The Best Week of My Life (2 page)

That apparently satisfied him because he returned to his sleep-driven state.

I walked through the mishmash of living room furniture, which I might add was typical of a beach rental – wicker chair, glass topped table, 1980s gold-framed watercolor of a pelican – and down the short hall to the bedrooms where I found my mom well entrenched in the closet.

“I’m here,” I said.

This startled her. She stood up, whacked her head on the hangers, and the closet door shut on her bum. I giggled.

“Well, that was wrong,” she said, reopening the door. She moved to the bed where she’d laid out their things and lifted a stack of shirts. “If you could open the drawer.”

I could and I did. We spent the next ten minutes putting away their things, at which point she dismissed me to do my own. So I whipped around the corner and into the tiny pocket that was the other room and had a revelation.

Standing there over the lumpy mattress, yanking my underwear from my pockets, counting pairs of shorts and tanks I’d packed, it hit me. I’d forgotten the one thing you should definitely have at the beach. The one thing every girl picks out, careful it flatters her figure. The one thing I’d, in particular this year, made sure was absolutely perfect.

Yep, my suit.

***

“You forgot your swimsuit?” Carter slouched on one hip, his hand perched on his side, and eyeballed my outfit.

Short-shorts, pink tank top.

“Yeah.”

He gave me a half grin. “Nice.”

“So I thought I’d swim in this.” I added.

His eyebrows lifted. “Your mom and dad don’t care?”

Well, they’d care if they knew, but I kinda hadn’t told them I was going swimming. I shook my head. “Nope.”

“Cool.”

With that we set out for the sand. Down the stairs, past the ice machine, our feet echoing in the downstairs hallway, through the pool area, out the slightly-rusted iron gate, and smack into foot-burning, eye-searing white sand. I yelped, and Carter halted.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Walk quick,” he said.

Not exactly what I wanted him to say. Or do. I was more hoping for chivalry, him lifting me up, tucking me against his chest, and toting me to the water. Yeah … No. Instead, he did what most boys do, he kept walking, and I was forced to follow.

Yet the reward came at the end. Hopping from foot to foot ‘til I got to the waves and there, sinking calf-deep in the sloshing surf, I turned my head, and I swear on the hair on my head if time didn’t stop and one of those romantic rock songs didn’t play. Because standing in front of me, shirt off, suntan-lotion coated, was Carter Pruitt.

God Almighty, he was fine. Sunlight, clear-skies, ninety-eight degrees fine. Mind-blanking, lost-in-my-thoughts, fine. Which was unsafe for a simple girl like me since with my head empty and my eyes bugging out of my head, I made the biggest mistake you can make at the Gulf.

I forgot to do the stingray shuffle.

CHAPTER 2

Daphne’s shrieks and her constant hopping on one leg put Carter in mind of a bird in distress. This was his first thought. His second was he ought to do something, so he rushed forward and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. That changed her shrieking to an incessant babbling of random words.

“Hurts. Forgot. Shuffle. Help. Please.”

“Let me get you out of the water,” he said, thinking that was what she must be trying to say. He hobbled with her onto the sand where she plopped down in a heap.

She extended her leg, rolling her ankle upwards to reveal a tiny spot oozing blood. “Pain. Ow. Mom. Carter.” At his name, she grasped his arm and dug her fingernails into his skin.

He winced. “I’ll go get your mom,” he offered, again interpreting.

She gave him a look of gratitude, spouting another stream of unconnected words, most of which sounded like
ow
and laid back on the sand.

He retraced their steps across the beach, through the pool area, and up the stairs to her apartment, knocking on the door. The door swung open to reveal her dad. A large man, he took up the entire opening.

“Carter,” he said.

“It’s Daphne,” Carter blurted. “She’s stepped on a stingray.”

This brought a noise from deeper inside, a cross between a wail and a screech, and then the words, “Oh dear. Oh dear. Oh dear,” repeated in much the same manner Daphne had been speaking only moments ago. Obviously her mother.

She followed it up with, “Howard, go with the boy,” evidence she
was
actually thinking and not falling apart.

Her dad went back into the apartment. “Find my shoes,” he mumbled. He returned a minute later and motioned toward the water. “Lead the way.”

