Twisted Summer (4 page)

“Pop up…?”

“Like this.” He lay next to the board on his belly and then quick as the breeze behind him, sprang back on to his feet with his arms wide. “See? This foot forward, that one behind. This is the trick of it, knowing how to pop up without coming up on your knees.”

It looked easy enough.

I was wrong.

The board bobbed from side to side in the sand as I stood on it. I leapt back off before I tumbled.

“Lie on the sand, you moron.” He laughed. “The board will balance in the water.”

I gaped up at him. “Don’t call me a moron!”

“Then don’t act like one. Go on, down you get.”

I felt so self-conscious, flopping about like that, but I wanted to impress him. Show him how fast I could learn.

The ground was hard on my breasts and belly, and the water beneath the sand seeped around like cool fingers. I wriggled, trying to position my feet the way he had so I could jump.

“It’s in the arms.” He knelt down and caught my gaze with those silvery eyes. “Just chuck yourself back up. Pull your knees into your stomach.”

I was
not
that fit, but I wasn’t giving in so easily, either.

I pushed up. Brought my knees in, surprised at how my legs felt almost weightless. Came up, up into the air--where was this balance I was supposed to gain again?--and threw out my arms, squealing at the inevitable topple sideways.

Except Gabe caught me, chuckling to himself as he steadied my pelvis from beside the board. I spent way too long enjoying the feel of his warm hands on my hips, and I swear he let them linger.

“Thanks,” I croaked.

“No worries. Bit of a shock?”

“Yeah.” I gulped. “I think I need some more practice.”

“We’ll go a few more times and then it’s out into the water—no point doing too much on the sand.”

On my fourth go, I managed to stand on my own and I threw a fist in the air, cheering my own awesomeness. Gabe watched me with folded arms and a satisfied little smile.

“Come on then, Miss Warren. Into the water with you.”

“Will you show me first?”

He scooped his board up and shielded his eyes, watching the sun bounce off the waves. “You stay here, okay?”

Once he was knee-deep in water, he lay across the board and paddled with his arms. He went quite far out and I panicked at how small his figure had become; then he seemed to mount the water, roving back toward the shore, and as the wave doubled and curved beneath the weight of him, he eased on to his feet like it was the most natural thing in the world. He leapt off as the peak dissipated in a fury of white froth and then he was paddling back, drenched and lovely.

“There you go.” He spread his arms when he’d hauled his board ashore. “Not so bad, huh?”

“Guess it’s my turn, then.” Crap.

“Come on.” He took my arm. “I’ll paddle out with you and we’ll find a little one together.”

The sea was cold around my feet, and bits of seaweed tickled, the sand creeping beneath my toes.

“What happens if I don’t pop up?” I said, suddenly terrified.

“Not much on a tiny wave.” He came behind me as we waded out, his hands spanning my hips again. “Here—I’ll steer you.”

Oh. Yes please.

Wait—no. NO THANK YOU.

“You look for the white water as it comes toward you.” His breath coated my ear as the board bobbed in front of us, drowning out the breeze on the tide. “See the line coming in now? There’ll be a few more. Let’s get you up on the board and ready.”

He held it steady while I crawled up on it, supporting the backs of my thighs. I fell onto the board with a sharp slap on my belly, shocked at the way his hands stroked my wetsuited skin. Maybe I was too self-conscious about this stuff. It was normal for him. Danni. Get a grip!

“Okay—I want you to paddle out with your arms just by that rock, and then you’ll need to turn round on your board. When you’re a bit better at it, you’ll be able to turn the whole thing, like I did.”

I nodded, narrowly avoiding a mouthful of saltwater.

“Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

“Don’t worry, Danni. It’s no big deal.”

Unless I drowned, of course.

I paddled timidly at first; I was a bit worried that I’d scoop up something nasty in the water. But then I realized I wouldn’t get very far unless I put a bit of force behind it, so…God. It hurt my arms, propelling myself like that.

When I reached the rock point, I spun awkwardly on my belly and bumped my chin on the bottom of the board.

“Danni? Hang on there a second—”

Gabe was wading out toward me. Why…?

Oh fuuuuuuuuck
.

I was moving, moving very very fast, and the sea was getting farther from my face. Was that supposed to happen when I was still lying down?!

“Pop up!” yelled a vaguely familiar voice, dulled by the swell of water around me. I couldn’t quite remember what it meant. Then my stomach somersaulted into my throat and it seemed like a good idea to just hold on for dear life. White mist curved either side of me, raining down on my face, and I began to scream. Only my closed eyes doused the thud of my pulse in the darkness.

Then the bottom of the board skidded against something and I swiveled into about half a foot of water. When I bobbed up, coughing and wheezing, Gabe hauled the board out of the way and patted me firmly on the back. I panted over his shoulder, my forehead lulling against the bulk of him.

“You—you said the waves were just practice ones!” I spluttered, trying not to spit out the seawater. That couldn’t be attractive.

“They are.” He pressed me to the flat of his torso. “That one was just…for somebody with a bit more practice. Are you all right?”

I nodded wearily. “I think so.”

“Congratulations on your first wipeout.”

“Is it a wipeout if I didn’t even stand up?”

“Erm.” He made long, soothing strokes over my back. “It’s debatable.”

“I felt like I was going to die!”

“Oh, shut up.” He laughed. “That wave was nothing! Just feels different when you’re riding it instead of watching.”

“Huh.”

I thought it must be the seam of his wetsuit at first, all rigid near my belly. Then it occurred to me that Gabe was getting kind of hard, and I wriggled back before the lump in my throat choked me.

