Taming Chloe Summers (Grover Beach Team #7) (13 page)

When she scuttles off to her friends, I nail Chloe with an intense stare. “Is everything all right with you?”

Chloe lowers her hand and suddenly cracks up with laughter. “Yep. Totally fine.” She can barely sit straight from shaking so hard. “It’s just— Ah, never mind.” Her eyes start to water with tears from her fit. “You enjoy your practice tomorrow.”

It takes her all of two minutes to calm herself down. But just as I’m about to ask her what on earth is riding her tonight, she bursts out in another round of convulsive laughter. “I’m so sorry,” she chokes out through hiccups. “I just can’t—” Then she gets up, grabs the piece of cake from her tray, puts the rest on the dirty-plate rack, and leaves the hall, her laugher echoing after her.

When I look at Julie and Greyson for answers, they only lift their shoulders, obviously as clueless as me.

Later that evening, while sitting on the porch swing in front of our cabin, Chloe’s strange behavior is still on my mind. And not only her fit during dinner, but all of today. My feet planted on the wooden floor, I gently swing back and forth. There are about a thousand knotholes in the roof above me. With my head dipped against the backrest of the swing, I count them.

Because counting is better than thinking.

But it’s not very effective, and my thoughts return to the slope by the creek much too fast. What if I had pulled her head down to me all the way and kissed her? Would she have tasted like she did before? Would she have breathed my name and dug her fingers into my chest?

Would she have later denied everything? Again?

I don’t want to go there…not even in my mind. But it’s hard not to think about something that was part of the best thing that ever happened to me. Even if she ruined everything later with a stupid little lie.

For God’s sake, can’t I stop thinking about that girl? After all this time?

“Hey, pal, you’ve been pretty quiet all evening,” Grey says as he comes out of the cabin, leaning against a pole of the porch with folded arms. “Is everything all right?”

After a couple of seconds, I close my eyes, sigh, and shake my head. Nothing’s
all right
. Coming here even after I heard that Chloe Summers would be at camp, too, was probably the dumbest thing I could have done.

Chloe

“Did you see that?” I squeal, standing on my bed and tearing at my hair. “Did you see how they all shot him?”

“Girls united!” Julie throws her fist in the air and makes a warrior face that I wouldn’t have believed she could pull off. Then it disappears, giving way to a wide smile. “I don’t see why you’re so surprised, though. The girls admire you. Of course they would avenge you.”

Admire me? Releasing my hair, I drop on my butt and stare at her in disbelief. “They do?”

“Sure they do. You should’ve seen them when they were plotting your rescue from the guys the other day.” She strolls over and opens the window. “They respect you, but they also want to be close to and sort of be
like
you.” When she turns around, she folds her arms under her chest and tilts her head, her lips compressed, casting me a look down her nose. “Not the grumpy side of you, ya know. But the cool side.”

Was that the side Justin saw in me today, too? Earlier, by the slope? Like an avalanche, the memory of him tenderly cupping my cheeks and pulling me closer rolls over me, forcing me to close my eyes for a second longer than a blink. As we had both lain there on the ground, I could have sworn he was going to kiss me. Again…after all this time. The screwiest thing about it is that I probably wouldn’t even have objected. Not at that moment anyway.

But he pulled back. Perhaps for the best. Whatever he saw in me all those years ago, I’ve thoroughly destroyed. All he probably knows and remembers is the bitch who got him in trouble at the end of what could have been a perfect summer. Would I change some of the things that happened between us, if I could? Drawing in a deep breath, I deliberate that with my pillow pressed to my stomach. Chances are I would. At least some things. Only, I have no idea whether those things are from the time
before
us or
after
us.

Time to get out of that emotional swirl of memories and anchor myself in the present again. Discovering that the kids kind of look up to me helps. With a glance at Julie, who just changed from her dress into shorts and a yellow tank, I ask, “Do
you
think I’m cool?”

She shifts her mouth to one side then flashes a grin. “Nah. You spit chicken on Justin. You’re awkward.”

Squeaking with outraged giggles, I toss my pillow at her. “And you snore!”

She ducks my attack and runs for her bed. I have barely enough time to jump up and get my missile back before she throws her own. We smack each other wherever we can land a hit, squealing like the thirteen-year-olds next door. It’s ridiculous! But it’s also the most fun I’ve had all day. Bagging a hit on my butt from her spot-on throw, I grab my pillow from another corner, twist on my bare feet, and hurl it at her. Julie ducks, and the pillow crashes into the door. A split second later, a knock on the wood renders us motionless.

