Page 56 of Bewitched By the Sea Monster
I am selfish. But I am determined to never let that selfishness hurt Pippi.
I just want one night.
“You won’t let me drown, right?”she asks.
“Never.”
“You won’t letme drown, right?” Those words gurgled out of my throat as water danced over my toes. I’d climbed down the cliff, shed my shoes, rolled my jeans up to my knees, and had been prepared to step into the water, but now I had a major case of cold feet—literally.
Because the waves seethed and snarled at the intrusion to their space. The air thickened and the salt from the sea clogged my nose, making it hard to breathe. Even when a treacly breeze wandered through, my blouse and jeans were plastered to my skin, like slimy armor, guarding me from the cool air.
Why, why,whywas I doing this?
“Never,”Alistair said.
“Never what?”
“I’ll never let you drown. I’m right here. You’re safe.”
This said as another wave munched up the rock face, shooting a fizzing slosh of water over my feet and horking up a bit of sea gunk for good measure.
I made a noise halfway between a cry and a gag.
“Are you alright?” Alistair asked.
No.
I wasn’t sure if the sludgy stuff hugging my toes was seaweed, the guts of a dead fish, or something else entirely. And I didn’twantto know.
So I verified, “You’re still here, right?”
“Yes. Beneath you,” Alistair responded. “You’ll step off the rock and onto my head.” When I didn’t move, he added, “I like wearing you as a hat, it’s…fesh…fash…fashionable.”
A surprised laugh bubbled out of my stomach, expelling some of the fear and doubt with it. “Well”—I licked my lips as the next wave receded—“this hat is decorated quite nicely for you tonight.”
“Oh yes?”
“Yup.” My foot plinked into the water, sinking down, down, almost to my knee before it connected with something coarse, and warm. His head. “I’ve got my Levi’s on—and a vintage blouse.” My second foot went in, scraping down next to the first. “I found it in a thrift store. It’s the real deal—still had tags on it and everything. A Ralph Lauren, circa the early ‘90s. So, yeah. I’m always proud when I find stuff like this. I’m a bit of a thrifter nerd.”
“It looks…lovely.It’s almost the same as your hair. The color. R-r-run…” A soft jet of water plumed when he sighed.
“Red?” I supplied.
“Yes! Red. Like your hair. Both are lovely.”
The way he complimented me was quite lovely. Goodness. With that accent, and the way the words rolled off his tongue…er…well,would’verolled off, if he was speaking.
Lovely.
That was a dangerous sort of voice. With its deep timbre dropping almost to a purr, and the words spoken with such reverence—like I was truly the loveliest thing he’d seen in his life.
That was a voice that got girls in trouble.
“You’re a bit of a flirt, huh?” I asked.
“Flirt. Flirt? Flirt,” he chanted the word. “I’ve been called that before.”
“I’m sure you have.”
