Lawless (6 page)

Two days later and Lawson is in my driveway again. It’s becoming a habit. A thing. A thing that doesn’t feel insane anymore and that’s what’s so damn freaky about it.

“I feel bad about this,” I tell him, lowering myself carefully into Lawson’s car.

He doesn’t help me but he waits until I’m inside before getting into his seat behind the wheel. When he turns on the engine cold air blasts blissfully from the vents, making me sigh in relief.

My fever is gone but this summer is a scorcher. We’re only a week away from July and the temperatures are already kissing the underside of one hundred during the day and dropping down to the seventies at night if we’re lucky. It’s cooler down by the water and I hear from Katy that parties have been going on just about every night. I also hear that Lawson is always there and that he rarely goes home alone.

“It’s no problem. I’m down there all the time anyway,” he promises me. “The surfing in Malibu is insane.”

“Better than Isla Azul?”

“Everything is better than Isla Azul,” he mumbles, backing out of my driveway and quickly pulling us away from my neighborhood.

I’m grateful my dad is at work at the body shop. He wouldn’t be happy to see me in a car with Lawson, though I’m sure he’ll hear about it through the grapevine before we even make it out of town.

I wonder, in the version he hears will I be wearing any underwear?

I point to the roof of the car where I saw a surfboard strapped to the top. “What’s her name?”

Lawson grins. “Didn’t I introduce you the other night?”

“No. Super rude of you.”

“Christa.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Christa?”

“What’s wrong with Christa?”

“I don’t know. I think I prefer Layla, though.”

“Yeah,” he agrees heavily. “Me too.”

I sneak a glance at him. His tone is almost sad but his face is perfectly calm. At ease.

“Why don’t you still use her?” I ask.

He smiles, leaning his body to the left against the door and expertly driving us down the coast with one hand. “Aren’t you the one who gave me a hard time for surfing at all after what happened? Now you want me to use the same board I brought you to shore on?”

“Like you care what I think,” I laugh. “You’re still surfing. Why not use the board you love?”

“I told you. She’s retired.”

“Because of me?”

“Yeah.”

I blink, staggered by the honesty of his answer. “I wouldn’t care if you used it. The idea doesn’t bother me.”

“Of course it doesn’t,” he jabs under his breath.

“What?”

He looks at me briefly, appraising my expression, and decides to shift the gears on the conversation. “Look, it’s not a big deal. That board…” he laughs to himself, shifting his hand on the steering wheel. “You’re gonna make fun of me for this.”

“For what?”

“That board has a weird vibe now.”

“I jinxed your board?”

“Not you. Not specifically. More like that day.”

“Does it have bad juju? Can you get a gypsy woman to lift the curse?”

He shakes his head. “I knew you’d make fun of it.”

“You’re being serious?”

“I was, yeah.”

“Sorry,” I apologize, trying to sound contrite.

The truth is that I
do
get it. I understand that almost all athletes are at least a little bit superstitious, so it doesn’t exactly shock me that Lawson hung up the board I bled on. What’s throwing me for a loop is the ‘vibe’ comment. It’s a little earthy, a little too spiritual of a term for a guy I’ve always seen as nothing but a beer swigging, pot smoking, sex fiend. I’m still getting used to Lawson being a human being. He’s been a caricature to me for so long – a hot guy with a cocky grin, a board under his feet, beer in his hand, and a joint between his lips – that it’s hard to wrap my head around him being… I don’t know. Real, I guess.

“It’s alright. Christa’s a good board,” he says with a shrug. “She’s solid. I’ll stick with her until I find another one like Layla.”

“Does the board make that big of a difference? I mean, you’re crazy talented. I would think you could surf any board any time.”

He looks at me sideways, his brows raised skeptically. “Can you play any piano any time, to perfection?”

“Yes.”

He laughs at my bold answer, the sound rough and rumbling in the small interior of the car. It swirls around me, coming in close. Pressing against me, edging out the cold air and warming my skin.

“Alright, yeah, ‘cause you’re good,” he says, still chuckling. “But would you enjoy it? Can you love the music you’re making out of any piano anyone puts in front of you, or does it matter? If you were told the keys were real ivory and an animal was killed to make them, would you feel good about pressing them?”

I sigh, relenting. “Yeah, you’re right. It would make a difference. I wouldn’t want to touch that piano. I definitely wouldn’t want to make music on it.”

“And if you’re not loving it, then why do it?”

“I’m surprised you knew I play piano.”

He scoffs. “Come on, Rach, give me some credit. We’ve gone to school together since we were five. I know you play the piano. Shit, you played at graduation!”

“You remember that?” I ask doubtfully.

“It was only three years ago.”

“Yeah, but I assumed you were baked out of your mind at the time.”

He smiles, his throat constricting with a silent chuckle. “Unless Kermit the Frog really was our valedictorian, yeah. I was baked. But I remember you playing and I remember it being beautiful.”

