Ties (22 page)

“We’re not even on the water yet.” I stop what I’m doing and go over to her, kneeling in front of her and picking up her limp hand. She looks away, gnawing on her lip. “Hey, you’re going to chew a hole through your lip.”

It’s hard to see her this keyed up and closed off when she was so completely laid bare just a few short hours ago.

She sighs and shakes her hand out of my grasp. “I’ve just got a ton going through my brain right now.”

I stand up, trying to keep myself panicking. “There’s nothing better for clearing your head than getting out on the water.”

Her nod is so slight, I would have missed it if I wasn’t completely focused on her. I turn my attention back to getting out on the water. I watch her tilt her face back to soak up the warmth of the sunlight, and I’m glad for the steady calm of the waves. I don’t need to have everything at full bore to take her out. I’ll be able to make good use of a decent wind that doesn’t seem like it’s going to calm down or slack off.

I half expect her to be a distraction, the way Bex was, but Hattie’s presence is tied into everything else I notice and do on the boat, like she belongs out here and always has. As soon as we’re clipping at a decent speed, I check to see if she feels green, because I have Dramamine on me. She looks fine.

Distant, but fine.

Shit.

I pause by the sail I’m adjusting more out of habit than because it’s necessary and wonder if I pushed too hard this morning.

She was the one who stripped down and slept with her body fitted tight against mine. When I woke up, touching her was more instinct than decision. And it had kind of driven me out of my head to have her under me like that, bucking like a wild thing against me every time I touched her. I don’t think I’d ever said every perverted thing on my mind to a girl before, because I’d never been obsessed with satisfying a girl completely before.

And maybe it irritates me that she waved the fact that she wanted to have a fling with me in my face. Maybe I did love finding a way to take her rules about “fun” and “easy” and “no-strings-attached” and twist them all on her without even doing the one thing she requested.

It’s crazy if she blames me because things are getting complicated. There were two of us in that bed, wrapped around each other and turned on as all hell.

But my point was never to throw her stupid rules and theories in her face.

What I wanted was to let her know there’s no one right way to do things, no certain path you can take when you meet the person you’ve been waiting for.

The one who’s worth taking a chance on.

The one who proves you wrong, and makes you more than happy to admit you’re not right.

The thing is, I don’t think Hattie is okay with being proven wrong. In fact, I get the feeling she may want to be right more than she wants to come out of her comfort zone and give us a chance.

When I catch a glimpse of her, she’s looking up at the sky, her hair billowing out behind her, and I can definitely picture her out here with me on future trips.

The trouble is, I have no idea if she pictures me in her future at all, and this morning’s gamble on my part might have pushed her too far.

I cruise to a calm section on the open water and roll up the sails. I take my time getting the sails in place and making sure things are locked down before I sit next to Hattie, who finally has a weak smile for me.

“Sure you’re not seasick?” I ask, worry making me see her as pale and droop-shouldered when she’s probably not. It’s like I’m looking at every possible angle because I just want her to come out and tell me whatever it is that’s bothering her.

“I think I’m okay.” She shields her eyes and looks around. “It’s amazing out here. It’s so...big.” She rolls her eyes. “Understatement of the century, right?”

“It
is
big. I love that about it, though. I think I love that best about it. That it’s so huge. That is makes any of my problems seem so small. Sometimes that’s what I hate about racing.”

She inches closer to me, her soles squeaking on the deck. “There’s something you hate about racing?” Her head is turned to the side, making her look like a little owl.

“There are a ton of things I hate about racing.” I pull my cap low over my eyes to avoid the intense look she’s giving me.

I took her out here to show her what I love and why. How did the conversation take this turn?

It’s the way things are with Hattie. Always unexpected. Always peeling back layers I wasn’t even sure were there.

She taps my sneaker with hers. “Like what?”

“When racing is super pure, it’s about being out on this big fucking ocean and stealing a tiny bit of the power. Like, harnessing it, I guess. And that’s something I’m good at. Something I love.” I clear my throat. “But there’s a lot of noise, a lot of bullshit, I guess. When the other crew members are just going through the motions, not paying attention to what’s going on out there.” I point to where the waves are lapping on the navy expanse. “Then it becomes this macho drive to win, to trick yourself into thinking you dominate something that’s untouchable. It’s bullshit.”

