Page 2 of Wilder Love
“The beach.” After I said it, I wasn’t sure if he was talking about where I was headed after Costa del Rey, which I didn’t know, or where I was headed at this moment. I looked down the narrow, winding street, as if I had a plan of action. I had no idea where the beach was from here. I had a lousy sense of direction, something Dylan found baffling.
“Well… catch you later.” I hopped on my skateboard and took off down the street. It was better to beat people to the punch. I hated being left behind. Better to be the one who did the leaving.
He called after me, but I didn’t hear what he said. I was already gone, cruising down the street, my wheels eating up the asphalt. White-washed houses, palm trees, and hot pink tropical bushes zipped past. Bougainvillea, I’d later find out—that was what the tropical bushes were called.
At this early hour, it was quiet, the town still sleeping. Bathed in an amber glow, Costa del Rey was a dream town. Like something from a movie set. But I knew better than to get too attached. We never stayed in one place long enough to put down roots. We were ramblers. Free spirits, Mom called us, as if that made us special. She always claimed it was something everyone wanted but were too afraid to be. She was wrong though. People wanted to feel like they belonged somewhere. Like they’d found a home. But I never bothered arguing with her. She wouldn’t listen anyway.
In my peripheral, I saw the Jeep following along beside me, music drifting from the open windows. It was chilled-out music, bluesy with some soul. This guy was the quintessential cliched surfer dude. “If you’re headed to the beach, you’re going the wrong way,” he said conversationally.
Well, that didn’t surprise me.
“Is it far from here?”
“A five-minute drive.”
“So, at the speed you’re going…” Sloth speed.
“A hell of a lot longer.” He didn’t sound particularly bothered by that, like he had all the time in the world and this was no inconvenience.
“Are you headed in the right direction?”
“In a car, yes. On foot, no. It’s a one-way street and you’re headed east.”
“I’m following the sun.”
“Okay.” I thought I could hear his smile, but I wasn’t looking at him, so I couldn’t confirm that.
“I’ll give you a lift,” he said finally.
“Do you always offer rides to total strangers?”
“Only the ones who are beachbound before seven in the morning.”
“How do I know you’re not a serial killer?”
“Leap of faith.”
“I’ve already used up my lifetime quota of those.”
He laughed, and I joined in as if it had been a joke. I wasn’t looking at him. I was scared it would be too blinding. Or that he’d see too much. Hood rat. White trash. Slut. Whore’s daughter. Smokin’ hot. I’ve heard it all. I wasn’t ready to chance it that he’d see the same thing other guys did. I don’t know. Maybe I wanted him to see something good in me. Something that went beyond the outer package.
“A beautiful girl like you… why, you can get anything you want,” Mom always said. “You’ll see, baby. You’ll see how far beauty can take you in this world.”
Sometimes I thought my beauty was more of a curse than a blessing. It attracted attention. In my experience, thewrongkind of attention.
“My name’s Shane, by the way.”
“Remy, by the way.”
“Remy,” he repeated, testing it out.
I was named after Remy Martin. Mom claimed it was top shelf, like me. I’d have to take her word for it. Our last name was St. Clair. Dylan and I suspected that she’d made it up because she thought it sounded fancy, although that had never been confirmed.
“What’s your best stroke?” he asked.
My best stroke? Oh right. I was wearing a swim team T-shirt. “Butterfly.” It was the first one that came to mind. I couldn’t swim the fly to save my life, but I lied all the time.
He chuckled. “Good try. But I’m not buying it.”