“What’d I play?”

He briefly meets my eyes and my challenge head on. No hesitation. No doubts.

“
Today
,” he answers confidently. “Smashing Pumpkins. Fucking. Beautiful.”

I smile. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

“Why not? You remembered that I was baked.”

“You were always baked.”

“And you were always being beautiful,” he replies quietly. Earnestly.

It’s the second time he’s called me beautiful in as many days and, yeah, I’m counting. I’m trying to watch my back here. I’m in dangerous waters. Murky, uncharted waters, and I’m trying to see the sandbar this time before it’s too late.

***

They give me a stool along with a tank top a size too small for me that says ‘Ambrose Surf’ across the front. It rides up to nearly my belly button and I’d tug it down to cover my midriff if that didn’t mean the top would pop right off my breasts. But I let it go because whatever. Seriously, that’s where I’m at with the whole job thing. With this summer in general. Whatever. I need the money and if I was a bartender or a waitress at one of these clubs here in Malibu, they’d be asking me to wear the same. Probably worse.

The assistant manager, Marvin, sets me up at the register. He asks me if I’ve ever used a cash register before, I say I have, and he walks away. That’s my training. It’s a pretty laid back place and I notice right away that what it really is more than a store is a hang out. There are times all throughout the day that Marvin and the owner, Don, spend over an hour shooting the shit with customers about pretty much everything under the sun and in the surf. They swap stories, talk waves, and when a regular comes in for no other discernible reason than to say ‘what’s up’, they’re greeted at the door like Norm walking into Cheers.

“Law!”

He walks in slowly, one hand in the pocket of his cargo shorts, the other waving to the room of seven or so guys greeting him.

“’Sup,” he says in return, his voice deep and subdued. He moves slowly across the room, lazily, as though he’s still in the water. Like he’s floating and drifting with the tide.

I watch him and I wonder if his mellow is from a day in the curl or if he’s had some kind of herbal refreshment.

“You guys been good to my girl?” he asks, nodding toward me at the register.

“Not your girl,” I clarify to the room.

“Not yet.”

I laugh, standing slowly to avoid having to look him in the face. I don’t want him to see me blush at his words.

He comes over to the counter and leans against it. With me standing it puts him eye level with my boobs. “You want to give it a try yet?” he asks me, his voice hushed.

“Try what?” I mock whisper.

“Saying my name. Feeling that rush.”

“I’ve said your name recently. I think the last time I did it I felt angry.”

“That’s the problem. You only say it when you’re mad at me. Try it now.”

“Who says I’m not mad at you now?”

He smiles up at me, his eyes dancing green waters. “What’s the matter, Rachel? Are you scared you’ll like it?”

“Did that do it for you just then? Saying my name?”

He lays his bare arm out on counter, never breaking eye contact. “It gave me goosebumps.”

I chuckle, looking down at his tan skin covered in sun-bleached hairs. Hairs that are standing on end.

My smile fades, my eyes jumping back to his. He’s waiting for me.

“I wouldn’t lie to you,” he mumbles. “I meant it. Every time I say your name I get chills.”

I swallow hard. “That’s not normal.”

“No, it’s not.” He stands up slowly, a smile building on his lips as he backs away. “But I like it. Rachel.”

He’s too far away to tell if it happens again, but I know it does. I know he feels that shiver, that thrill, and the freaky part isn’t that it happens. It’s that I
hope
it happened.

These waters are not only murky.

They’re black as midnight.

When my shift is over Lawson is still there in the store. It’s been almost two hours but he hangs out in the corner with the guys, a group that grows and thins every twenty minutes or so, but it’s always there in some shape or form. But when Lawson is there, he’s the center of it. He’s the one with the stories they all ask to hear, the one people introduce their friends to. He’s the one who draws in a crowd and I smile as I watch him, thinking he’s better for business than I would be sitting here completely naked. People love him whether they know him or not because he’s a legend. He’s a king in their community, and as I watch people circle around him I wonder what that’s like. I wonder if this gives him goosebumps too.

“You ready to go?” he asks me when my shift is over.

I nod, grabbing my T-shirt I was wearing when I came in and following him to the door. He holds it open for me, waving goodbye to his fan club when he follows me outside. I make sure I’m out of view of the store windows before I pull my shirt on over the tank top, covering myself up.

Lawson laughs at me. “It’s not that bad.”

“No, it’s not,” I concede. “But my dad wouldn’t like it and he has friends down here. If it got back to him that I was walking down the street with the girls busting out I’d never hear the end of it.”

“Would it be worse than if he found out I drove you?”

“Probably not, but I’m sure that’s circulated the town already.”

He nods heavily. “Probably before we made it out of your driveway.”

“I love Isla Azul, but I hate that about it,” I say sourly.

“The gossip?”