“Isn’t it about winning? Isn’t it about being the best?” Her look is pure amused confusion, and I feel like an ass explaining.

“I get off on beating my own time, definitely. Because it means I’m doing what I do best the way I need to. But, to tell you the truth, I wish there was some kind of reward for clocking awesome personal times. Once you get a bunch of other boats out there, then the fans, the parties, the noise...it ruins the whole point of being out here and doing this.”

“So why be out here? Why do it at all?” she challenges, her eyes bright for the first time since my mouth was licking at her body this morning.

“Because, for me, the high I get from being out here every day outweighs the shit I put up with to get here.” I tap her elbow with mine, wishing she would come sit closer, press herself against me like she did last night. “You must have things like that in your life, right?”

“I guess.” She shrugs and one strap of her tank top slips down. I try not to think about peeling it off and kissing every sun-warmed inch of her skin. “I mean, I like what I do, and I do it well. I guess I don’t have that love/hate thing going on that you do. And I don’t want it.”

“You don’t think it’s better to be really passionate about something? I mean, I know I’m griping about the shit I hate, but I seriously couldn’t imagine living my life if it didn’t include coming out on the water every day. No question.” I watch as she picks at nonexistent specks of lint on her shorts. “You obviously love college.”

I realize I’m not even sure what she studies.

“I do,” she says, but it’s noncommittal, no light in her eyes, no excitement in her voice. “I love the routine. I love the classes. I love excelling. But I could change majors, no problem, because there’s a lot I’d be happy to do. Aren’t you afraid of what will happen if you lose this race? Lose your sponsors?” She holds her hands up in front of her and opens her eyes wide. “I hope you win. I
really
hope you win, I do. But how are you going to be if you lose?”

Now it’s my turn to shrug at her. “I’ll get by. Basically I just don’t think about losing, because I’m at a point now where I have no future if I lose.”

“No future?” She snorts. “That’s a little extreme.”

“I don’t want to live like my dad,” I tell her. “He was an awesome guy, but he died before he ever had the chance to do anything for himself.”

“You wanna live like
my
dad?” she asks, clasping her knees close. “He’s done everything for himself, and look where it got him.”

“Right. But he’s an extreme case. And I think you can have more than one passion in your life. I mean, it’s not just in work that I’m looking for that high. It’s in my everyday life, too.” I take a long pause, a deep breath. “I want to be passionate about the person I’m with.”

“Passion?” She snorts. “Looking for a relationship based on passion is like buying yourself a ticket to a divorce lawyer down the road. Why does this make no sense to people? You have to
live
with someone else forever. I mean, ideally it’s forever. You get that it’s not just dates and sex and cruises out on your boat? It’s finances and chores and compromise.”

“Wow. You make it sound pretty bleak.” I don’t mean to bite the words out the way I do, but it’s like she’s being difficult on purpose.

“The point isn’t to find someone you’re passionate about. The point is to choose someone you can build a long, stable life with. Passion is overrated.” She sets her mouth in a firm line.

“So you’re telling me you don’t feel drawn to things? Even things you didn’t necessarily choose?” I ask, dipping my head to look at her. She avoids my eyes.

“Don’t bait me, Ryan.” She locks her arms around her knees. “Why are you acting like this is some kind of joke?”

“What is ‘this’?” I demand. When she doesn’t answer, I grab her arms and turn her to me. “Hattie, what is ‘this’?”

“Why are you doing this to me? Why are you making this so complicated?” she cries, batting at my arms.

I refuse to let go. “Tell me what ‘this’ is.” I lock eyes with her, and she blinks back the tears that are at the edges.

“‘This’ is me, falling for you,” she whispers. “And I don’t appreciate you acting like it’s a game.”

“I don’t appreciate you acting like it’s a tragedy,” I say, pulling her closer. “What the hell is so wrong with me and you being together? What do we have to lose by actually trying? You’re so scared of what? The fact that I wasn’t on some list you made this summer?”

“You don’t get it. You’re making me sound like some emotionless freak, but you don’t understand what happens when you try to make a life with someone who just isn’t right for you.” She looks down and tears fall steady and hard between her lashes.

I put a finger under her chin, forcing her to face me.

“Why aren’t we right for each other? It
feels
right.”

She shakes her head back and forth, slashing at the tears with her fingers.

