SIXTEEN
There weren’t two seats next to each other when we made it to our nightly bonfire, so Samson is sitting across from me.
Sadly, Beau is in the one next to me.
I’ve noticed Samson eyeing Beau every time he speaks to me. I’m trying to make it very clear that I’m not interested, but Beau isn’t taking the hint. Guys like him never do. They’re used to getting what they want, so they can’t recognize when what they want doesn’t want them. It’s an unfathomable thought to Beau, I’m sure.
“Oh, God,” Sara mutters.
I glance at her and she points a hand at the dune crossing about fifty feet from our site.
Cadence is walking over the dune.
“I thought she left,” I say.
“I thought so, too,” Sara says.
I watch with a knot in my stomach as Cadence approaches us. Samson’s back is to her so he doesn’t know she’s walking up.
When she reaches him, she wraps her hands around Samson’s head and covers his eyes. He pulls her hands away and leans his head back, looking up at her.
Before he can even react, she says, “Surprise!” Then she leans down and kisses him on the mouth. “We came back for another week.”
The blood in my body feels like it just turned to lava.
Samson’s eyes immediately find mine when she pulls away. I’m not displaying the jealousy on my face, but it sure is running through my body.
Samson stands up and turns to Cadence. I can’t hear what he says to her, but he glances at me for a split second before he puts his hand on Cadence’s lower back and points at the water. They start walking in that direction and all I can do is look down at my lap.
I hope he’s walking away from all of us so he can let her down gently. Or ungently, I don’t care.
Not that he owes me anything. I’m the one who stopped the kiss last night.
“You okay?” Sara asks, noticing the change in my demeanor.
I blow out a steady breath. “What are they doing?”
“Who? Cadence and Samson?”
I nod.
“Walking,” she says. She narrows her eyes at me in suspicion. “What’s up with the two of you?”
I shake my head. “Nothing is up.”
Sara leans back in her chair. “I know you’re private about a lot of things, Beyah. I can deal with that, but if Samson kisses you this summer, will you please just give me a sign? You don’t even have to say it out loud. Just high-five me or something.”
I assure her with a nod, then glance over at Samson and Cadence. They’re standing at least two feet apart. Her arms are folded tightly over her chest. She looks angry.
I train my gaze back on the fire, but a few seconds later, there’s a collective gasp.
“Holy shit,” Marcos says, laughing. I look at him, but he’s looking at Samson, who is now walking back to the fire. He’s alone, rubbing his cheek.
“She slapped him,” Sara whispers. When Samson reaches his seat, she says, “What did you say to her?”
“Nothing she wanted to hear.”
“Did you just turn her down?” Beau asks. “Why the fuck would you do that? She’s hot.”
Samson looks at Beau with a deadpan expression. He waves in the direction Cadence just stomped away in. “She’s fair game, Beau. Shoot your shot.”
Beau shakes his head. “Nah, I’m only interested in this shot right here,” he says, indicating a hand toward me.
“Not gonna happen, Beau,” I say.
Beau grins at me, and I have no idea how my flat-out refusal of him makes him think I mean anything other than the words I’m speaking to him. He stands up and grabs my hand. He tries to pull me up, but I don’t budge.
“Come swimming with me,” he says.
I shake my head. “I’ve told you no twice already.”
He tries to pick me up, but I kick him in the knee just as Samson jumps out of his seat and stalks over to us. He stands between us, facing Beau. “She said no.”
Beau looks at Samson, and then around him, at me. He flicks a finger between us. “Oh. I get it. You two are a thing now.”
“It has nothing to do with me,” Samson says. “I’ve listened to her ask you to leave her alone several times. Take a fucking hint.”
Samson is angry. I don’t know if it’s stemming from jealousy or the simple fact that Beau is an asshole.
I expect that to be the end of it, but Beau apparently doesn’t like being yelled at. He swings at Samson, hitting him in the face. Then Beau puts up both fists like he’s ready for a fight, but Samson brings a hand up to his jaw and stares hard at Beau. “Are you fucking serious?”
“Yeah, I’m fucking serious,” Beau responds, still in his fighting stance.
Marcos is standing now, ready to defend Samson, but Samson doesn’t look like he cares to entertain Beau.
“Go home, Beau,” Marcos says, stepping between Beau and Samson.
Beau looks at Marcos. “How do you say asshole in Mexican?”
The only thing I hate more than a douche is a racist douche. “It’s Spanish, not Mexican,” I say. “And I think Beau is the correct translation for asshole.”
Samson lets out a small laugh when I say that. It pisses Beau off.
“Fuck you, you little rich prick. All of you can go to hell.” Beau’s face is red with rage.
“We’re in hell every time you show up,” Sara says flatly.
Beau points at Sara. “Fuck you.” He points at me. “And fuck you.”
