Then I see her rush back down the stairs, and the only hint I get about what that bikini looks like is the two tiny red strings that go over her collarbones and tie behind all that shiny dark hair.
And as if my heart isn't already pounding out of my chest, my brain fast-forwards to the beach and slow motions through Evan peeling off that tiny black coverup, running down the sand, jumping in the water, tanned skin wet and shiny, tiny bikini barely covering her curves, and my mouth dries out.
I get out and open the passenger side door for her, catching her against my body just before she slips in. "You're torturing me, you know that?"
"The beach is not torture." She leans up on her toes and presses her lips to the side of my mouth. "It's fun."
"Sand whipping everywhere. No escape from the sun. Sharks. Sounds like torture to me." I smile as her lips move across my jaw and to my ear.
"All that terrible stuff. Then me. In a bikini." Her words are a whisper right against my ear.
"More torture." I pick her up by the waist and my fingers pluck at the knot holding her bikini top on. "But I'm a glutton for punishment."
She presses her body to mine, and I'm enveloped by everything that's her, ready to free fall into whatever we're about to do, however we're about to do it, excited about a freedom I never imagined.
Until the noose that's always around my neck gets tugged.
My phone rings.
Evan startles and pulls back, her face relieved. "It's okay, right? It isn't 'House of the Rising Sun.'"
I pull the phone out of my pocket and stare, willing the call to go the fuck away even when I know it won't. Evan’s fingers suddenly half-cover the screen. When I look up, her brow is furrowed.
"Winch? It’s okay, right? You can ignore it? We can go to the beach?"
"It's not 'House of the Rising Sun,'" I agree, but I tug the phone away from her hand. "It's my...it's someone I used to know."
The call goes to voicemail, and I make the decision to finally put it all on the backburner when a text beeps through.
I open it and stifle a groan. Yr brother and 2 Murrays on 4th and Little. Jimlo is taking bets.
I have a serious urge to hurl this fucking phone onto the street and run it over a few dozen times.
I told her I wouldn't break her heart, and I won't. But I have to break our date and leave her, and that feels like the first step on the long road that will eventually lead to Evan's broken heart.
Evan 9
This morning has been like every other tangled, crazy, hot time Winch and I collide. It's strange how it's possible for me to go from thinking he's the only guy I'll ever want to be with, to considering slicing him out of my life completely and possibly punching him in the nuts as a sendoff.
But there's something about him that keeps me right in the eye of the storm, no matter how nasty it gets.
And it's just gotten rip-off-the-roof, flood-that-will-float-your-car-away nasty.
I snuggle in his arms, enjoying the clover and spice tang of his skin, my tiny bikini burning to have his eyes all over it (and his hands all under it) when his damn phone plays "She's Like the Wind."
My first thought is, Who the hell would he use that ringtone for?
My second thought, tripping right on the heels of my first thought, is, It's not "House of the Rising Sun”!
My second thought is so overwhelmingly ecstatic, it blots out my first entirely, and I don't even have the urge to vomit over that cheese-tastic ringtone or grill him about who would have inspired it.
Until his mouth opens and he starts to say words I'm not ready to hear.
"It's Remy, Evan. I'm so sorry--"
"No, no, no, no, no," I interrupt, pressing my fingers against his mouth urgently "No! I've got a bikini on. A scandalous bikini! I picked it up in Paris. No one in America has a bikini this sexy." I push close to him, the phone locked in his hand between our bodies. "Winch, you promised me, ten minutes ago, you promised me things would be different. You promised--"
Winch closes his eyes and groans. "Oh, baby. Please. Hear me out."
It's the first time he's called me 'baby.' A pleasant tingle thrills through me, up my arms and down my spine, in direct contrast with the molten anger that's volcanoing through my blood
"Explain, then," I demand.
His eyes fly open, and I take two big steps back before I cross my arms in the international girl-sign that unequivocally communicates 'watch what you're going to say very closely.'
He clears his throat, runs a hand over his hair, double checks the message on his phone, moves toward me, groans when I move back, and finally opens his mouth to talk.
"Remy's about to fight."
He stops. I glare.
"Really? Behind the baseball dugout at three sharp? What is he, in middle school? If your brother wants to fight, let him fight."
Winch grips the roof of the car and grimaces.
"Okay, listen. You're gonna hate this, but listen. My family...where I come from, a fight is more than a fight, okay? When the families fight, there's a lot at stake, and Remy just picked a really, really powerful family to throw down with. Pissing them off isn't a good idea, and it will mean a lot of bad for all of us if he loses. Basically he can't lose. So I gotta go. It will take half an hour, an hour tops, then I come back, get you, and you let me see that sexy-ass bathing suit that's already making me crazy."
He holds his fists out in front of his body hopefully and gives me his best, charming, begging smile.
"You know that saying, 'A picture's worth a thousand words'?" I ask. Winch nods with slow
