Turtle Bay (13 page)

And that would be how our day went. Josh stewed in his own little bubble, while I made a blatant point of ignoring him, in spite of how I had thought I wanted to confront him over narcing about the party. I guess I was more talk than action. Thankfully, the beach was busier than usual, so minor incidents and beach cleanup kept us busy all morning.

For lunch Josh drove us to a pizza spot on the boardwalk and I thought about lying and telling him I didn't like pizza, but that would have required actually talking to him. Plus, as stubborn as we were both acting, he likely wouldn't have cared anyway. I was glad I didn't complain because it was perhaps the best piece of pizza I'd ever had. Damn him.

By the time we ended our day I was gnashing my teeth with annoyance, unsure of how much more of this silent standoff I could take. I even contemplated how much extra community service time I might get for running him over with the ATV and whether it would be worth it.

Fortunately, I was saved from adding to my criminal record when I got paired up with Larry on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. The only other time during the week that I saw Josh was on Friday, and we stayed out of each other's hair while I painted more lifeguard stands.

"You look grumpy," Buttercup commented as I climbed into the van on Friday afternoon.

"I'm trying to decide whether swimming with sharks while holding a bloody steak would be as bad as my community service."

She clucked her tongue. "Is it really that bad?"

I tossed my gloves on the dashboard. "It wouldn't be if one of the guys they stuck me with wasn't such a douchecanoe."

"Is he harassing you?" she asked, not looking happy.

I shook my head. "It's not like that." I had yet to tell Buttercup and Butch about Josh and the role he played in my arrest. "He's just a pain," I finished lamely. "Hey, can you drop me off at Tasty Freeze so I can pick up my measly check from the one day I worked? I want to stay and chat for a few, so I'll just walk home after."

"Sure," she answered, slowing down to pull into the parking lot of the ice cream parlor.

Things weren't too busy at Tasty Freeze, so I had a chance to chat with Jennifer and Melissa before heading out. I was halfway home when
a flash of lightning lit up the gloomy sky in the distance followed by the loudest boom of thunder I had ever heard. Within seconds, the question of whether I had time to make it home before getting drenched was answered. The rain came down in buckets upon buckets, soaking my clothes and plastering my hair in wet clumps to my head. I sloshed through puddles, not minding the warm rain as much as I probably should have. It was only after more lightning flashed across the sky, followed by the crack of thunder, that I picked up my pace. There was a big difference between walking in the rain and being fried like a corn fritter. I was two blocks from my house when a beat-up truck pulled up alongside me. My heart leaped into my throat, thinking some perv was trying to pick me up until I heard a familiar voice calling my name. Peering through the curtain of rain that continued to fall, I spotted Josh behind the wheel of the truck.

"Get in," he called through the window.

"Bite me." Go figure he would pick during a thunderstorm as the time to start talking to me. I yelped when another flash of lightning lit up the sky.

"Don't be an idiot. Get in," he demanded as a rumble of thunder shook the ground beneath my feet.

"I thought you weren't talking to me," I countered, climbing into his truck. The lightning was too wicked to mess around with. "Thanks," I said grudgingly as he adjusted the vents to blow warm air my direction.

His only acknowledgement was a curt nod. The fury I'd been holding at bay started to seethe to the surface. Who did he think he was? My hand found the door handle. I didn't need his shit. I pushed the door open before he could pull away from the curb.

"Hey, what are you doing?" he asked, shocked to see the door fly open. The rain was coming down at an angle and swept into the cab of the truck, giving me a moment of satisfaction.

"I'd rather take my chances in a typhoon then ride with you," I said, making a move to get out.

His hand reached out and closed around my wrist. "Stay," he insisted, releasing my wrist almost as quickly as he had grabbed it.

It was one word, but it was significant. I wasn't some dog he could command. Hell, I should have been offended, but his one word did exactly what it was meant to. I stayed. I closed the door even though it was a little too late since both the seat of his truck and I were completely soaked. Even when he was being a complete dick I was still drawn to him. Obviously I needed an
idiot
sign for my forehead.

I waited for Josh to pull away from the curb, but he kept his hands tight on the steering wheel. The rain continued to pour down around the truck as we sat in silence. The windows began to fog up, creating the illusion that we were alone. I watched as the windshield wipers tried to keep up with the onslaught of rain. Back and forth they swished rapidly, but the water fell in sheets.

After a few moments of tense silence I began to tap my fingers on the door handle. If he was expecting me to apologize we would be sitting for a long time. I crossed my arms defiantly across my chest so he would know I wasn't going to bend. If anyone owed an apology between us, it was him.

"Where to?" he asked, finally breaking the silence.

"Oh, two blocks down and take a right," I answered, realizing the idiot in the truck was me.

He nodded, putting his truck into gear and switching the wipers to a lower setting. The worst of the storm had passed. It was still raining, but the lightning was gone. After a couple blocks, Josh made the right-hand turn down my street and I directed him to my house, where he pulled into the driveway behind Butch's van.

"Okay—so, thanks for the ride," I said, making no move to get out. The words to ask him why he had even stopped were on the tip of my tongue. He obviously hated me or at the very least, we weren't friends.

"You're not like I thought you would be," he finally stated. I bristled at his words. I was sick of being painted as the bad person in all this. I might not be some goody-goody like him, but I also wasn't some thug.

"Give me a break, okay? So I went to a damn party that got out of hand. In case you missed it, I'm paying my debt to society, so you can get off your high horse."

"Why did you pretend?" Josh asked.

"Pretend what?" I snapped in aggravation.

"I thought you were one of them," he said, sweeping his hand out to indicate the house next to ours.

