Breakable
Page 31
As we danced, I took both of her hands, gently, and brought them together behind her back. Her br**sts brushed my chest and it took every sliver of willpower to keep from crushing her closer. She moved perfectly with me, closing her eyes. Earning that fragment of trust from her only made me want more.
She swayed, probably more affected by the cheap tequila in the half dozen margaritas her friends had furnished than being in the circle of my arms. When I released her hands to hold her body more firmly, she grabbed on to my arms like she was falling. Inching upward, those hands tracked a slow path to link behind my neck, and I waited for her eyes to flicker open. Her chin lifted, but her eyes remained shut until she was fully pressed against me – and then they flashed open, and she stared up at me.
She swallowed like she was summoning courage and stretched closer, curiosity in her unguarded eyes and lightly puckered brow. She didn’t know me – a fact evidenced by her question: ‘S-so what’s your major?’
Ah, f**k.
I wasn’t ready for this fantasy to end – and end it would, as soon as I told her I was the guy she’d been emailing with all week – her tutor, who wasn’t supposed to touch her like this, let alone the ways I really wanted to touch her.
‘Do you really want to talk about that?’ I asked, knowing she didn’t. It was just an opening for more. More that I couldn’t give.
‘As opposed to talking about what?’
This was what you got, when you became too cocky about how principled you were, walking that straight and narrow. You slammed right into the one thing you couldn’t have, just because it crossed your path while you were focused on your almighty integrity. Jacqueline Wallace wasn’t mine to take, and her needs weren’t mine to uncover and fulfil.
‘As opposed to not talking,’ I said, wanting one slice of time with her, unspoiled by the secrets between us.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said, a slight blush in her cheeks. But she didn’t let go. And she didn’t pull away.
I drew her closer still and leaned to inhale the scent of her again, committing it to deeper memory. ‘Yes, you do,’ I breathed, my lip grazing the soft skin just behind her ear. She gasped gratifyingly, and I couldn’t decide if that reaction was the most enchanting or the most unfair thing I’d ever heard. ‘Let’s just dance,’ I said, holding my breath, waiting for her answer.
She nodded once as another song began.
11
Landon
When I started racking up detentions for tardies from sleeping in and my grades began slipping, the consequences I’d expected didn’t happen. I thought Dad would try to ground me or yell at me. I thought he’d set up a parent conference with Ingram or take away my allowance. But nothing changed.
Sometimes Grandpa grumbled at me, but most of his griping happened when I didn’t pick up after myself or pitch in on chores, so I figured out how to run the washer and help cook, and I kept most of my crap stuffed into my room.
Over dinner one night, Grandpa said, ‘You need to learn a vocation, son. Might as well be fishin’, what with the gulf so handy and all.’
As he plopped a spoonful of potatoes on to his plate, Dad scowled, but didn’t contradict him – which was weird. So when summer came around, I was conscripted into working on the Ramona – named for my grandmother. Getting up early sucked, because most nights I partied on the beach with the guys and staggered home late, no longer bothering to sneak out or in. I only got three or four hours of sleep before Grandpa woke me up, which he’d taken to doing with a pan and serving spoon when my alarm didn’t do the trick. Nothing echoes like a metal pan in a tiny room with no windows.
Dad never took a day off. He was gradually transforming Grandpa’s commercial fishing business into chartered fishing and sightseeing tours only, setting up a lame website with pics of rich tourists in front of the Ramona, showing off their catches – guys willing to pay a thousand bucks to spend a day drinking and being pointed to a boat-attached pole whenever it jerked from some poor fish taking the bait. All summer long and into the fall we transported skilled and wannabe fishermen to the best sites to throw down lines for redfish in the bay or kingfish offshore – fathers and sons or couples who bonded or spent the day trapped and pissed off at each other, elite executives who came alone or brought VIP clients, frat guys who did more drinking, cussing and sunburning than fishing.
I baited hooks, filled the tanks and supplies, cleaned and gutted fish, hosed down the deck, and took photos. By the end of the summer, I was darker, harder and at least an inch taller than my grandfather, unless the wispy white hair drifting above his head like fog counted as height. (Grandpa claimed it did.)
Grandpa nearly came unhinged when Dad added sunset cruises for couples, dolphin-sighting tours for families and whooping-crane excursions for groups of little old ladies. But the money increased, and the workload was easier – especially with me for free labour, so there was only so much he could protest.
‘I was thinking.’
I feared Boyce was about to turn philosophical, and I was way too tired for that shit. I’d only had one beer before nearly falling asleep while making out with a hot chick who’d be gone tomorrow, so I decided to quit drinking before I ended up face-first in the sand. Boyce stopped in solidarity of the fact that we were the only two in our pack who worked our asses off during the day. Me on the boat, him at his father’s garage. We carried threadbare beach chairs down into the surf to escape the others, who could be annoying shitheads, especially when they were high and we weren’t.
‘Dangerous, Wynn.’
‘Ha. Ha.’
I focused on the cool waves lapping over my feet and the ceaseless, lulling hum and crash of the rolling water. The tide was still coming in. If we remained in this spot, we’d be waist deep by midnight.
‘I was thinking that I’ve never seen you without your wrists covered.’
I tried not to react, but my hands clenched the aluminium arms of the chair. As tanned as I was, my wrists were as white as my ass – they never saw the sun. Ever. I wrapped them in bandanas and wristbands or the watch I seldom wore any more. No one here had ever noticed the fact that all that stuff was masking something else. At least, I’d assumed they hadn’t.
I turned my head to look at him. ‘And?’