I narrow my eyes at Julie, but she only shrugs and shakes her head, clueless. The blood still pumping hard in my temples from fooling around, I hurry to the door and yank it open. My chin drops at the sight of Justin on our doorstep, his black hoodie loosely zipped up halfway over some band T-shirt. He slides his hands in his pockets, his butterscotch eyes gleaming between random strands of his dirty-blond hair.

“Wow. You’re here,” I blurt out in surprise. After the Tiger pack shot him, and then of course my show at dinner, he’s certainly the last person I expected to see tonight.

Momentarily shocked by my yapping, he quickly recovers and presses his lips together in a tight smirk. “Yeah. Deal with it.”

“Hi, Justin,” a squeaky voice drifts from behind me. The next thing I know, a curious Owl shoves me aside, sticks her head out the door, and scans the porch.

“I’m alone,” Justin tells her with a chuckle, when we both realize who she’s looking for.

“Oh.” Julie straightens, grabbing the doorframe and leaning her cheek against her hands. “I guess you haven’t come for midnight snacks then?”

He shakes his head. “Mm-mm. Not tonight.”

“Then why
are
you here?” I demand.

“To take you to the sickroom and take care of that cut on your leg.” His gaze travels down and zeroes in on my exposed belly button for a moment, then lowers to my short black skirt, under which his bandana is still tied around my thigh. When the bleeding hadn’t stopped after the shower, it seemed like the only choice I had.

I grab the seam of my snugly fitting top and smooth it down, covering my stomach. “
Why
?”

A sheepish expression pulls his brows together. “Because for some reason, I feel responsible for it.”

And he totally is. That he came over and wants to make up for it now is kind of sweet of him, though.

He casually holds out his elbow to me. “Can we go?”

I’m not at all sure if I should take his arm or shove him against the shoulder for even suggesting it. Indecisive, I fish for an excuse. “I need my shoes and a sweater.”

“It’s just around the corner, tiger.” Arm unmoving, he beckons me with a slow blink and a tilt of his head. With some reluctance, I hang on to his elbow. Justin smells amazing, that’s the first thing I notice. Exactly like he did our first night here, at the beginning of the week. Feeling compelled to follow him down the stairs of our porch, I throw a confused look back at Julie, who remains by the open door. Her stupid grin is sandwiched by two thumbs up. Crazy Owl.

When my roomie finally closes the door behind us, the beam of the light inside the cabin is shut away, and we’re enclosed in cool night shadows and the sound of crickets singing in the dark. It’s the second time we’re alone today, and all I can think of is how nice his biceps feel under my fingers as we stroll toward the office building. Jeez, I’ve been locked up in this camp with Justin entirely too long already…

We round the building toward the sickroom at the back. Justin reaches to the top of the doorframe, which protrudes just a little from the wall. Somebody obviously left the key up there.

“Wow. Didn’t know there was a secret spot for the key,” I whisper—just because whispering seems like the right thing to do when out alone with him at this time of night.

“I believe I said that at our first meeting.” His grimace is meant to mock me. “But I know about your habit of not listening. You made that point clear yesterday.”

I stick my tongue out at him and push through the door as soon as he unlocks it. He comes in after me and flicks on the light. When the door falls noisily shut, the time for whispering is obviously over. I swirl around to him. “So where do they keep the Band-Aids?”

“Make yourself comfortable.” Justin nods at the bed aligned against the wall. “I’ll get the stuff.”

“The
stuff
? What in God’s name are you up to?”

“Your wound needs cleaning.”

“Justin…” I puff out an exasperated breath. “I played soccer with a rough gang of guys in high school. I’ve gotten hurt a lot worse than this in the past.”

“Is that so?” he drawls, amusement riding his voice. “Didn’t know you were such a tough kitten.”

I watch him head to a cupboard on the opposite wall and search through a wide drawer with his back to me. Placing some random items on the counter, he demands with a new and perplexing cheerfulness, “Any chance you’re having an allergic reaction related to your cut?”

“No.” I sit down on the bed, dangling my legs and folding my hands in my lap. “Why?”

The wicked grin on his face as he pivots toward me shoots a wave of goosebumps down my back. The bright light breaks in the glass of a slim syringe in his right hand. In the other, he’s holding a small bottle of clear liquid. “Because they have antihistamine here, and I’ve waited my whole life to give somebody a shot.”

“Are you crazy? I’m not your guinea pig, Doctor Jekyll,” I protest, hooking my heels together and swinging my feet back underneath the bed. “Just a Band-Aid will do, thanks.”