I guess that’s where Samson draws the line. He doesn’t hit Beau, but he moves toward him fast enough to make Beau jump back. Then Beau spins around and grabs his stuff from his chair and leaves.
It’s a beautiful sight.
Samson falls into the chair, gripping his jaw. “I’ve been slapped by a girl and punched by two guys since you showed up.”
“Then stop taking my side.”
Samson looks at me with a small grin, almost as if he’s saying, “That’s not gonna happen.”
“You’re bleeding.” I grab a nearby towel and wipe his jaw. He’s got a small gash across his jawbone. Beau must have been wearing a ring. “You should put a bandage on that.”
Samson’s eyes change as he stares back at me. “I have some at the house.” He pushes out of his chair and walks around the fire, heading home.
He doesn’t even invite me or wait on me, but I could tell from his expression he wants me to follow him. I press a palm against my neck, feeling the heat rising to my skin. I stand up. I glance at Sara before I walk away.
“Remember,” she whispers. “A signal. A high five.”
I laugh and then follow Samson to his house. He’s several yards ahead of me, but he leaves his door open when he goes inside, so he knows I’m following him.
When I reach the top of the stairs, I blow out a calming breath. I don’t know why I’m nervous. We kissed last night. The hardest part is over.
I close the door when I walk inside. Samson is at the sink, wetting a paper towel. I walk into the kitchen and notice he didn’t turn any of the lights on. The only lights in the house are coming from the appliances and the moon shining through the windows.
I lean against the counter to get a look at his cut. He tilts his head so that I can inspect it. “Is it still bleeding?” he asks.
“A little.” I pull back and watch him as he presses the wet napkin against his jaw again.
“I don’t have any bandages,” he says. “I was lying.”
I nod. “I know. You don’t have shit in this house.”
His mouth twitches like he wants to smile, but there’s something heavy weighing his smile down. Whatever that heaviness is weighs me down.
He pulls the napkin away and tosses it on the counter, then he grips the edges of the counter like he’s having to hold himself back.
He’s not going to make the first move this time, no matter how much he seems like he wants to. And as nervous as I am, I want to experience a whole kiss with him, from beginning to end.
Samson’s stare is like a magnetic pull, coaxing me toward him. I step closer, my movements timid. No matter how nervous I seem, he doesn’t push it. He just waits. My heart is pounding in my chest when it’s clear to both of us that I’m about to kiss him.
It feels different than last night. It feels more significant since we’ve both spent the last day thinking about it and have obviously come to the conclusion that we both want it to happen again.
We maintain eye contact as I lift onto my toes and lightly press my lips to his. He inhales while my mouth is still against his, as if he’s summoning up patience that no longer exists inside of him.
I pull back a fraction, needing to see his reaction. His pointed gaze and parted lips are a promising hint for whatever might happen next. I don’t feel like I’ll end up running out of this kitchen again now that I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours regretting that move.
Samson lowers his forehead to mine. I squeeze my eyes shut when he wraps a hand around the back of my head. He keeps his forehead pressed against mine and I imagine his eyes are closed, too. It’s like he wants to be close to me, but he knows he can’t hug me and he doesn’t know if he should kiss me.
I tilt my head back on instinct, wanting his lips against mine again. He accepts the silent invitation by kissing the corner of my mouth, then the center of it. He releases a shaky breath, like he’s savoring what’s coming.
His hand that’s wrapped in my hair angles my head back even more, and then he kisses me with confidence.
It’s slow and deep, like he might not survive if he doesn’t swallow a little bit of my soul in this kiss. He tastes like saltwater and my blood feels like the sea, raging and crashing through my veins.
I want to live in this feeling. Sleep in it. Wake up in it.
I don’t want the kiss to end yet, but when he starts to slow it down, I like how he does it. Gradual, careful, difficult, like he’s coming to a halt about as slow as a train could.
When we’re no longer kissing, he releases me, but I don’t move away. I’m still pressed against him, but he’s gripping the counter again on either side of himself rather than gripping me. I appreciate that he isn’t wrapping me in his arms right now.
Kissing I’ve proved I can handle tonight. Being held is something I’m not quite ready for, and he already knows how I feel about it.
I press my forehead against his shoulder and close my eyes.
I can hear his breaths, labored and deep as he rests his head lightly against mine.
We stay like this for a while and I don’t know what to feel or what to think. I don’t know if it’s normal to feel a thousand pounds heavier after you kiss someone.
I feel like I’m doing this all wrong, but at the same time, it feels like maybe Samson and I are the only people who are doing this right in the whole world.
“Beyah,” he whispers. His mouth is right over my ear, so when he says my name, goosebumps run down my neck and arms. I keep my forehead pressed against him and my eyes closed.
“What?”
There’s a pause that feels way longer than it actually is. “I’m leaving in August.”
