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“I’ve got a few ideas. You’re not in Pennsylvania anymore, are you Dorothy?” His smile is ridiculously contagious.

“Yeah. It’s been an adjustment.”

“So, what brought you to our lovely hamlet? School? Family? Strapping young man who blows up your phone with inappropriate text messages while you’re at work?”

My face is on fire. I should deny it, but I don’t. I just let him stew in his vision for a minute. Let him think what he wants.

“Mostly school. And that young man? You know, I wouldn’t say he’s strapping, but he makes it worth my while,” I say with a wink.

His jaw goes slack. He’s surprised. And turned on.

“You’re trouble. I can tell.” He points at me and shakes his head slowly, his words trying to be stern around his grin. “I mean, the bikini was a dead giveaway, but that right there, what you just said? Hardcore proof.”

I grin back at him. Flirting is easier than admitting the real reasons I bailed. Because there was no way I was going to let my parents pay for school after everything that happened. Because I was determined to change my life and take care of myself.
              He takes a deep breath of salty, scrubbed-clean air and throws me another version of that lazy, sexy smile. “And let me get this straight. You’ve seriously never seen the ocean?”
              I nod. I don’t know why, but I feel embarrassed by this fact. Like I’m not as experienced. Or wordly or something. Probably because I’m not.
              “Awesome. Let’s do this up.” A confident smile covers his face.  He rests his rough hand on the small of my back to lead me toward the water.
              “Okay,” I say. But what I
want
to say is,
Can we leave because when you touch me all soft and sweet like that, I want you
.
Bad.
              We walk down the beach to the water. There are a half dozen guys on surfboards, sitting out in the vast expanse. Just sitting. I don’t get it at first. Until I really relax and
look
at the water.
              “So it’s safe to say you’ve never surfed? Unless there’s some kind of Pennsylvania lake and stream surfing we ocean dwellers don’t know about,” he says with a small laugh.
              “That’s a negative.” My feet sink into the soggy sad. It’s slimy and cold and wonderful.
              “I’ll teach you someday. If you want. But you need to be ready to surrender to me, body and soul. Surfing isn’t just a sport, it’s really an art form.” His eyes are a warm, light brown, and they shine when he talks about the ocean and surfing.
              The passion in his eyes transforms him in a way that’s even more appealing, even more crazily attractive, and it honestly throws me off balance. I’m already slipping dangerously deep into lust and maybe more than like. So I attempt to joke it away. “Oh Jesus, dramatic much?” I swat him playfully in the ribs before I realize. "Shit! I forgot about the tat. Sorry!"
              He cracks a smile around his wince and shakes his head. “Damn, you’re lucky you’re gorgeous.”
              We stand there for a while, like the surfers out in the water. Just watching the waves lap up onto the sand with a fricative whisper. The biggest body of water I’ve ever seen is Lake Erie. I remember going on summer vacations there when we were younger in the RV. I’d get up early, before everyone else and go and stand by the lake. It felt massive, and I was just a minuscule speck. I feel the same way right now, staring out into the Pacific. Totally and completely insignificant.
              “Come on, there’s something I want to show you.” Deo is wriggly-puppy excited, and it’s a weird contrast, his bald, uninhibited energy mixed with his laid-back, tough-guy sexiness. I stay back a few paces, watching the confident way he walks back up the beach. He’s shirtless, though there is a wrap covering his new tattoo, and his board shorts are slung low around his waist. The sun beats down onto his back, deepening his tan by the minute, but he it’s like he isn’t even aware of his clothes or lack or clothes or body.

I, on the other hand, feel like every single person must be staring at me, because I’m practically naked in public. I wasn’t lying about my choice of swimwear; this is the first time I’ve worn this or any bikini. My best friend back home, Lindsey bought it for me as a going-away present. She said it was a first step, a necessity in my new life.

