I snap, folding my arms across my chest. “Are you even listening to me?”
He reaches for another rock and I move in front of him to block his throw.
“You can’t just—” I look down at his face and my words cut off.
It’s the most beautiful face I’ve ever seen.
Leaf-green eyes look up at me with a calm as deep as the waters of Lake Michigan. His jaw is angular, but the curve of his mouth softens the lines and his sooty lashes do the rest. As I drink him in, a strand of golden hair slips loose from behind his ear and casts a dark shadow across his cheek. Air hisses through my lips in a gasp, and though I’m trying to form words, my mouth doesn’t obey.
As if sensing that he’s the source of my distress, he looks away, back over the water, and I can move again.
“I beg your forgiveness,” he says, and his voice is deep, but soft. Dark chocolate. “I approached you badly. Botched it all up.” His words sound a little off—accented maybe, but not with any lilt I can place.
I don’t know what I was expecting, but an instant apology wasn’t it. Excuses, denials, that’s what I was ready for. I’m stunned by his admission and, for a moment, stand with my mouth slightly open.
“I ought to have introduced myself in the traditional way.” His eyes meet mine again and I can’t look away.
“Yeah, that would have been better than standing outside my kitchen at two in the morning,” I force myself to say.
“I frightened you.”
Again the bluntness. I want to deny it—to insist I wasn’t afraid at all. But I was. Terrified and exhilarated in equal measure.
“But I am not the one whom you should fear.”
I study him. There’s … something. Something familiar, now that I see him up close. “Do I … do I know you?”
He grins and I have to take a step back as he pushes to his feet, the deep V of his loose shirt falling forward, and I glimpse well-defined abs. I’m not the kind of girl who goes for muscles and tans and all that—brains over brawn for me—but I find it impossible to avert my gaze. It’s as though this body was made explicitly for my adoration. As he straightens, his shirt falls flat against his chest once more. My eyes travel upward.
And upward.
I’m not short. I’m five eight. But this guy is a good six inches taller than me, and he stretches his lanky arms above his head in a leisurely gesture. “No,” he says, and his eyes sparkle with some kind of mischief. “But you will.”
And then we stand.
And stare.
At each other.
This isn’t me; tongue-twisted over some guy, drooling over a granite physique. It makes me feel right and wrong at once and by turns until I want to walk out of my skin to get away from the contradiction.
“I’m Tavia,” I say, thrusting my hand out. I have to do something. The tension is killing me and I can’t figure out what I want. What I don’t want.
They seem to be the same thing.
He looks at my hand but ignores it. “I know who you are.”
Of course he does. I wait.
And wait.
Is he going to make me ask?
“We should talk,” he says as he stoops to grab a coat from the sand, then slips his lean arms into it. “I have things to show you and our time is short.”
“I don’t know your name,” I blurt.
He smiles all the way now, showing broad teeth and tiny crinkles on each side of his eyes. “You’re beautiful, you know that?” My legs shake as he lifts his hand to my face, his fingers just a hair’s breadth from my cheek. “I like you this way,” he whispers. I close my eyes, waiting for the touch to land.
It doesn’t.
After a few seconds I open my eyes, embarrassed. But he’s not looking at me. He’s turned half away and his eyebrows are folded low.
“Why are you doing this?” I choke. “I don’t understand any of it.”
“I wish I could explain everything right now, but it will take time. You must trust me. I know I’ve done nothing to deserve it,” he adds before I can argue. “But please, please trust me.”
My head is nodding even as I bite my lip, letting go when my teeth touch the sore, cracked skin. Stupid ocean air. It gives me a moment of clarity and I fight the woozy, agreeable feeling that fills my head. “No offense, but why should I trust you?” I snap. “You won’t tell me anything and you keep running off. I need you to talk to me.”
“Next time,” he says, a touch of promise in his voice. “You know I cannot linger tonight. A promise,” he adds. “I shall bring something to help you understand next we meet. Agreed?”
“You can’t come here again,” I warn. “Not like this. You’ll get us both in trouble.”
He nods soberly, almost as if he expected that. “Don’t look for me. I’ll find you.”
It appears that’s the best I’m going to get. He’s right—he can’t stay. Not now. “Okay,” I concede. My whole body trembles as I say it. I’m afraid of what I’ve just agreed to.
He turns and his long coat billows out for just a second, falling back around his legs with a whisper. “Be safe,” he says. I think he says it. But it’s so quiet I might have imagined it.
“Wait!” I say, jumping after him.
“Soon,” he calls without turning. “Soon.”
“But—” I don’t even know what to say; I’m completely out of control here. Of the situation. Of him. Of myself.
A light laugh escapes him and I start to feel angry, but he spins to walk backward and his eyes meet mine with an innocent playfulness. “Since names matter so much to you, it’s Quinn,” he says with a smile. “Quinn Avery.”
Quinn Avery.
Two simple words, but they mean everything.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Where are you? My fingers shake as I text Benson.
Library. About to leave, he replies about a minute later.
We need to talk. I feel weird texting Benson, the guy I liked last week, about Quinn, the guy I apparently like this week.
The other guy I like this week. It’s so weird, when Quinn is around, it’s