I don’t know what to say to that. It was only four words, but he drew a very deep line in the sand with those four words. A line I knew would eventually come.
“Me too,” I say.
I lift my head and my eyes are drawn to his necklace. I touch it, running my finger across the wood. He’s looking down at me like maybe he wants to kiss me again. I would take a thousand more of those tonight. I didn’t feel anything negative this time. It was all good, yet chilling. It’s as if he kissed me backward, from the inside out—the same way I think he looks at me sometimes. Like he sees the inside of me before he notices what’s outside.
He tilts my chin up with a finger and presses his lips to mine again, this time with his eyes open, soaking me in. He pulls back, but not very far. All his words seem to seep into my mouth when he speaks. “If we do this, it stays in the shallow end.”
I nod, but then I shake my head. I don’t know if I’m agreeing or disagreeing. “What do you mean by shallow end?”
His stare matches the tightness in my chest. He slides his tongue over his top lip like he’s thinking of how to elaborate on his thoughts without hurting my feelings. “I just mean…if this becomes a thing. A summer thing. That’s all I want it to be. I don’t want to leave here in August in a relationship.”
“I don’t want that, either. We’ll be on two different sides of the country.”
He slides the backs of his fingers down my arm. When he slides them back up again, he doesn’t stop at my shoulder. His fingers glide up my collarbone until he’s touching my cheek.
“People sometimes still drown in the shallow end,” he whispers.
That’s a dark thought. One I think he probably meant to keep to himself. But here I am, pulling back those layers whether he likes it or not.
So many layers.
I don’t know how kissing him felt like I bypassed every layer and burrowed right into his core, but it did. It’s like I see the real him, despite all the unknown that still surrounds him.
“Who was that guy at dinner?” I ask.
He swallows hard, glancing away, and it makes me want to run a soothing hand down his throat. “I don’t want to lie to you, Beyah. But I also can’t be honest with you.”
I have no idea what that means, but the thing about Samson is, he doesn’t seem to be the type to want attention or manufacture drama. So by saying something like this, it makes me think it’s even worse than how he’s presenting it.
“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?” I ask him.
He brings his eyes back to mine with another predictable shake of his head.
“It’s that bad?”
“It’s bad.”
“Worse than what I did with Dakota?”
Samson presses his lips into a thin, irritated line, and then dips his head, looking at me with intensity. “There are two different kinds of wrong. The wrong that stems from weakness and the wrong that stems from strength. You made that choice because you were strong and needed to survive. You didn’t make that choice because you were weak.”
I grasp on to every word of that because I want to make it my truth.
“Will you just answer one question for me?” I ask. He doesn’t say yes but he doesn’t say no. He just waits for my question. “Was it an assault of any kind?”
“No. Nothing like that.”
I’m relieved by that. He can tell. He brushes my hair over my shoulders with both hands and then presses his mouth against my forehead. He kisses me there, then leans his head against mine. “I’ll tell you the day before you leave for college.”
“If you’re eventually going to tell me, why can’t you just tell me right now?”
“Because I want to spend the rest of the summer with you. And if I tell you, I don’t think you’ll want that.”
I’m not sure what he could possibly tell me that would make me not want to speak to him, but I know if I dwell on it, I’m just going to stress over it.
I’ll wait.
At the rate our conversations have been going, I’ll get it out of him before August.
But for now, I just nod because it’s nothing he wants to tell me tonight. And if there’s one thing I can do right now, it’s show him the same patience he showed me last night.
He kisses me again. It’s a quick kiss. A goodnight kiss.
I don’t say anything as I pull away from him and walk toward the door because all my words feel too big for my voice. It’s hard just walking out his door right now. I can’t imagine what August third will feel like.
P.J. is waiting outside the door when I close it. He follows me loyally down the stairs and to the house. When I reach the top of the stairs to the house, he walks to his dog bed and lies down.
Thankfully, no one is in the living room when I enter the house. I lock the door and sneak up the stairs. Before I open my door, I glance at Sara’s bedroom door.
I think I want to tell her we kissed. It’s a weird feeling, wanting to open up to another girl. I never even told Natalie about the thing between Dakota and me. I was too ashamed to tell her.
I knock softly on Sara’s door, not wanting to wake up anyone else in the house. Sara doesn’t say anything. She’s probably still at the beach.
I push her door open to check and see if she’s in her bed, but as soon as I peek my head inside, I pull the door shut.
Marcos was on top of her. He was clothed, but still. I wasn’t expecting that.
I walk to my room, but then remember what Sara said at the beach about just giving her a silent sign.
I walk back into her room. She and Marcos stop kissing and look at me. I reach the bed and hold up a hand to get a high five from her.
She laughs and high-fives me. “Hell yes!” she whispers as I leave her room.