“Yeah. Everybody knows everybody’s business.”

“And if you manage to keep a secret, everybody knows you have a secret.”

“And they guess at it, making up stories that are bigger than the actual secret.”

When we get to the car he opens my door for me, actually taking hold of my elbow gently and helping me lower myself into the car. His face is vacant, his eyes far away, and I don’t think he realizes he’s doing it. He’s running on auto-pilot and apparently that pilot is a tad chivalrous. I’m sure he’ll still sip whiskey in the cockpit and feel up a stewardess by the bathrooms, but he’ll be sweet about it. He’ll make her feel like a lady.

“I wanna take you somewhere,” he tells me abruptly.

I pause with my seatbelt in my hands, looking up at him as he leans in between the open door and the car. “Where? Here in Malibu?”

“No. In Isla Azul.”

“Where?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“I don’t know if you’ll understand this or not,” I warn him slowly, “but lately I’m not a big fan of surprises.”

He smiles. “It’s a good surprise. It’ll get the gossips going.”

“I don’t want you to get me pregnant.”

“What?” he chuckles.

“Sure it’d be good for a laugh, shake the town up and shame my family, but then I’m strapped with a baby. Your baby, and that’s just unnerving.”

“I’m not going to get you pregnant,” he swears. “I’m not even going to kiss you.”

I look out the windshield, debating. It’ll be dark by the time we get home. He knows that. I’ve lived my entire life in that town – what could he possibly hope to surprise me with? And how am I going to see it in the dark?

In the end it’s that, the curiosity, that gets me.

“Alright, yeah,” I tell him with a shrug. “Let’s do it.”

“You’ll probably regret this.”

I laugh. “You’re supposed to tell me I
won’t
regret it.”

“I know,” he says seriously, “but I don’t want to lie to you.”

An hour later the sun has set, we’ve made it to Isla Azul, and I know exactly where we’re going.

“This is a make out spot,” I tell him accusingly.

He parks us on the bluff overlooking the ocean where it drifts off to infinity as it merges with the night sky. We’re far from the lights of any town on the coast and the stars are out in full force as a cool breeze blows in through the open windows. He’s even opened the sunroof so I can see up above us where the moon hangs happy and heavy in the sky.

“For some people, yeah, it’s a make out spot,” he acknowledges.

“For you for sure. I’ve heard stories from the whore’s mouth a few times about you and—“

“Whoa, whoa,” he laughs, holding up his hands in a T symbol. “Time out. What’d you say? You heard stories from where?”

“The horse’s mouth.”

“That’s not what you said.”

“What’d I say?”

His shoulders shake with laughter as he lets his head fall back against the seat. “You said ‘whore’s mouth’.”

I slap his arm hard. “No, I didn’t!”

“Yes, you did! Clear as day.”

I look out the windshield at the darkness, trying to remember. “Oh God, did I?”

“Yep.”

“Well, that’s telling.”

“You think any girl that hooks up with me is a whore.”

“That’s not true.”

He rolls his head toward me, his eyes narrowed skeptically. “Come on.”

“Alright, yes,” I relent. “Maybe I do.”

“That’s kind of bitchy.”

“Did you just call me a bitch?”

“No, I said it’s kind of bitchy to assume all of my girlfriends are whores.”

I quirk my eyebrow at him dubiously. “Really?”

He smiles and shrugs. “Okay, maybe not girlfriends. More like…”

“Conquests?”

“No, that’s not what it’s about.”

“What’s it about then?”

“Being alone.”

I freeze, unsure what to do with that. It’s so boldly honest, so blatantly raw that it stuns me. I wasn’t expecting it and now that it’s out there and I’m ignoring it I feel like I’m blowing it. Like there should be some perfect response to that statement that will get him talking, get him to open up further and then… what? I’ll make it all better? I’ll fix him? We’ll be there for each other so the world isn’t so lonely because, hey, guess what?

I’m alone too.

“Interim intimates,” I tell him with a smile I don’t feel.

He chuckles with amusement he doesn’t mean. “Perfect.”

“And no, I don’t really think they’re all whores.”

“But you think I am.”

“You’ve slept around a lot,” I remind him.

“How many people have you slept with?”

Three
.

“No way,” I chuckle. “I’m not playing this game.”

“It’s not a game.”

“Are you sure? Because it’s so much fun.”

“How many?”

“How many have
you
slept with?”

“Eight,” he answers instantly, his face so serious it’s almost too much.

I eye him uncertainly. “They say a guy will always double his number but with you I’m inclined to think you’d cut it in half.”

He smiles. “It’s eight. No math required.”

“Good God, I think I actually believe you,” I sigh sadly.

“What?” he asks defensively. “Eight’s not that bad.”

“No, it’s not. That’s not what’s bothering me.”

“It bothers you that you trust me?”

“A little bit.”

