Ties (9 page)

“But I think perfect memories are kind of overrated. I mean, I
like
reality. Complications, mess? That’s all part of living life to the fullest, right?” There is the barest tremble in her voice, like she’s going out on a major limb.

“It’s pretty hard to have a decent relationship if you aren’t up for a few complications.” A piece of her silky hair nets over my face, and I tuck it back behind her ear.

“Ugh.
Relationship
.” She shudders when the word leaves her mouth. “What about a fling?” She cranes her neck to look at me. “Flings don’t have to be complicated. Not if you set up some rules.”

“Rules?” I raise my eyebrows. “Kinda ruins the fun of a fling, right?”

“Wrong.” She tucks her knees up tight to her chest. “What ruins a fling is if the boundaries aren’t clear. Because then people get hurt.”

“So, what would your rules be?”

I’m not interested in another fling. Not remotely.

I
am
interested in the way Hattie thinks. I want to know if she actually believes she can make some random decree about someone she’s attracted to--namely, me--and I also want to know if she honestly thinks she can keep control of her feelings just because she threw a few asinine rules out there.

“Simple. Simple is better,” she muses. “One: no expectations beyond fun. If it’s fun, cool. If it’s not, let it go. No getting moody or pissy. Two: anything goes. Carnivals, documentary screenings, swabbing the decks, all night sexathons...anything. Goes. Three: this ends with the summer.”

She looks at me, and determination makes her eyes burn with a ferocity I’ve never seen in a girl’s eyes before. Especially not when she was talking about
not
having a relationship.

I think her rules are idiotic.

I choose not to tell her that.

I go the diplomatic route instead.

“I still think that’s a lot of rules for a fling.” I shift like I’m uncomfortable in the sand, but it’s all just an excuse to pull her an inch closer.

“I’m a rule-loving gal, what can I say.” She takes a deep breath. “You don’t approve of my rules?”

“Do I have a say in this?”

“I don’t even know if you’re a player in
this
.” The smile she flashes is half teasing, half gut-punch serious. “I’ll look over your application.”

“Ah. So I’m just supposed to wait around. Is this a ‘don’t call me, I’ll call you’ kinda thing?” I ask.

“I don’t recall anything about sitting around, all mopey, and waiting in the rules.” Her smile morphs wide and wicked.

My brain buzzes, mostly with a strong warning to stay the hell away from this girl with insane ideas about how relationships work.

Unless I’m looking for the most painful way to attempt a new relationship.

But there’s a piece of me that loves a challenge and is stubborn as all hell. That piece decides to flip her first order of business. 

“Hey, Hattie?” We’re both staring at the sun that’s getting swallowed, slowly, slowly, by the choppy water.

“Yeah?”

“You wanna do something later this week?”

I didn’t realize how stiff her body had been until she relaxed. She goes completely soft against me, and I get a serious burst of confidence knowing what her body wants, no matter that the next word out of her mouth contradicts what I know.

And is a total bluff.

“Maybe.”

She sits curled against me until the sun disappears and the wind goes cold. She looks at me, brushes her lips over mine, and ties her bikini top securely on. I drive her back to a little bright, warm-looking house on the beach, and we share one more quick kiss before she darts to the door.

And, despite all my noble intentions, I’m the one left muttering
more
under my breath.

7
RYAN

I wait exactly three days before I call her. I have no idea if Hattie will stick firm to her rules or if she’ll tell me to go to hell. But I gotta try. I head to the local bar, so I can have a beer in hand and a chance to socialize if she shoots me down.

I take a deep breath, slide my phone out, and call Hattie, not knowing what the hell to expect.

I’m shocked when she picks up on the second ring.

“Hello.”

I try to read her voice, but she isn’t giving a thing away, and I was so busy worrying she’d be irritated or uninterested, it’s hard to accept that maybe she’s not. Or maybe the beer I’ve been nursing mellowed my brain more than I thought.

“Hey. Hattie. This is--”

“I know who this is, Ryan. What do you want? And be specific. I’m feeling like the two of us hanging out again is a seriously bad idea.”

I can hear the smile behind her words, and it makes me fumble with a whole lot of hope.

“I...uh...if you were up for it, if it wasn’t too late, because I know we talked about doing something again later this week--”

Her sigh/laugh combination interrupts my bumbling train of thought. “Look, be
quick
, okay? Paraphrase so I know if I should turn you down cold or agree to this crazy scheme.”

She’s combining this awesome mix of tough and flirty, so I go all out, hoping she’ll say yes.

“I want you out on my boat. The sea is calm, the moon is huge, I can pick up some food, some booze, you name it.” I wait, my hand tight around my phone.

“Is there a chance I’ll orgasm tonight?” she asks out of nowhere, her voice lazy and so hot, my body jerks, every muscle tensed.