We walk for a while, Deo glancing over his shoulder every few paces to make sure I’m behind him. I’ve lost my footing several times, and, I swear, all I need to add on to my feeling of being watched by every person in a mile radius is to eat shit on these rocks in this bathing suit that offers about as much coverage as a Kleenex.
              “I’m coming!” I reassure him. We’re climbing over some pretty gnarly rocks and I didn’t exactly wear the right shoes for this. “Where are we going anyway?”
              “Here,” Deo finally announces, his voice coiled tight around his excitement. “Check it out.”
              We’re standing on some more rocks that aren’t really just rocks at all. They’re a home. Their cracks and crevices are filled with crabs and sponges and dozens of other types of unrecognizable sea life.
              “This is incredible.” And it is. Everything is vibrant and alive. It reminds me of Wakefield. Or at least how I want to remember Wakefield. A sudden crush of panic presses down over me. Maybe I’m creating a vision of him in my head that isn’t even the right one. How can I not have the right vision of him? He’s my brother.

He
was
my brother.

Suddenly it’s hard to suck any air into my lungs, and I desperately need to focus on anything other than the horrifying thoughts ripping through my skull.

I crouch down on the rock next to the one Deo is standing on to get a closer look. The waves don’t really reach us up on the rocks, I guess because the tide is too low, but cool water still pools around my ankles. A bright something moves slowly in the rippling water.

It’s life-filled. Unlike Wakefield.

I press my eyes closed and shake that thought away.

“Can I touch this?” I point to a sea star. “I’ve only ever seen these on TV.”
Deo bends down next to me. His face is close. His hangover remedy must work wonders, because his eyes are clear and that weird, gorgeous light brown.
              “You can touch it, but don’t pull it up. You could tear its tube feet.” Deo is definitely in his element here.
              I bite my bottom lip and slowly poke the water with my index finger.
              “Relax.” His voice is low and reassuring. He wraps his large hand around mine and guides two of my fingers toward the sea star. His other hand presses  lightly on the small of my back. It does the opposite of helping me relax. His touch is electricity. And we’re in the water. It’s a buzzing, pulsing electric shock.
              It’s too much. It’s different than with Ryan. Ryan is easy. Uncomplicated. Ryan is fun. That’s the whole point. To be living big. To not be tied down. To not waste a single second of life. To not get too attached or too weighted down.
Deo
...Deo is someone who could mess up my whole plan.
              I jerk my hand out of the water and slam it into the rock to steady myself.
              “Fuck!” I yell.
              “Oh shit! What did you do to yourself, Whit?” he asks. He looks worried, and I feel like a grade A asshole.

“Nothing, I just cut my hand on the rock.” I hold up my battered palm as evidence. There’s a nasty gash right through the center of the tender flesh that’s ugly and bleeding. My chin and throat burn with the tears I’m trying to hold back. There is no way in hell I’m going to cry in front of any guy.
Ever.

“Holy shit, you banged that up good.” Deo’s eyes squint with sympathy for my pain, and that just brings the threat of tears even closer.

I clutch my hand to my chest to keep him from holding it. It’s a stupid idea because now the front of me is covered in blood.

“I think we’d better go.” I’m not a total wuss, but I’ve never been super great with seeing my own blood. Especially when I already feel exposed as heck out here in this stupid teeny-bikini. Damn Lindsey. Necessity my ass. What I really need is a tube of first aid ointment and some gauze.

“Come on, my mom has got some Calendula oil that will heal that in no time.” Deo stands and gets his footing on the treacherous rocks.

“Some what?” I ask weakly.

He reaches for my hand. “Trust me, she’s a pro.”

I start to follow him, but I’ve only taken a few steps when he turns around and scoops me up like a small child. He cradles me in his arms, my nearly-bare skin pressed to his scorching chest.

“Second thought, I’d better carry you. I don’t want you busting your ass again.”

-Seven-

Deo

There’s this romantic misconception that when you carry a girl in your arms, she’s light as a feather and all that. It’s crap. I’ve got inches and pounds on Whit, but when I scoop her up, it’s work to carry her. Her long, lean limbs and sweet curves have a good kind of substantial feel to them, and she’s holding her body funny, I think because she’s attempting to not get blood all over me. What she’s actually doing is making herself an awkward pretzel.

But I like this girl, so I like the work of getting her safely over the rocks. Cause let’s face it; if sweeping girls off their feet, literally, was so damn easy, it would make it that much less awesome when a guy went all out and did it.

I manage to struggle the passenger door of the Jeep open with the hand that’s under her knees.

“Just put me down,” she protests, wriggling like crazy. “I didn’t hurt my legs.”