He winces. “Ouch.”

“Three.”

Now I have his attention. He sits up and turns toward me. “You’ve slept with three guys?”

“Yes.”

“Anyone I know?”

Yes.

“No.”

“You’re lying.”

“You probably are too.”

He grins slyly, the light from the dashboard casting shadows over his face, painting him a villain.

“Maybe.”

“How many?” I insist.

“Nine.”

“Baker.”

His eyes go wide, his mouth dropping open. “Baker Baker? My boy Baker?”

I smile faintly. “Well, at the time he was more
my boy
Baker.”

He grins, offering me his knuckles. “Respect.”

“No.”

“Come on,” he pleads, shaking his fist eagerly.

I sigh before bumping it.

“Nice,” he says, sitting back in his seat happily. “I can’t believe Baker never told me.”

“Remind me to thank him for that.”

“You shouldn’t have to.”

“You don’t get to police all of my niceties, Law.”

He rolls his head toward me. “Cheater.”

“At what?”

“You shortened it. Say it, the whole thing.”

I shake my head, looking away. “Are you still on this?”

“I will be until you try.”

“That’ll be fun for me.”

“You won’t because you’re scared you’ll like it.” He crosses his arms over his chest, settling in and closing his eyes. “I think you’re scared of a lot of things.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Okay.”

“
Lawson
,” I pronounce emphatically. “There. I said it and I didn’t feel anything.”

“You didn’t say it right.”

I groan, letting my head fall back and closing my eyes as well. I listen to the sound of the ocean outside the windows. The rush of the wind. It’s like breathing. In and out. Slow and steady. It falls in time with the rhythm of Lawson’s breath, taking mine with it until the interior of the car and the exterior of the world are in sync. Until I can’t tell where it ends and I begin. I feel myself drifting away on the water, in the dark. I should be afraid but I’m not. I can feel him there with me. I can hear him and smell him and if I wanted to I know I could touch him. And I do – I want to. I want to hold his hand the way I did when he pulled me up. But I don’t because it won’t be the same this time.

This time Lawson Daniel can’t save me.

This time he’ll ruin me.

***

“Rachel.”

I frown, blinking roughly trying to clear my sight but no matter how many times I do it I still can’t see a thing. For a second I panic, not sure where I am, but then I remember. The bluff. The car.

Lawson’s car.

I open my eyes wide, taking in the darkness. His dashboard is blank, just a faint outline of black on black. The sea continues to roar outside because it never stops, not for anyone or anything, and the few cars that were with us before are gone now. We’re alone. Just me and Lawson Daniel hovering somewhere between the big, wide ocean and the endless sky above us.

It’s disorienting. I’m still waking up, still half asleep, caught halfway between heaven and earth, and when his lips touch mine I’m somewhere else entirely. I’m in the air and under the water. I’m drowning and I’m flying.

His hand cups my face, warm and calloused the way I remember it. The way I want it to be. It’s what I need,
he’s
what I need, and I open like a lock dying to be sprung, my lips parting and welcoming his tongue with mine. His hand slips back into my hair, holding me more firmly to him, and I whimper somewhere in the back of my throat. A small needy sound that sends his breathing ragged and brings him closer to me. He’s nearly on top of me and I want him there. I want him pressing down on me. I want his hands. I want his breath, his lips, his scent, his eyes.

I want
him
.

And he knows it because Lawson Daniel always knows.

He reaches around and pulls a lever that lowers my seatback. He guides it down slowly until I’m lying on my back, but then he’s gone. He’s over the center console, into the back seat, and he’s pulling me with him. He’s helping me climb and fumble back with him until he’s laying down and I’m straddling his waist and my shirt is disappearing along with his shorts. Then mine. Then his shirt. My bra. His boxers.

It happens so fast, like magic or lightning. One minute I’m asleep the next I’m in nothing but my underwear looking down into those perfect green of his eyes as he rolls on a condom, and I’m wondering how I got here. I’m wondering how long I can stay.

Lawson touches me slowly. He caresses every piece of exposed skin he can find, searching for more until I’m naked and shivering, writhing against him, and he’s groaning in this tortured way that makes me feel alive and beautiful. Powerful. I run my fingertips slowly across his skin, gently as though I’m feeling out a new piano, and I feel it pebble with chills and excitement. With the rush.

And I want it. I want it more than my next breath. I want it more than I want sex, more than I want him. More than I want to leave this town and so much more than I want to stay. I want to feel that excitement, to feel like I crave and fear something so much that my body reacts to it in a primal way.

He looks up at me with hooded eyes full of everything I’m feeling and his hands are on my hips and I’m hunching down as I rise up, hovering above him. I slip down slowly, letting him in. All of him. Every inch, every ounce, every breath he breathes and shuddering gasp he makes is mine inside my chest. I echo it and I feel my entire body come alive like fire as I move against him.