We reach the shore and Luke collapses in the sand, chest heaving. “I did.” He closes his eyes and stays there, trying to catch his breath. “My dad’s going to flip when he hears about this. He tried to get me out there with him when I was little, but I’d never go. My sister will never believe it.”
“Want me to call her? I can text if that’s easier—”
“No. You’re not getting her number, ever,” he says, tilting his head to look at me. “The two of you together are dangerous.”
“I like your sister.”
“And she loves you,” he tells me, still catching his breath. “The idea of you two hanging out on a regular basis scares the hell out of me.”
He squeezes his eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose, and I wonder if he’s recovered yet from a recent roll that got salt water up his nose.
“You okay?” I ask him, reaching out to brush some sand from his back.
He stills before turning his head to look at me. “Yeah. Just stings a little still.”
“I hate it, too. It’s why I could never imagine snorting anything on purpose.”
He laughs. “God, I tried coke exactly one time, in some blur of parties sophomore year. I knew immediately I would want more, so I never—” He does a double take, noticing my shocked expression. “What?”
“Nothing,” I say. “But that’s gross.”
Luke laughs. “Why did you bring up snorting things if you were going to be all weird about it?”
I shrug. I realize it’s odd in some ways that I’m a bartender and so uptight about harder drugs, but I am. I’ve seen too many people turn into complete messes when they play around with cocaine. “It just seems like really bad judgment for an athlete.”
Luke barks out an amused laugh, saying, “You think?”
This makes me laugh, too. “Sorry, yeah, just had a knee-jerk reaction to it.” I have such a hard time imagining healthy, together Luke doing something so stupid.
“I mean, let’s be real,” he says, nudging my shoulder with his. “I’m not really known for impulse control.”
I giggle as I pick up a rock and start drawing in the sand.
“Try not to agree with me so gleefully.” He leans in, voice playful but hiding something tighter beneath when he adds, “Are you slut-shaming me, Logan?”
The words burst out before I’ve realized I’ve actually had the thought: “Isn’t it ever lonely?”
And goddamnit. What have I said? I’ve opened up this door, and I absolutely, one hundred percent do not want to step through.
My frank question seems to surprise him: “Totally. I’m sick of it, actually.”
“So why don’t you . . . ?”
“Commit?” he asks.
Shrugging, I say, “Yeah.”
“Because the first girl I’ve really wanted since I was nineteen thinks I’m an impulsive man-slut.”
I go still. Blood riots in my ears, hammers through my veins. “I’m serious.”
“Me, too,” he says, blinking away and staring at the sand. “I like you. But I also like you. I would commit to you.”
Silence engulfs us, and slowly I relax enough to notice the crashing of the waves, the cry of gulls all around us.
Luke nudges me again. “I made it awkward.”
“Totally awkward,” I tease, nudging him back. I knew he was attracted to me, but I didn’t realize it was a thing.
A committing-to-London thing.
A crush, feelings, something more than just good sex.
My thoughts are tumbling from the storm cloud inside me, pouring down. I like Luke, too. I’m attracted to Luke. I have fun with Luke.
I just don’t trust Luke.
And even if I did, I can’t have him.
We watch a surfer catch a pretty amazing wave, and turn to smile at each other in unison.
“I have to admit,” he says, shaking his head a little, “it is pretty cool being out in the water. Learning the rhythm of the waves.”
He bends his knees, propping his elbows on top of them, and we’re both silent, watching more of them crash against the shore.
“Thanks for bringing me out here,” he says. “I know you didn’t really want to, and I appreciate it.”
“It’s not that I didn’t want—” I start to say, but he holds up a hand, cutting me off.
“And it’s fine, you know?” He picks up a shell near his leg and brushes the sand off with his thumb. “You know I would never refer to you that way, right?”
I tilt my head, confused. “What?”
He swallows. “At Bliss that night. I know you heard what Daniel said.”
“Oh,” I say, finally understanding. “I did hear, yeah.”
“Is that why you stopped wanting to see me?” He says this in a way that tells me he already knows the answer.
“It’s one of the reasons.”
“Daniel’s an asshole—”
“He’s not the problem. I mean, he is but . . .” I pull in a breath, trying to organize my thoughts. “The single-serving thing was gross. Guys are disgusting sometimes, but the concept, I get. You and I had a casual thing, a couple of nights that were fun and—”