Veiled (Ada Palomino 1)

He sucks in his breath, giving my hand another squeeze. “Screw room service,” he says and pulls me into a store selling liquor. He grabs a bottle of white wine from the fridge and a couple of packets of salt water taffy, pays at the register, and then leads me toward the sand.

We find a place among the small dunes, a stiffer mound of sand in between reedy grass, and hunker down. He hands me a salt water taffy and deftly unscrews the bottle, handing it to me.

“Drink up, buttercup,” he says. “You need it.”

I take it from him, our fingers brushing against each other, sending more shockwaves through my system. Even though the breeze is fresh, the pounding surf sounds like a lullaby, and the sound of squealing children nearby should be comforting, I need this wine more than anything. If not for what I’m seeing, for what I’m feeling.

Everything Jay.

I tip the bottle back.

And drink.

***

I am drunk.

Day drunk.

That’s way more drunk than normal drunk.

I drank a whole bottle of pinot gris.

It’s sitting right beside me in the sand, propped up like it’s in an ice bucket and I’m some classy bitch.

Jay is right beside me, his large frame taking over my vision. Even though there’s an endless beach in front of me and infinite ocean, Jay is all I see.

He’s looking for a pen and paper. I told him I want to write a message and stick it in the wine bottle and throw it out to sea.

He’s indulging me. He knows I’m drunk. He had maybe two sips of wine and that’s it. I asked him if it’s possible for him to get drunk, cuz I dunno, maybe his super fast metabolism keeps it from affecting him. I’m pretty sure vampires can’t get drunk. Except on blood.

But Jay said it’s possible and that’s why he needs to refrain.

Then I called him a pussy.

He burst out laughing.

I love his laugh.

It’s really only the second time I’ve heard it, this rich genuine sound of joy, coming from the soul of him, but I love it with every part of me.

Then he said, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

And I swear the Irish accent came out again. I decided not to bring it up. I just watched him and went on like nothing happened.

I have my theories though. That he was Irish in a past life. And if the accent is starting to come out, then maybe other parts of who he was are too.

The thought struck me as dangerous.

I ignored it.

Now Jay is handing me a receipt and I fish my eyeliner out of my purse and start writing the note.

“What are you going to write?” he asks me, utterly amused.

Good. I like it when I amuse him.

“Not sure yet,” I tell him.

I put the receipt on my knee and have the eyeliner poised to write. I have to make the writing big so it won’t be too smudgy. I glance at Jay out of the corner of my eyes and see his attention is on the crashing waves.

Without thinking, I write:

Help me.

Help me.

Help me.

Help me.

Before Jay can see, I quickly roll up the receipt and stick it in the bottle. Then I start using the bottle to scoop sand, like filling an hourglass.

“What are you doing?” Jay asks, peering over my shoulder. “It’s going to sink that way, not float.”

“I want it to sink,” I tell him.

I’m pretty sure that direction is the only way it will get read.

“Maybe we should get you back in the room,” he says. “We haven’t even seen it yet.”

I nod dumbly, not sure of the time. It’s way past dinner, I know because my stomach is growling and the smell of fried fish and barbeque is in the air.

It’s so beautiful out that I almost freeze to the spot. I’m hit with a pang of sadness that always comes with realizing summer is almost over.

Jay offers me his hand to help me up but instead I grab the wine bottle and scoot down the dune like a crab until I’m upright and running across the beach as fast as I can.

I smile into the wind, into the sun that burns bright on the horizon, and I run, run, run, the occasional giggle escaping my lips, my feet flying.

I know Jay is behind me. He’s my shadow. A shadow I like.

A shadow I need.

A shadow I want.

Behind me.

In front of me.

Everywhere.

I stop at the ocean’s edge, breathless, on the verge of hiccups, and wind my arm up.

The bottle goes sailing in an arc through the air, landing in the swell behind the breaks. It’s probably not deep enough, but it will eventually get dragged out to sea, where it belongs. Maybe a mermaid will intercept it before it reaches the bottom.

Jay stops a few feet behind me. I can feel him. He’s not breathing hard like I am (he’s not human, is he?) but I sense him all the same, the way you know your shadow is there, even if it’s overcast.