He chewed a bit of dry skin on his lip. ‘I was thinking you could probably get tattoos to cover – y’know – whatever you’re … hidin’.’ He shrugged, closing his eyes.
She swayed, probably more affected by the cheap tequila in the half dozen margaritas her friends had furnished than being in the circle of my arms. When I released her hands to hold her body more firmly, she grabbed on to my arms like she was falling. Inching upward, those hands tracked a slow path to link behind my neck, and I waited for her eyes to flicker open. Her chin lifted, but her eyes remained shut until she was fully pressed against me – and then they flashed open, and she stared up at me.
She swallowed like she was summoning courage and stretched closer, curiosity in her unguarded eyes and lightly puckered brow. She didn’t know me – a fact evidenced by her question: ‘S-so what’s your major?’
Ah, f**k.
I wasn’t ready for this fantasy to end – and end it would, as soon as I told her I was the guy she’d been emailing with all week – her tutor, who wasn’t supposed to touch her like this, let alone the ways I really wanted to touch her.
‘Do you really want to talk about that?’ I asked, knowing she didn’t. It was just an opening for more. More that I couldn’t give.
‘As opposed to talking about what?’
This was what you got, when you became too cocky about how principled you were, walking that straight and narrow. You slammed right into the one thing you couldn’t have, just because it crossed your path while you were focused on your almighty integrity. Jacqueline Wallace wasn’t mine to take, and her needs weren’t mine to uncover and fulfil.
‘As opposed to not talking,’ I said, wanting one slice of time with her, unspoiled by the secrets between us.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said, a slight blush in her cheeks. But she didn’t let go. And she didn’t pull away.
I drew her closer still and leaned to inhale the scent of her again, committing it to deeper memory. ‘Yes, you do,’ I breathed, my lip grazing the soft skin just behind her ear. She gasped gratifyingly, and I couldn’t decide if that reaction was the most enchanting or the most unfair thing I’d ever heard. ‘Let’s just dance,’ I said, holding my breath, waiting for her answer.
She nodded once as another song began.
11
Landon
When I started racking up detentions for tardies from sleeping in and my grades began slipping, the consequences I’d expected didn’t happen. I thought Dad would try to ground me or yell at me. I thought he’d set up a parent conference with Ingram or take away my allowance. But nothing changed.
Sometimes Grandpa grumbled at me, but most of his griping happened when I didn’t pick up after myself or pitch in on chores, so I figured out how to run the washer and help cook, and I kept most of my crap stuffed into my room.
Over dinner one night, Grandpa said, ‘You need to learn a vocation, son. Might as well be fishin’, what with the gulf so handy and all.’
As he plopped a spoonful of potatoes on to his plate, Dad scowled, but didn’t contradict him – which was weird. So when summer came around, I was conscripted into working on the Ramona – named for my grandmother. Getting up early sucked, because most nights I partied on the beach with the guys and staggered home late, no longer bothering to sneak out or in. I only got three or four hours of sleep before Grandpa woke me up, which he’d taken to doing with a pan and serving spoon when my alarm didn’t do the trick. Nothing echoes like a metal pan in a tiny room with no windows.
Dad never took a day off. He was gradually transforming Grandpa’s commercial fishing business into chartered fishing and sightseeing tours only, setting up a lame website with pics of rich tourists in front of the Ramona, showing off their catches – guys willing to pay a thousand bucks to spend a day drinking and being pointed to a boat-attached pole whenever it jerked from some poor fish taking the bait. All summer long and into the fall we transported skilled and wannabe fishermen to the best sites to throw down lines for redfish in the bay or kingfish offshore – fathers and sons or couples who bonded or spent the day trapped and pissed off at each other, elite executives who came alone or brought VIP clients, frat guys who did more drinking, cussing and sunburning than fishing.
I baited hooks, filled the tanks and supplies, cleaned and gutted fish, hosed down the deck, and took photos. By the end of the summer, I was darker, harder and at least an inch taller than my grandfather, unless the wispy white hair drifting above his head like fog counted as height. (Grandpa claimed it did.)
Grandpa nearly came unhinged when Dad added sunset cruises for couples, dolphin-sighting tours for families and whooping-crane excursions for groups of little old ladies. But the money increased, and the workload was easier – especially with me for free labour, so there was only so much he could protest.
‘I was thinking.’
I feared Boyce was about to turn philosophical, and I was way too tired for that shit. I’d only had one beer before nearly falling asleep while making out with a hot chick who’d be gone tomorrow, so I decided to quit drinking before I ended up face-first in the sand. Boyce stopped in solidarity of the fact that we were the only two in our pack who worked our asses off during the day. Me on the boat, him at his father’s garage. We carried threadbare beach chairs down into the surf to escape the others, who could be annoying shitheads, especially when they were high and we weren’t.
‘Dangerous, Wynn.’
‘Ha. Ha.’
I focused on the cool waves lapping over my feet and the ceaseless, lulling hum and crash of the rolling water. The tide was still coming in. If we remained in this spot, we’d be waist deep by midnight.
‘I was thinking that I’ve never seen you without your wrists covered.’
I tried not to react, but my hands clenched the aluminium arms of the chair. As tanned as I was, my wrists were as white as my ass – they never saw the sun. Ever. I wrapped them in bandanas and wristbands or the watch I seldom wore any more. No one here had ever noticed the fact that all that stuff was masking something else. At least, I’d assumed they hadn’t.
I turned my head to look at him. ‘And?’
He chewed a bit of dry skin on his lip. ‘I was thinking you could probably get tattoos to cover – y’know – whatever you’re … hidin’.’ He shrugged, closing his eyes.