“That’s it. That’s so it. From the minute I met you, it was all about how I felt in the moment. I stopped thinking with my head. I can’t use logic around you. I try to make rules, and I break them. I try to set limits, and I run right past them and into your arms. I can’t get enough of you.”

“You haven’t even had the chance to really know me, Hattie. This is the beginning. This is a chance we’d be idiots to pass on.”

I know it’s not the best time to cloud it all with physical stuff, but she’s crying and hurting. And I know she feels better in my arms. I know she has the ability to feel right with me.

I press my mouth to hers, the sweet of her tongue tinged with salt from her tears. For a second, she doesn’t kiss back. Just as I’m about to pull away, she throws her arms around my neck and kisses me quick and furious, her hands grabbing at my clothes and starting to strip them off in a tangled heap.

“Hattie,” I say as I pull back. I don’t say another word for a long few seconds because she’s busy nipping at my mouth and tugging on my bottom lip with her teeth. “You just said--”

“I know,” she interrupts, eyes screwed shut. “I know, and I meant it. But I want to finish this. I need to.”

“Finish?” My voice rips at the word.

“You started something. In me. No one else has. And I need you to finish it. I need to do this with you.” She tugs at my t-shirt half-heartedly.

“And after?” I ask.

She blinks back tears and lets out a long sigh that shakes her entire body. “No rules. No over-thinking. Just us. Right now. Please, Ryan.”

There are a few gulls overhead, swooping and diving. The water laps on the side of the boat in slow, contented slaps. Overhead, the sun shines warm and bright. Every breath of air in and out of my lungs is cool and tinted with salt. I feel more alive than I ever have before, and I know this is the place I want to be with Hattie for the first time.

I just have a sinking feeling she’s saying goodbye.

18
HATTIE

I get bossy when I’m nervous.

And I’ve never been more nervous than I am right now.

I knew this was a bad idea from the start, but it was so easy to get pulled in by him. By his big, happy laugh. By the hot way his blue-green eyes flicked at me when we were surrounded by people and he couldn’t say the sexy, wild things he needed to say. By the feeling I had with him, like I could be any version of myself that I needed to be because he loved every version of me that existed.

Which clearly made him crazy.

Romantic as hell, but crazy.

And now, here we are, in exactly the place I kept telling him I wanted to be since the beginning. Except now I realize it won’t be easy at all. And that’s something I have to live with.

Even if it’s harder than I want it to be, even if I was a fool to think I could control this tidal wave of feeling, even if my head is telling me in clear terms that I’m a freaking idiot to do this, the bottom line is that I want this.

I want him.

And I’ll sacrifice my neat little lists and expectations just this one day, just this one time.

Even if it breaks my heart in the end.

Better a broken heart for a summer than a whole life of broken expectations.

“What are you thinking about so hard?” Ryan asks, brushing his thumb over the crease I know is between my eyebrows. It always appears when I’m super worried about something.

I put my hand around his wrist lightly. “I’m thinking about how this morning was unfair. And now it’s my turn.”

He tries to give me that same careless smile I’ve been falling for for weeks, but it’s weighed down with cracks of sadness. He does his best to pretend, though.

“So, you’re gonna school me? You may not want to set the bar so high your first time.” He grabs a blanket from under one of the seats and spreads it out, waving a hand to invite me over.

I shake my head. “You first.”

He cocks and eyebrow and lies back on the blanket. I straddle him and push him down. I kiss him softly, because I want to remember what his lips feel like under mine. I want to be able to pull the taste of him onto my tongue later.

I let my hands flit over his face, smoothing his eyebrows, outlining his nose, tugging on his ears. He moans.

“So you’re an ear man?” I whisper.

“Only you could turn me on by rubbing my damn ears,” he says back, grabbing on to me and rubbing his hands up and down my back. “Have I told you how gorgeous you are?”

The blush that creeps over my face is equal parts embarrassed and annoyed. “I bet you say that to all the girls.
All
the girls--”

“Stop it.” His voice is clipped. Hard. I look up at him and am a little surprised to see just how pissed he looks. “There were other girls. A lot of them, okay? And it was stupid, it was a stupid waste of time. If I could go back to that old version of myself, looking for something, anything to help him get over an epic broken heart, I would.”