I do put her down. In the seat. And buckle her seatbelt. I take the opportunity to pretend the buckle apparatus is a hell of a lot more complicated than it is so I can smell her, all sweet grapefruit, salt-on-skin, and sexy, mind-quaking girl. “What kind of knight in shining armor would I be if I let you hoof it over the rocks? Seriously?”

“I’m definitely not a damsel in distress, Deo,” she huffs. “It’s one little scratch on my palm.”

I pry said palm from her chest, pop my glovebox, and take out a handkerchief. Her eyes widen in what I’m sure is germ-afraid horror. I chuckle as I pull her hand closer and tie the soft cloth around it. “Clean, I promise. My grandpa has all these old fashioned ideas about guys and handkerchiefs. Don’t even ask, okay? Bottom line is I always have one ready for these kinds of catastrophes.”

She makes her hand into a soft fist and stares at it, and when she looks back up, her eyes are rimmed with tears. “Thanks,” she croaks. She opens her mouth like she wants to say more, and I want to hear what she’s going to say, but she stops, I’m sure to plug up the tears. I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable around me, so I close her door and hop in the driver’s side, pull out, and head to my mother’s place.

“Do I have to meet your mom in a bikini?” she asks, worried.

I reach in the back, find a bag of laundry from my last trip to the laundromat, and pull out my favorite shirt. “Here you go.”

She pulls it over her head and runs her hand over the worn cotton. “The Pixies?”

“I know. I have epic taste in music.” I tug on the sleeve of the shirt, loving the way it looks on her. “I hate to admit this, but it looks a hell of a lot sexier on you than it does on me.”

She smiles, and then it’s quiet in the Jeep for a long stretch of minutes. I glance over and Whit is looking out the window, her bandaged hand still clutched to her chest, her dark hair whipping around her face from the rolled down windows. I like the way she fills the passenger side of the car with her sweet-and-sour self. Her mouth is turned down on the sides in a little frown and her eyes are unfocused, like she’s miles away from me and this ride and this date. I wish I knew how to pull her back and get her to tell me what’s on her mind, but I don’t. So I settle for the fairly comfortable silence.

When we pull into the parking lot of my mom’s place, I warn her, “She’s a lunatic. But she’s amazing. I think you two might get along really well.”

Finally a smile. “You had to throw the lunatic thing in there, didn’t you?” she asks, and I’m relieved to see a little eye roll. The patient is doing better already.

I come around to get her door, but she puts her hands up and says, “No carrying me. I’m fine. Totally fine.”

I put my hands up and let her get out on her own. I take her uninjured hand and lead her to my mother’s hippie dippy store, complete with tie-dye rainbow wall-hangings, all kinds of weird bells and chimes, crystals on every table, Janis begging someone to take a piece of her heart over the speakers, and a huge assortment of jars and bottles with herbs and oils. Mom looks up from her Kindle when we walk in, a smile on her face. My mom’s face is pretty much always smiley, and I love that about her.

“Deo! I’m so glad you stopped by. And you brought a lovely friend.” My mom comes from behind the counter, barefoot, jangly silver anklets and bracelets and rings and earrings making her sound like an explosion of bells, her long hair swinging around her waist. She holds her hand out to Whit and says, “I’m Marigold. And you are…oh no! Bleeding! Get right over here. Deo, the Calendula, now!”

I poke through all her weird glass bottles and find the one she needs, the one that she used on all my scrapes and gashes growing up. And I was a super scraped up and gashed kid, so I hope my mom took out stock in Calendula. She has Whit sitting on a squishy chair and she’s leaned over, washing Whit’s cut with warm water and some kind of freaky soap she makes from who knows what. If my mom hadn’t miraculously healed every single ailment I ever had, I’d be worried about her crazy potions infecting my girl.

“How did you do this?” Mom asks, her voice all clucking with mom-ish sympathy as she takes the bottle from my hand and applies.

“Deo took me to the beach. I was looking at a starfish, but the rocks were really jagged,” Whit explains quietly.

Mom’s smile is half-hidden by her hair as she fixes some gauze over Whit’s hand. “A beach date, huh? Very romantic.”

“Mom,” I warn. “Whit’s just a friend. Stop trying to marry me off.” Whit looks up, her dark eyes wide with panic. “Relax, babe. She’s like the village matchmaker. She does this all the time.”