The whole point of doing this thing with Hattie, whatever we wind up labeling it, is to prove to myself--and everyone else--that I’m not the guy I was. I’m not up for shallow crap anymore. I want connection. I want conversation. I want to be tied to someone I respect on every level.

But I’m also alive, and her whole bold, fearless, say-anything approach to sex is driving me every kind of batshit crazy.

“I can make that happen.”

I say it like I’m not freaking out, foreseeing myself choking big time and having her hit me with that frustrated sigh that guts me.

“I like the sound of that.” Her voice is low and raspy.

“I’m coming to pick you up now.” I get into the car, fumbling with the keys.

“Nope. I’m driving myself. Give me the location so I can map it.”

I’m about to argue. It’s not easy to find, especially at night and if you’re new to the area. But she’s not about to do anything she doesn’t want to do, so I give her the location and some landmarks to look out for, stop off at the restaurant next to the bar and order a stupid amount of whatever they can promise will come out of the kitchen fast, and grab a bottle of Pinot Grigio.

I have no idea if she’ll like any of it, but I have a feeling I’m guessing right with her. There’s something about Hattie. No matter how frustrating or surprising she can be, something makes me feel like I know her. Like I can guess what will make her happy.

It’s not something I’ve ever felt about anyone else before.

I’m waiting at the pier when her little blue girly car pulls up. I can practically see her rolling her eyes at it as she gets out and slams the door too hard, like she’s frustrated to even be driving it.

“You give pretty good directions!” she yells as she walks.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” I admit, pulling her close when she’s within reach. She stiffens a little when I hug her, and turns her cheek my way when I attempt to kiss her.

Which is disappointing, but I can work with it. She’s here. She’s not bristling at everything I do and say.

“I wasn’t sure I would either. Last time was fun, but I want to be clear that I’m not looking for anything serious. No matter how adorable an ex you’d make,” she tells me with a rueful smile. “But since we’re nothing to each other and won’t be, I’m bending my rules. My mom would be so proud.”

She says the words so lightly, I know she probably doesn’t even realize what a kick in the head they are.

I shake it off because I’m still glad she’s willing to go with this at all. Before she can change her mind, I grab her hand and lead her onto the deck of the boat.

My boat.

My brother makes fun of the fact that, despite keeping a job and owning a suit, I refuse to be a full adult and live on land. And I guess I do have a kind of wild, roaming thing going on. But to be able to afford this, I had to work, barter, and sacrifice more than most guys I know. My boat is where I live according to my own principles. It’s also why I drive a piece of shit car and work myself ragged, but I couldn’t be happier.

She looks around at the rigging and sails, runs a hand over the banisters and asks, “So is this what you race?”

“No.” I grab a blanket and spread it out, setting the food on it and looking around for a corkscrew. “I live on this boat. And I sail it. But I sail it for personal reasons. The sailboats I race are way sleeker, and they’re docked at the pier my boss owns. My boss’s shop sponsors me.”

“Ah,” she says. Her dark hair is back in a ponytail, but the ends still whip in the wind that’s picking up. “So, you race whenever you have free time?”

“Yeah. But I just got a second sponsor, so I’m hoping I can cut back my hours and devote more time to racing. That’s the plan for now.”

I find the corkscrew and go to town getting this bottle open. I’d sort of hoped she’d ask more about the racing so I could let her know I’m serious about this, but I can tell from the way she’s asking that she’s not very impressed.

Maybe what’s making me edgy is that I expected her to able to embrace the idea of me doing this without judgment. I get that Hattie likes rules, but she also seems to appreciate passion, no matter how much she argues about moderation being the way to go.

“What happens after ‘now’?” she asks, walking across the deck and looking down as I pour the wine into sturdy glass tumblers I nabbed from the restaurant. I probably only have a few plastic cups onboard. I try to live with the essentials, since my space is limited.

“What do you mean?” I hear the defensive edge in my voice, but, fuck it.

I feel defensive.

“Well,” she says, sitting down and tucking her legs to the side, “right now you can live on a boat and sail in races, but what about the rest of your life? Like, after racing?”

“Plenty of people make a career out of being professional racers,” I say, handing her a glass of wine.

“Right. You mentioned that.” Her eyes, a smooth gold that makes me think of tequila, flash like she’s laughing. She raises one black eyebrow. “How many?”

“What I do isn’t really about statistics, Hattie.” I unpack food I’m not even hungry for. “What I do is about living by my own rules.”

“That’s just something people say,” Hattie says, picking up a turkey club and a mayo pack. She opens it with delicate fingers and spreads it on. “Everyone wants to play by their own rules, but that makes no sense. Not really. There are rules we all agree to.”

“Who?” I ask.

She looks up and squints at me, like she’s trying to determine whether or not I’m kidding.

“Who agrees to these rules?” I press. “Not me. For sure, not me.”

“I guess it’s just...it’s just like jumping out of a plane without a parachute,” she says, and I try not to choke on my chicken salad.

