this is the first time I’ve said ittriumphantly. He’s three thousand miles away, but I hope some part of him felt that.
I’m grinning as I dive off my board and paddle in, weak-legged with exhaustion as I finally climb from the water, pulling my board with me.
“You’re good,” shouts a guy coming in behind me. “I didn’t expect it.”
I scoot out of his way. “I’m not sure if I’m flattered or insulted.”
He laughs, shaking his hair from his face as he rips off his leash. “Definitely be flattered. We don’t get a lot of girls out here and you’re new—that’s all I meant. You’re staying with the rich guy, right? Big house across the street?”
I bristle. I know what I look like, but I resent that it’s theonly thing men see in me, and though I suggested to Harrison that I didn’t mind people thinking I was an escort or a sugar baby, I do care a little.
“He’s, like, my uncle,” I say, my voice more defensive than it should be.
He raises a brow. I guess saying Harrison’s,like,my uncle doesn’t sound all that much better than saying he’s,like,paying me to blow him every night.
“No, seriously. He’s one of my uncle’s best friends. It’s not like that.”
We walk up the stairs together. “A bunch of us go down to this bar near Pleasure Point if you want to meet up,” he says. “I mean…if you’re free, and it wouldn’t piss off youruncle’s friendor whatever.”
I laugh over my shoulder at him as I reach the sidewalk. “I swear I’m not a prostitute and he’s not some jealous boyfriend—”
But the words fall away when I look across the street. Harrison is in the driveway, glaring at me.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he demands.
He sure as hell sounds like a jealous boyfriend.
9
HARRISON
Iwoke hoping Daisy was still asleep, so I could sneak out of the house without seeing her. And sure, I wanted to avoid some ridiculous harassment about my work schedule or my drinking or whatever bullshit a twenty-one-year-old freeloader who’s blackmailing me deemsproblematic, but mostly, I didn’t want to face her after the dream I had last night, a dream which began with her doing yoga on the deck and ended with her naked on all fours, swearing no one could see us because my balcony was made of bulletproof glass.
My balcony is not made of bulletproof glass and I doubt it would help much with transparency even if it was, but you can’t control what your subconscious comes up with. And you shouldn’t have to feel guilty about a dream you couldn’t have controlled in the first place…but you probably should feel guilty about what you did once you woke up from it.
I was so hard that it hurt when I reached into my boxers. Three hard tugs and I was spilling over my hand, with her name hissed from my lips.
It was an intense relief, under the circumstances, not to find her downstairs, bent in half on my deck. I was safe fromanother uncomfortable interaction, safe from the guilt of seeing her blinking up at me all blue-eyed and flushed and innocent, knowing how veryun-innocentshe’d looked in my head a few hours before, begging me to fuck her harder.
Even if I resented having to flee my own home to get away from her, I was grateful it was even an option. Gratitude that ended the moment I realized one of the goddamn surfboards was no longer leaning against the wall.
After I’d asked so very little of her, she’d gone across the street to surf anyway. And I am going to drag her ass out of that water in a goddamn suit and tie if I have to.
I’m marching down the driveway like an irate father when she appears—radiant, with long hair dripping over her shoulders, surfboard under one arm, yukking it up with the guy walking behind her. Her happiness pisses me off.Hishappiness pisses me off. The way they both stop short when they see me, as if I’m a cop here to bust up their underage party, pisses me off most.
I’ve never had the urge to spank someone before, but I sure have one now.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I demand.
Daisy gives the guy a shrug and crosses the street toward me.
“Well done, my dude,” she says. “I was just trying to convince that guy that I’m not an escort, and you come out here looking like a sexy but jealous customer.”
Sexy?
Not the point, Harrison.
