He smirks. “Once you get the hang of it, it won’t be so exhausting. Your muscles will get used to working with the energy of the ocean and not overcompensating for it––ever hear of go with the flow?”
“I t-thought I was in better shape,” I say wheezing.
“Aren’t you running?”
“I d-don’t run ever,” I tell him.
Try strapping two watermelons to your chest and go for a run, I want to say to him but refrain. He’s been so patient with me he doesn’t deserve me snapping at him.
“I s-speed walk.”
Stumbling out of the water, I lie down on the sand and make a sand angel or two. “This is m-more my style,” I say, staring up at the daisy chain of clouds above.
Dallas lies down next to me and gets up on an elbow, a soft mischievous smile on his face. “You wanna go to dinner tonight?”
Oh crud. I have a date tonight. Andy, from my Advanced Chem class. I’m actually kind of excited about it. Well, I was up until now. Why do I feel super uncomfortable telling him?
“I c-can’t…”
“Lab?”
“No…” Shoot. I feel bad. Guilty even. And that, in in of itself, is so wrong. We have no claim on one another. “I-I have a date.”
His smile vanishes. His brows slam together. “A date?” His tone implies someone dropped a stinker and that someone is me.
“N-Number seven on the list.”
“Riiight…the list. With who?”
“A guy from m-my chem class. Nobody you know––j-just a n-nice guy.” Why did I say that? What on Earth possessed me to say it like that? “But any other––”
“No, that’s cool. Good for you.”
Standing, he brushes his hands together, cleaning the sand away while avoiding eye contact.
The sinking sensation in my gut gets stronger. “Dallas––”
“Let me know when you want to do this again.” He finally meets my gaze head-on, his eyes glowing vivid blue in daylight. Then he walks away, heading for his house.
Dallas
“C-can I come in?”
Dora’s standing in the doorway, blinking up at me like she’s got something on her mind and it can’t wait. My eyes travel down her body and hit on a few major key points.
A: she’s wearing a royal blue slinky dress and she looks hot.
B: her hair is down and parted to the side and she looks hot.
C: she has make-up on and she looks hot.
None of these things make me happy. In fact, my mood, which was already on the verge of crap, gets darker. “How was your date?”
“It was nice. Thanks for as-sking. C-can I come in?” She tries to look around me––probably wondering if I have a guest––so I cross my arms and lean into her line of sight.
“Oh…” The amusement drains from her face, her expression sobering instantly. “You have c-company. Sorry, I-I-I’ll go.”
“No. No company,” I’m quick to correct. Why? Who the fuck knows. It’s not like we owe each other anything.
Her eyes lift to meet mine, and her glossy lips curve into a gentle smile. “So…c-can I come in?”
She blinks those big brown peepers at me and I lose the fight to hold onto my bad mood. Even worse, I want to kiss her. There’s nothing worse than knowing how great it is to kiss her and not being able to do it again.
I step aside and she walks past me, heading straight to the kitchen like she’s done it a hundred times. I realize then that I like her feeling comfortable in my house. I want her to feel at home here. Heels clicking the entire way, I watch her hips sway, the blue dress hugging her ass. I am royally fuu––
“Hey, D. What’s up, girl,” says my suddenly inconvenient roommate.
“Hi, Cole.”
The fact that Cole Peterman––the biggest chick hater I have ever known for reasons not a single one of us can figure out––has taken a liking to Dora and turns on the nice guy routine whenever she’s here irritates the shit out of me.
He’s making himself a Nutella sandwich when I walk in. The sight of the jar alone is enough to turn my stomach.
“Dude, we have a lady guest. How about you put a shirt on?”
Cole chuckles. Then sensing my lack of humor, his smile drops. “You’re serious?” When I don’t answer, confusion blankets his face. “You don’t have one on, either.”
“I’m…” Damn, I hadn’t thought this one through.
“I’m leaving anyway,” he jumps in to fill the void. “Just grabbing a snack on my way out.” Then he winks. The dude winks. Translation: booty-call.
Naturally, I’m forced to call him out. I can’t have Dora thinking he’s a stand-up guy. “Kacey or Madison?”
“Neither.” He smiles widely.
I watch his eyes travel down Dora’s body while he slaps the chocolate spread on two slices of bread and a sick feeling churns in my gut. I know what he’s thinking. I know because I’ve thought it too.