Carter turned his steps toward Daphne.

Her dad panted as he walked and the material of his shorts rubbed together, giving a kind of whoosh-puff, whoosh-puff with each step. His shoes also squeaked, adding to the melee. Whoosh-puff-screee. Whoosh-puff-screee. Until they exited onto the sand then he floundered, dragging one foot out only to have the next sink back in.

So it was a good five or six minutes before they got back to Daphne. Who for all accounts looked passed out. She revived, however, at the sound of her dad’s approach.

“Daddy.”

“Poppet. What did you do?” Her dad sat down beside her with an oomph.

She rolled herself into his chest. “It hurts.” She sounded close to tears now.

He patted her shoulders and stroked her head.

“Where’s Mom?” she asked.

Carter looked back the direction they’d came, and there, flapping her arms wildly, her feet skewing this way and that, was Daphne’s mother wading through the sand. Behind her was an Asian man who Carter recognized as the guy from the hotel office.

“My baby!” her mother proclaimed, also collapsing at Daphne’s side. She cradled her daughter’s head in her lap. “Mr. Chang says to bury your foot in the sand; the heat will help.”

Mr. Chang stopped before them, repeating this instruction. “Yes. Yes. Hot sand good for stings.”

This turned Daphne’s attention back to Carter. “Would you?” she asked.

Would he bury her foot in the sand? She’d said it like it was the greatest gift in the world, and perhaps at that moment, for her it was, but the strangeness of it hit him as he dug the hole and covered her foot.

Only Daphne Merrill could create this much of a scene, and only Daphne Merrill would have him, minutes into their first day together, crouching shirtless at her feet.

***

I popped a cheese puff into my mouth and stared at my bandaged ankle. My war wound.

Carter, reclining beside me, stuck his hand in the bag and retrieved a handful of his own. He chewed two or three before speaking. “I gotta hand it to you,” he said.

I turned my head to see his face.

He nodded toward my foot. “Can’t say I’ve ever buried a girl’s foot before.”

This made me laugh, and I covered my mouth, hoping I wasn’t spouting cheese puff crumbs everywhere.

“So how was your first time?” I asked, after I’d recovered.

He grinned. “Nice. You have cute feet.”

This made me feel good in a squishy kinda way. I mean, Carter Pruitt had just complimented my feet.

I took another cheese puff. “Mr. Chang says I’ll be better in the morning, which is good because Mom’s taking me shopping. You wanna go?”

He wrinkled his brow. “Go shopping?”

“Unless you have something better to do,” I replied. I was fully aware guys did not like shopping, but I had the feeling Carter liked staying around his mom less. I was right because his face took on an unusual expression.

“No,” he said.

“No, what? No, you don’t have something better, or no, you don’t want to go shopping?”

He laughed again. “No, I have nothing better to do, but maybe your mom wants it to be the two of you.”

“My mom hates shopping,” she said. “H-a-t-e, hates. I ask her for an opinion and all I get is, ‘Whatever you want, dear,’ ‘cause she’s tryin’ so hard to leave.”

“That’s more than I get,” he said.

I focused on him then, unsure what he meant. He took a few more cheese puffs, not explaining. So, okay, I wouldn’t ask. It was probably his business and not mine.

I looked back toward the beach. “You wanna go or not?”

“Sure.”

That settled, I searched for another topic and picked one I probably should have left well enough alone.

“Whatever happened with you and Carrie?”

Carrie McDonald. He’d dated her all through eleventh grade, but I hadn’t seen them together lately.

He got quiet for a minute. “Oh, you know, we didn’t see eye to eye. She wanted too much.”

Too much what? I was curious, so I asked. “Like?”

He placed one hand on the back of his neck and rubbed. “Like …”

It hit me like a block of wood what he meant. I glanced at his face. He’d looked away, his eyes distant on the horizon somewhere.

“Oh,” I said, my face warm. “I shouldn’t have asked. But I’ll do you a favor and make you a trade.”

He gazed back at me.

I figured if he’d had to admit something then so should I. It was only fair.

“A trade?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yep. I’ll tell you one thing, anything you want to know about me. You name it.”

A smile crept over his lips. “Anything at all?”

“Anything.”