I put all thoughts of my brother’s term for sex without condoms out of my head and ask her, “What’s it about being daring that scares the crap out of people? You know the least daring guy in the world? My dad. He was a plumber, and a damn good one. He apprenticed with his uncle, married my mom, had me and my brother and sister, did his daily grind, and died before he was fifty.”

She puts the sandwich down, and her eyes warm to a darker shade of golden brown. Like heated maple syrup. “I’m sorry you lost your father,” she says, her face serious.

For some reason, sympathy from her makes my chest go tight. I like her better ferocious.

“It sucked,” I admit, taking a swig of the wine. “But what sucked more was all the dreams he had, all the vacations he wanted to take but never did because he wanted to hustle while the money was good. The old Mustang he was gonna restore is still on blocks in my mom’s driveway.” I think back on my dad, who’s still a giant in my mind, even though cancer shrank him into a shell of himself before it killed him off.

“That was love, Ryan,” she says, her lips trembling.

“I know that.” I reach out for her hand, but she darts it to her side before I can take it. “And I love him for it. But I never needed all the crap he thought he had to provide for me. I’m being honest here: I would have been so much happier if we had less material comfort, but did more together. If dad said, ‘Screw the new minivan and the kitchen renovation, let’s go to Yosemite like I’ve wanted for the last ten years’ we’d both be resting easier now.”

“There are two sides to every story,” Hattie says, flicking at her bread. “It sucks that your father sacrificed so much, but he took amazing care of you and your family. I don’t know if there’s an adventure my father has ever passed up on. Ever. But his only contribution to my life has been in the form of ridiculous, fancy gifts twice a year. I don’t know him. At all. And that’s because he was busy living for his own selfish gains, you know?”

I lean in and cup her face. She looks up, her eyes faraway. Hattie is usually so focused; it’s weird to see this distant expression.

“Hey. We’re like two bad clichés, right?”

“Are we?” She frowns, but she also presses her cheek into my palm. “Why is that?”

“Your dad goes all over the world like mad, so you buckle down and follow the rules. Mine was a steadfast martyr so I live this crazy life, unanchored. Total clichés. We should help each other find some balance.” I smile and her lips curve up.

She touches her wine glass to them and says, “What, like we can trade places? You be a focused college student with a double major and I can laze around on the love boat?” Her eyes are dancing.

“Do you have any clue at all what it takes to sail a boat? Like, at all?” I watch her giggle into her wine and shake her head. “You have some serious lessons coming your way.”

“Do I have to be your first mate?” she asks, slipping her foot out of one cherry red high heel. Her feet are tiny. Seriously, I’ve never seen such small feet. She wiggles her toes, the nails painted a shiny red that matches her shoes, and pokes me with them.

“I guess you could be the co-captain eventually.” I try to joke with her, but she sets her foot on my thigh and rubs it up and down.

“I like the sound of that.” She crooks a finger in my direction. “Come here. I’ve been thinking about kissing you.”

As far as dirty talks goes, this is pretty damn innocent. So I have no idea why it has me so hard, there’s no blood left in my head and my eyes blur.

I go to her. I gather her in my arms, loving how small she is. She can’t be more than five foot three. Megan was really tall, and I always thought that was my type: tall girls. But I love the way Hattie fits against me, like I can take care of her. Like I can protect her.

And I love how she takes my stereotype about tiny girls and turns it on its head, because me feeling like I can protect her is one thing. The reality is, she’s completely able to protect herself, and that’s something I admire so damn much.

She rubs her nose against mine, softly, and whispers, “I like the way you look, but it’s a little scary. You’re too handsome for your own good.”

“What does that mean?” I whisper back.

Her lips brush mine, a touch so light it shouldn’t send the shockwaves through me that it does.

“It means you’ve probably had too many girls come at you without you having to even turn on the charm. It probably made you cocky as hell.”

I run my hands along her cheek and thread my fingers through her hair.

“Does that hold for you?” I close my eyes when she kisses me so lightly a second time. “Because you’re so damn gorgeous, it’s heart-stopping.”

“That sounds dangerous,” she says, her tongue darting out to lick my top, then bottom lip.

“As cardiac arrest,” I agree.

She slides a hand up between us and lays it palm-flat on my chest. “You sound healthy as an ox to me.”

I love those light kisses landing on my face, but I also want to jack what she’s been thinking and twist it a little. She likes to be in control, and that’s fine.

It’s sweet. It’s safe.

She needs more.

I slide my hands down to her shoulders and along her back, pulling her close by her hips.

“Definitely healthy.” I pull her closer, until she rubs along the length of my dick, hard and ready for her. The sound of her breath sucked between her teeth makes my mind blank. “I want you, Hattie.”

I lick at her lips, pressing forward when she tries to pull back, dodging to the side when she attempts to take a break. The longer and deeper we kiss, the more time our tongues spend moving against one another, the less she’s able to keep it all in check.