Page 27 of About That Night

I would scream, but I can’t because I’m partially submerged and all the wind has been knocked out of my lungs. I kick to the surface and break, sputtering and shoving my hair back. The life vest kept me from sinking, so I’m bobbing and kicking and trying to recover.

There is pandemonium from the other kayakers. Lots of yelling and paddles thrusting outward, and Janie’s commands for calm.

Hank isn’t visible, and as I grab onto the side of the kayak, I’m starting to feel alarmed. Did he put his life vest on? I don’t think he actually did. He tipped the kayak on purpose, that was obvious. To what purpose, I’m not exactly sure, but a little warning would have gone a long way. Goosebumps appear all over my flesh, and I’m shivering.

Then Hank is between my legs, and I’m launched up into the air, screaming. He has me on his shoulders, arms wrapped around my legs.

“What the hell?” I blurt out, frantically trying to steady myself.

He must have swam underneath the kayak to reach me.

I almost topple over, but I grab his head and hold on by his hair.

When we were kids, all of us used to square off two and two like this. The goal was to knock the other person off their partner’s shoulders. Once I reached middle school age, my parents forbade me to participate, not liking that my legs were wrapped around a boy’s head. Of course, that meant that at every pool party in high school (all of which my parents were unaware of), I had wanted to play this game.

Because I’m just over five feet and was a cheerleader, I had all kinds of tumbling and balancing experience as a kid. I loved to be on the top of the stunts until I got too muscular and big-chested and became a base instead. I had liked being up in the air, the freedom of that feeling, and trying to outlast an opponent.

The day before we’d hooked up, I had actually been partnered up with Hank, and we had taken out couple after couple. We were a chicken-fight power team. But that was then.

Now, I’m just up in the air, freezing my tits off, while the other kayakers stare at us in astonishment.

“Is the view better up there?” Hank asks.

“Absolutely,” I say, because it is, even if he’s insane and I’m on the verge of hypothermia. I can see deep into the swamp. Which makes me slightly concerned there might be alligators around, but I reassure myself they wouldn’t have kayaking tours here if there were.

Once I relax a little, I ease my death grip on his hair, which I’m just about tearing out at the roots. I also release the tension on my thighs, which have him in a chokehold. “I’ve always wanted to be tall.”

“You’re perfect the way you are.”

I’m guessing he’s complimenting me for the benefit of the group, who seem to have inspired protectiveness in him. Did their petty little digs bother me? Not really. It’s more annoying to me than anything else. When I was younger, it would have sat on me for days, but now I’m too busy and generally happy with my life to worry about malicious gossip. Besides, they had come for both of us. They were unilaterally rude, which makes me feel better.

But I wouldn’t mind ditching this little group who seem to have written the book on passive-aggressive digs at strangers.

“Did he call me an asshole?” Otis mutters, as if it just sunk in that he’s been called out.

“I think so,” Red says.

Hank’s arms are wrapped around my calves, and I’m impressed he’s able to balance us both. But then I realize his feet actually can reach the bottom. He walks us to the water’s edge and sets me down.

“We’re going to head on back,” he tells the group. “Since we accidentally got wet.”

Everyone is too astonished to say anything. Janie makes some noise about the kayak, but Hank is already righting it and vaulting himself into it.

“Come on,” he says, paddling over to me. “Give me your hand.”

I wade out a few feet and get in the kayak with very little grace. I basically tip myself over into it.

Hank hands me his sweatshirt. “Put this on, sweetheart.”

I do so without hesitation. It’s warm from the sun and smells like Hank’s cologne. It envelops me in cotton, and I flip the hood up and pull the drawstrings tight. It’s almost eighty degrees outside, but the water was cold. Hank doesn’t seem to look bothered by it. He doesn’t even have goosebumps.

“You two be careful getting back,” Corky says, and she sounds genuinely concerned, which seems a little ironic.

We’re only a five-minute paddle from the launchpad. “We’ll be fine,” Hank says with a wave.

He paddles us with hard strokes that give me the impression he’s angry.

“Those people suck,” he says harshly, confirming he is not happy.

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