“Why?” I ask, more to play devil’s advocate than anything else. Or maybe I’m fooling myself: maybe it’s more to get him to say another thing that will strip me raw and shock me to the depths of my heart. “You were young and single. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I didn’t do anything right, either.” He threads his hands through mine, his thumbs running in small circles on my palms. “I would go back to that stupid kid and tell him, ‘One day you’re going to meet her. Not the girl you stuck with because she was your first and you were too scared to let go. Not the one who agrees to come home with you after ten minutes over a cheap beer at a bar. You’re going to meet the girl who tells you straight out of the gate that you have no chance, the girl you can’t let out of your sight, the one who makes you laugh and challenges you. You’re going to fall fast and hard. And you’re going to wish you didn’t have to look her in the eye and tell her how you didn’t know she was coming into your life. Because you would have waited. You wish you’d waited.’”

“Why?” I ask again, but this time my lips are shaking. “I’m not making any promises. I might just be another notch in your belt.”

My throat closes after I utter the words.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

Another notch in his belt? Am I okay with that? Am I okay with the idea of Ryan taking another girl home after I’ve gone back to my “real” life, laying her down, kissing her, sucking on her--

I want to throw my hands over my ears and scream. I want to trip back time and undo that day on the pier, the way his back looked and the song he was whistling so sweetly. The way those gorgeous eyes flicked up and felt like home the minute they met mine.

I tell my brain I want those things, but it’s a colossal lie. The biggest lie of my life.

So I do what Ryan teases me to do all the time: I shut my brain off.

I anchor myself by putting my hands on his chest, and the thud of his heart is insistent. When I open my eyes, he’s staring right at me and the look is one I don’t see from people all that often.

He’s disappointed.

“What?” I demand, feeling like I’m about to get sent to the principal’s office.

“I made some mistakes, Hattie. I have more notches in my belt than I’d like. But how can you honestly ask me that? How can you pretend that’s all you mean to me?” He presses his hands over mine, so I’m locked close to him.

I feel ashamed of myself. I’ll feel more ashamed if I think about what I’m going to do after this is over. I shove all those thoughts out of my head and kiss him, hard. I kiss again and again until he’s pulling me down on top of him and I’m sprawled over his body.

His hands are everywhere and so are mine. We move so fast, we bump into each other, each knocking against the other’s body and neither one of us wanting to slow down. Once in a while, we’re forced to stop to yank an item of clothing aside. When I want his mouth or hands on more of my skin, I rip something off and kick it out of the way. All I know is his mouth and the long, muscled expanse of his body under mine. I think I’ll be satisfied when I’m pressed tight against him, when there’s nothing else between us.

I’m wrong.

I slide my body over his, everything soft and wet on me rubbing against everything hard and ready on him. I flatten myself over him so we’re buckled tight, bury my face in his neck and breathe deep, knot my hands in his hair, kiss the elastic muscle of his shoulders, fill up on him using every sense I can.

And it’s not enough.

I grab his hand and press it down, between my legs, and his fingers slide right into me because I’m already slick with need. So he’s in me, and I’m hurtling to that place that only he’s ever been able to access: the place that starts like a pinprick of concentrated pleasure, then explodes into a bliss that floods every inch of my body. His fingers move over me like I’m an instrument and he’s a musician playing the one song we were both made to perform.

But it’s not enough.

I press my hand down, my fingers bumping over his abs and alongside his hips until I feel the smooth, hot length of his dick against my hand. I circle my fingers around it and press and pull, wanting to bring him the same amazing feelings he brings me.

“Hattie.” He rubs against me and flexes his hips under mine. “You feel so good. I want to taste you again.”

I shake my head from side to side, not wanting to be selfish. He’s given me the freedom to feel pleasures I didn’t anticipate. I want to give that back.

I let my mouth follow the trail my hands just ran. He has to pull his fingers away from me, and he’s not happy.

“Let me touch you. Let me help you...finish,” he says, his eyes shifted to the side.

A hole rips right through my heart land it feels like I have a shrieking, wailing hurricane in my chest.

“No.”

I kiss his pecs, down along his ribs, just below his belly button, crisscrossing on each side of his thighs. I take him into my mouth, sucking as much as I can, as deep as I can.