He returned his gaze forward. “Let me see. What do I want to know the most?”

I prepared myself for his question. After all, who knew what he’d come up with? And I didn’t know him all that well. We passed each other in school, were in some of the same classes, and had some of the same friends, but this was the most we’d ever talked to each other.

He tilted himself my direction, the plastic straps of the lounge chair shifting with his weight. “You ever kissed someone?” he asked.

This was unexpected. I’d thought he’d ask,
What’s your favorite color?
Or,
What food do you hate the most?
Not something so personal. But I’d said I’d answer, and so I would. I couldn’t look at him and say it, however. Because that’d set me to thinking what it’d be like to kiss him, and I had no right to think that.

Therefore, I pretended it was no big deal and glanced away. “Nah,” I said.

Truth was, it
was
a big deal to me, and at seventeen, I felt left out. But I also thought it was better to be left out and have the perfect kiss later on than to be kissed soon and hate it.

“Would you like to be?”

My heart about jumped out of my chest with those words, and I considered my response. I looked back at him. “That question requires another trade.”

He smiled crookedly. “Okay.”

“Let’s see …” I pressed my hand to my forehead, shading my eyes. “What would I ask Carter Pruitt?”

He was laughing quietly in my ear.

I wouldn’t ask him anything personal this time as a show of good faith. “What’s your middle name?”

“My middle name? That’s what you want to know?”

“Yeah. I’ll give you mine and not even because of a trade. Mine’s Marie. Daphne Marie Merrill. I always wanted my mom to call me Marie. Or Maria, even better. But she never would. Daphne’s so dumb.”

“I like it,” he said.

I turned my neck. “Really?”

“Sure, what’s wrong with it?”

“Well, it’s … it’s …” and I couldn’t think of a good reply. “It’s better than Poppet,” I said at last.

He bit his lip. “That’s sweet, that your dad calls you that.”

Yeah, it was.

“So … what is it?” I asked.

He sighed. “Blaine.”

“Blaine? That’s …”

“Weird,” he said.

“Just think. We could be Blaine and Marie.”

This made us both laugh. After we’d caught our breath, Carter brought back up his question. “So answer me,” he said.

I inhaled and let it out slowly. “You do know that answering this to
you
is difficult?”

“It is?” He sounded surprised by that.

“Well, yeah, because you’re you and I’m me and …”

“I can’t see as how that has anything to do with it,” he said. “It’s a simple question. Do you want to be kissed or not?”

“I want …” I paused again and held up a finger. “Let me get up my nerve.”

He chuckled.

And I made a decision. If I was going to make this declaration, I might as well make it huge. Lay it all out there between us. I mean, he’d either avoid me the entire rest of the week or make my dream come true. Then again, things could go on exactly like they were.

I lowered my hand to my lap. “I want
you
to kiss me,” I said. I didn’t look at him, didn’t turn my head, barely even took a breath.

And his hand landed on my shoulder. “Hey, look at me.”

I turned, and those beautiful eyes of his gazed into mine.

“Thanks,” he said.

Thanks? I wasn’t sure I followed him. It must have shown on my face, too, because he tried to explain.

“It’s an honor to be thought of that way.”

I went to turn away, but he tipped my chin back toward him.

“We’ve got seven days,” he said. “You never know what might happen.”

***

Carter had always liked Daphne, as a person. But not until she’d made her admission had he thought of her as a girl, which was odd because he’d noticed her shape several times already. She was petite, but not tiny, curved in all the right places, and worth taking a second look at. And a third.

However, it was her chatter that threw him off. She talked to him like they’d been friends for ages, down-to-earth and real, instead of the flirtaceous, eyelash batting, prattle of other girls. Refreshing for a change. But this was also inclined to make him think of her as “one of the guys” instead of the sweet girl she was.

She had her heart on her sleeve at that moment. The truth and emotion of her words written on her face, and more than anything in the world, he wanted to do that for her. If she wanted to be kissed by him, then why couldn’t he? But it’d need to be special, not over a bag of cheese puffs.

He released her chin and lay back in the lounge chair. She moved her gaze forward, but her breaths came quick, her chest rising and falling and her pulse throbbing at the base of her throat. She was thinking about what he’d said.