“Want to go again?” He didn’t appear to have noticed. Maybe it was just what happened to men when they got cold, or something. Unlikely. But…

“In a minute. Let me get my breath back.” I peered back over the rush of the waves, all cerulean and undulating in the sun. “Just a minute…”

I did get back out again, eventually. I even managed to stand up for all of about ten seconds before careering back off the side of the board. It was gone lunch time when we got back to the cabin and despite the fact that my stomach growled and my limbs ached, I was desperate for some alone time and to douse myself in soap.

The shower spewed down, hot and frothy. I rubbed shampoo through my hair, buffed my skin with my exfoliating glove; there was this horrible urge to make an effort all of a sudden and I shaved everywhere. Just in case. Just in case
what
? Help…I was a pervert. A cheating pervert. Stupid country air.

Stupid Gabe with his hard-on—I
think
it was a hard-on—all tight and solid against my stomach. It had no business being so noticeable.

I toweled off in the tiny bathroom and put on my outfit from earlier. When he’d scrubbed the sand and sea away in his own shower, we barbecued chicken wings and ate them with salad in the garden. I sprawled on the blanket with a book while he sat inside to get some paperwork done. I did absolutely zero reading; my brain would not shut up.

Gabe seemed to find all manner of excuses to touch me and I…well. I
let
him. I kept trying to tell myself that it was all good family fun, but even if that was the case, he kind of wasn’t family. Not in the familiar sense. Not in the blood sense, either. I knew one thing: if Gabe wasn’t my uncle in position—if nothing else—I’d be a lot more suspicious about the way he let his hands linger on me.

But he
was
my Mum’s stepbrother. And I had a girlfriend. Why was I wasting my time over this?

Even if I did like him, he’d never return my feelings. Not in a million years. I was reading way too much into a few hugs and nudges. Not that I liked him, of course. Not that I’d even entertain the idea of him doing something other than cooking with those big, smooth hands.

Where was I again?

***

That evening, we watched DVDs and I updated him on all the family news: my cousin Taylor getting into Oxford (pretentious twat, we both agreed); how Mum met Malcolm the Moron in a supermarket (clichéd, we both sniggered); Grandma’s new creative writing class where she’d been trying out some, er, racier stories (mutual cringe). By the end of the evening, we were sitting just a few inches apart on the sofa, nursing the dregs of soft drinks in battered old tumblers.

“You know,” he said, “I’m glad you’ve come down here. Nice to have your company. Even if you can’t surf to save your life.”

“I need more practice.” I blushed furiously, half at another compliment and then the mortification of my crap wave skills. “You said yourself…it takes time.”

“Want to try again tomorrow?”

“Erm. Could we do something else?” I was bruised enough already. Another morning of Gabe’s roving hands and I’d probably do something I regretted—it wouldn’t be a knee to his groin, like it ought to be. Esmé would’ve done it by now.

He grinned and nudged my shoulder. “Chickening out, are we?”

“Yes.” I gulped. “It’s kind of late…d’you mind if I turn in?”

“No worries.” He smiled faintly. “Bright and early again, yeah?”

I pulled my poor, surf-abused body to standing and did a mock salute. “We’ll see.”

In the little bathroom, I brushed my teeth to a froth and spent a while cleansing my wave-scuffed face. The moisturizer was cool and soothing, and the girl who stared back in the mirror wasn’t quite as judgmental as she had been earlier that day. The sitting room was quiet—no more TV buzz—so I felt safe slipping through.

I was wrong.

The kitchen light was still on and it bathed the whole living area in a pale, milky glow. Gabe stood in just his shorts, stirring a coffee. He turned and nodded, smiling, and all I could look at was his chest: firm, lean streaks of muscle sucked by toned flesh. Holy crap…he was ripped.

“You okay, Danni?”

“Fine,” I croaked. “Goodnight.”

“Night, darling.”

He watched me as I rushed into the bedroom, and on the back of my neck, yesterday’s sunburn turned sore.

I flicked the light off and climbed between laundry-fresh sheets. Lusciously cool. An escape. I had to get away from this parallel dimension where I wanted a boy more than a girl.

Not even a boy—a man. It was like I’d been to France a hundred times and somebody just gave me tickets to Italy. Ciao, bella. Where the fuck was my passport?

My eyelids drifted and I made myself think of Esmé: her cute blond bob that took forty minutes to style every morning (ooh, how I teased her), the big dimple in her left cheek that flashed even when she didn’t smile. The Haribo float cocktails she made for me when I stayed over and the dizzy head I got from laughing too much when I was tipsy. The way her inner thighs tasted of cocoa butter if we made love after she’d showered.

Fingers walked to my nipples beneath my shortie satin pyjamas. I imagined they were Esmé’s nipples; bee-stung peaks the colour of autumn plums.
Oh.
The flat plain of my belly became hers, the curves, the hollow of my hip-bone. I stroked them the way she did. The way I did for her.

I glanced at the door before I ventured lower. Not that I thought Gabe would come in—I mean, he’d knock first, surely?—but his close proximity made me nervous. Jumpy.

Tight.

My shorts puddled on the wooden floor. I needed this. Wanted the pad of Esmé’s thumb to probe inside me…wanted her breath over me there. Needed the cradle of his tongue while his fingers crept to —

No, no, no. Not him.
Her
. Her!

I panted. My hips bucked under Gabe’s sheets; up and down, twist, up and down. When the shudders came, they were stealthy. I couldn’t stifle my yelp of surprise.

I’m not sure who I came for.

Fuck you, Gabe. You ruined me.

“Voila.”

Gabe dropped the plate in front of me and I stared down at waxy planets of yolks grazed over thickly buttered toast.

“That looks lush.” I almost drooled. “Thank you.”

“It’s nice to have someone to cook for.” He set down his own heap of eggs and I peered at him over my glass of orange juice.