He half sits up, and when I look at his face, his mouth is twisted and his eyes burn hot. “Hattie, I can’t--”

I reach a hand up and push him back, then suck harder, swirling my tongue over the length and head of his dick, rubbing my hands up and down his thighs as I get into a rhythm. He leans his head back and moans. I love the way he fills my mouth and deep into my throat. I love the taste of him. I love the fact that I’m giving him this pleasure because I want to, the same way he gave to me.

He
did
cheat this morning. He took my last theory and turned it on its head, showing me what I knew from day one: we’d never be able to have a fling. It all meant too much: I felt too much.

Now I want him to know I appreciate what he did, even if it was lowdown. And I have to cheat, too. But my cheat sucks, because when it’s done, we’ll have had something amazing, something undeniably awesome...that just can’t last.

“Hattie.” Ryan sits back up and watches me, his eyes dark with desire. I continue sucking, and he moves his hands to either side of my head, pushing his fingers into my hair. “You have to stop. My God, it feels so damn good, but you have to stop because I can’t hold out anymore.”

I don’t stop, and have no intentions of stopping if I get my way.

But he pulls me back gently and promises me things that make me think stopping might not be such a bad idea.

Things about what he wants to do with me. Things about how good it will feel when he does. And I know I can trust him.

I’ve always been able to trust him.

I’m just sorry he can’t trust me.

But this isn’t about what’s going to happen in the future. This is about the now, the right now. And right now...I want him. All of him.

He grabs his wallet out of the jeans that are crumpled on one side and pulls out a condom. “I swear, it’s hasn’t been in here for months.”

“So you knew you’d need one today?” I ask, giggling as he lies down next to me.

He pulls me over and kisses me, his mouth lingering on mine. “I’ve been hoping it might come to this for a while. Damn, you’re gorgeous.”

This time I don’t hurl his past in his face. “Thank you.”

“Are you sure?” he checks.

“Absolutely.” I run my fingers through his dark hair, overlong and falling into his eyes. “I’m totally sure.”

He opens the condom packet and rolls it on, then kisses me softly. He keeps kissing, moving down to my neck and breasts, running his hands over my body like he can’t get enough, and I curl around him, always trying to move closer and memorize every second of this.

He flicks his thumb over my clit, rubbing and circling until my breath is coming out in pants. He slides one finger deep into me, then two.

“You’re so damn wet, Hattie,” he breathes. “You’re so tight. I want to be inside you.”

“I want you inside me.” I reach one hand down and fit his tip against my slick entrance. “I’m ready.”

Ryan’s eyes are focused on my face as he lifts his hips and slides into me slowly. I suck a breath through my teeth because it’s a tighter stretch than I anticipated, but it doesn’t hurt. He pulls back and slides back in, repeating the pattern for a few careful strokes.

My body adjusts around him, and my last residual nerves melt away. I let my legs fall open and tilt my hips up, my hands on his gorgeous ass. I press him deeper and moan at how good every extra bit feels.

“Take it easy,” Ryan cautions, his low voice coiling smoothly in my ears. “You might be sore after. I want to be careful with you.”

“Ryan?” I look right at him and smile a wicked smile. “Don’t hold back. This is worth a little soreness.”

The side of his jaw tics tight and he increases the rhythm. It’s strange, the fact that he’s pressing himself deep inside me like this. Strange and perfect. I start to move with him, at first screwing up his rhythm, then matching it.

“Ryan. Ryan,” I chant as he moves faster, his body slick with sweat, his face tense.

I run my hands along the taut muscles of his arms, then come in and press my palms up and down along his torso, working my fingers over the silver saint medal he never takes off.

When I lift myself a few inches and look down, I see where he’s driving in and out of me, shiny with my slickness. Watching us makes the insides of my thighs tingle, and I start to feel that perfect resonance that unfurls around him. I shake a little and he looks up, his eyes wide.

“Hattie? Are you...?”

I press my heels into the wood of the deck and twist closer to him, throwing us both off course and shuddering around him. Tiny explosions claim my body and my mind swirls with one thought, over and over:
him, him, him.

He pumps harder, faster, and finally goes rigid over me, wrapping me in his arms and holding tight as he does. All I can hear is my name untangling itself from his throat and into my ears.

I’ve never heard anyone speak my name with so much love. I’ve never heard my name and felt such sickening guilt.

“Hattie,” he says again, his breath ragged, his voice unspooled. “I love you.”

I whimper in return and screw my eyes shut.