"A house?"

He glared at me without laughing. "I assumed you were rich like Evan and the others."
 

"Well, you know what they say when you assume," I taunted. "What does it matter, anyway? If I was rich does that mean I deserved to be punished for something I didn't do?"

By the look on his face, it was clear Josh didn't believe I had nothing to do with trashing the beach at the party. "You're an asshole, you know that? If you would have investigated things a little closer when you were sneaking around, you would have seen that I didn't toss anything over the rail at Evan's house."

"So you say." His tone was so condescending. It was like he was trying to antagonize me into a fight.

I gnashed my teeth. "That is what I say because it's the truth. Is that why you didn't warn me you were going to call the cops?"

"What did you expect? The beach got trashed because of that party. How was I supposed to know you had nothing to do with it?"

He was infuriating. I was on the verge of telling him where he could stick his logic when something grabbed his attention over my shoulder. A small smile tugged at the corners of his ordinarily frowning mouth. I stifled a groan. Without even looking, I knew that either Butch or Buttercup was behind the current look on his face. Turning slowly so I could peer out the window, I spotted both of them standing in the backyard, soaping up their hair and washing it in the steady downpour of rain. The fact that it was the middle of the day seemed to hold no significance to them. As sad as it sounds, it wasn't a new ritual. For years Butch and Buttercup claimed rainwater made their hair smell better and gave it more shine. Oh, and of course it didn't waste water. At least they were wearing shorts and T-shirts, which gave me a small measure of comfort. They used to do it in the nude back in Huntsville until I put my foot down.

"Your parents?" he asked, watching as they took turns scrubbing each other's hair.

"Yeah, that would be Butch and Buttercup," I answered without thinking.

"Butch and Buttercup? You call your parents by their first names?" I thought it was funny that he questioned that point as opposed to their actual names.

"Yeah. Their idea more than mine. I've been calling them by their given names for as long as I can remember. When I was younger they made me do it in case I ever got lost. They figured millions of kids assumed their parents' names were
Mom
and
Dad
. They wanted me to be able to provide their names without hesitation," I answered in one long breath. I wasn't sure why I felt the need to give him the full explanation.

"That's smart. My parents would have croaked if I called them by their names. They wouldn't even let my friends do it," he said, turning back to me. "They were pretty formal that way. I would have given anything to see them let go like that," he added, looking out the window again. It was the most open conversation Josh and I had shared, and it only took Butch and Buttercup's freaky behavior to get us there.

The way he talked about his parents in the past tense hadn't escaped my attention. Maybe they had passed away. Something like that would definitely change the way a person looked at the world. I wanted to ask him, but it felt too personal. He would have mentioned it if he wanted me to know.

I was lost in my thoughts when he burst out laughing. The sudden transformation in his facial structure took me by surprise. It was the first time I'd seen him without the scowl I'd grown accustomed to. Smiling suited him. His entire face shined and his eyes sparkled with mirth.

Reluctantly, I turned away to see what my parents had done to achieve such a drastic reaction from Josh. This time I couldn't help but groan out loud at the sight of Butch stripping off his T-shirt and dancing around the yard like he was praising the god of rain or something. He made a production of washing under his arms before he and Buttercup finished up and headed back into the house. "I'm going to kill them," I muttered, reaching for the door handle. "Thanks for the ride."

Josh nodded but didn't say anything else. I sighed, climbing from the truck. Oh well. Small steps were better than none at all.

Chapter 8

With Farrah gone on a trip with her parents, the weekend seemed to drag. I felt weirdly antsy, wishing the hours away to get to Monday. I spent most of the time thinking about Josh, wondering if our short but cordial talk in his truck would change things between us. I still wanted to slug him for my mountain of community service hours, but after considering his explanation, I suppose I understood his side. That being said, I also expected him to accept the truth that I had done nothing except get caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. The cold shoulder treatment needed to be over.

Monday finally arrived and I got to the patrol office to find out I had been teamed up with Josh. I gnawed my lip for a moment as Vanessa handed over my new time sheet for the week. "Is everything okay?" she asked, looking up at me.

"Oh, yeah, I was just thinking of something," I answered, smiling. The question of whether Josh and I could coexist was about to be answered.

"Okay, good. Most of the guys are tied up making preparations in case Tropical Storm Alexia turns into a hurricane."

"Is that a possibility?" I asked. Butch had mentioned the storm the night before, but according to the news it was still five days or so away if it maintained its course. I had no experience with hurricanes. A five-day warning seemed insane. Back in Kansas, a lot of the tornado warnings had come only minutes before you were screwed, if you got a warning at all.

"If it stays on track, it's a possibility. It's early in the season, but it's happened before. Don't you worry though, honey. If it gets upgraded to a hurricane, they'll probably evacuate," she reassured me. "Josh should be waiting for you," she added before answering an incoming call.

I walked out back to find Josh waiting on the ATV as usual. He looked up and adjusted in his seat when I came through the door. "Hey," he said, pulling away after I sat down.

"Hey," I answered. That was the extent of our conversation except for Josh outlining what we would be working on the next few days in case the storm maintained its course toward the coast. I accepted the fact that at least he was being friendly, and for the next couple of hours we drove around picking up trash and any other lose debris on the beach. What amazed me was that based on the cloudless sunny skies and people scattered around, you would never know a large storm was possibly less than a week away. It felt like any other day.

As Josh and I made our way down the beach, we were flagged down by a distraught mother who had lost sight of her little girl. She was waving and screaming frantically, attracting the attention of several other people around her. Josh grabbed his walkie-talkie and quickly called the beach patrol office.