He chuckles as he puts the stuff away. Sometimes I really have trouble figuring out whether he’s serious or just taunting me. I do hope that was a joke.

A bump of his hip shuts the drawer. Next he grabs the items he’s picked out and crosses the room. He plants himself on Julie’s favorite doc-mobile, the momentum rolling him all the way forward to right in front of me.

Startled, I suck in a quick breath and lean backward a few inches.

Diligently, Justin lines up the few things he got out next to me on the cot then reaches for my injured leg. I swallow when his warm hands gently cup my calf, and he places my bare foot on his thigh.

Like he rules this place, as well as my body, he moves the hem of my skirt up a little to expose more of my naked leg. His gaze holds mine captive with a burning that awakens the goosebumps of before back to life.

I blame it on the shock of his boldness that I don’t move or yell in objection.

Feeling safe, obviously, he finally lowers his eyes to my thigh. A soft, surprised chuckle ripples out of his throat. “You
did
keep it on.”

“Of course I did,” I murmur, looking down at the red bandana. “Could hardly wrap Julie’s Girl Scout socks around it to stop the bleeding, could I?”

With daft fingers, he unties the bandana and puts it aside. The blood has dried, the wound no longer oozing, but it doesn’t look nice. If Brinna saw this, she’d talk the hind leg off a donkey to make me go to the hospital for stitches. But with Justin so eager to play doctor, I better not even
think
the word stitches too loudly.

Because the wheeled stool is slightly lower than the bed—and my leg is posed so blatantly right in front of his nose—he gets a perfect view of the wound as he starts to clean it with a cotton ball dipped in disinfectant.

At the first burning touch, a hiss escapes through my clenched teeth. I jerk my leg aside, but he slips his fingers under my knee and holds it firmly in place, rolling the cotton ball back and forth with great care. “Aw, does that hurt, soccer player?” he teases, ridiculing my claims of being tough.

It’s not as bad as it was at first, but it’s still pretty uncomfortable. My face scrunches from the pain. “Well…
Yeah
.”

Moments later, his taunting look softens and fills with sympathy instead. Perhaps because he just remembered whose fault it is that I’m in this situation anyway. He throws the cotton ball away then holds my thigh with both hands. His eyes becoming a deeper shade of toffee, he slowly leans forward, never breaking eye contact. What in the world— I swallow hard, my leg starting to shake just a little under his touch. Spellbound by his gaze, I sit frozen and watch as he gently blows on my cut. Shivers of all inappropriate kinds of pleasure unfurl from that spot and center in my gut, the pain totally forgotten.

“Is that better?” he whispers, his lips mere inches away from my skin.

My mouth is dry as the desert. I don’t think my numb tongue can even manage a single-syllable word like
yes
. So with my eyes narrowed to slits, I give him one slow nod.

Justin cracks a tiny smile. “Good.” He straightens and picks a big waterproof bandage from the items he got out, tearing off the foil and pressing it down on my cut. With both thumbs, he smoothes out the strip from the middle to the edges. His hands rest in places where they shouldn’t be. Not. At. All! But they feel so terribly right where they are.

Sitting rigid, my own palms braced behind me on the cot, I struggle to keep my breathing even. It’s gone erratic over the past half-minute.

“You good up there?” he asks softly. As if he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing to me. And why won’t he release my leg, for Chrissake? His thumbs keep brushing over the sensitive inside of my thigh. Only they aren’t smoothing the Band-Aid any longer but stroking my bare skin.

I clear my throat more aggressively than I intended and croak out a hoarse “
Yeah
.”

Justin licks a slow trail over his bottom lip, the spark in his eyes daring me to make him stop touching me in those intimate places. I can’t. My jaw is wired shut, my heart beating frantically. Probably playing for exactly that kind of reaction, one side of his mouth twitches into a smirk. The next instant, he lifts my foot off his thigh, claps a casual hand on my knee, and pushes up from the doc-mobile. “Okay then…”

Okay then…
what
? I feel like I’ve been tossed in cold water, the tingling shivers of two seconds ago radically wiped out. Open-mouthed and panting, I watch him put everything away and toss the bandana into the trash, not sparing me a single glance.

This was the second time today he played me. Screw his stupid little games. It’s like he’s doing it on purpose, to make me painfully aware of what we lost…that one summer.

Then again, it’s too damn easy to be smitten by his charms when he does things like this, tending to my injury. In over four years, he hasn’t become less of a temptation than he was the very first day we met.

Only, ignoring those feeling has become easier.

I thought I had it under control. And I sure as hell did in high school. Dammit, this can’t really be happening now. I’m not falling for Justin Andrews. Again.