Page 10 of The Bully's Dare

I clasp my hand over Nick’s shoulder to get his attention.

“Get everyone together,” I tell him. “Let’s do a bonfire tonight.”

“Hell yeah!”

“Hey.” Amy pops up, her body brushing mine. She has sand stuck all up the back of her arms and she tickles the tips of her fingers over my bare abdomen. “Wanna come get some ice cream with me?”

The look in her eyes tells me ice cream isn’t the only thing she wants in her mouth.

But I’m wound too tight. Burning too hot.

“Later,” I tell her. “I’m going back in.”

I need to clear my head in a way that only salt water can cure. Extinguish this rage before it consumes me. I toss the beach towel back down and dive back into the water.

4

Kenzi

Live piano music plays. Candlelight flickers over white table cloth.

Pearl has dressed me in white. Which is not a good look for me. I look like a cream puff, the dress bunching awkwardly over my tummy. I crush my crème brulee with my fork.

The Blue Heron is the high-end restaurant that overlooks the marina. It has two entrances, one for the “common folk” of Long Island, and a second entrance exclusively for the boat-owners. The restaurant overlooks the marina, and you can see boats swaying in their slips through the siding. The Blue Heron calls itself the best place to catch the sunset on all of Hannsett Island, and they’re not wrong.

It’s incredibly romantic. And incredibly awkward when you’re sitting across from your mother and her new catch, who are both caught under the spell of the ambiance.

What is it about candlelight that makes people so disgustingly gooey?

“God, that sunset is beautiful,” Pearl muses, touching her manicured nails to her lips.

Four peels her blonde hair from her shoulder and places a kiss on the bare skin there. “The second most beautiful thing here,” he muses.

She laughs, a high bell-like sound which is definitely not genuine. I make a vomiting noise.

“Kenzi,” Pearl says my name as a warning, her eyes slits.

I pout. I crack another layer of toasted caramel.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him. Jason King. He’s here with his family, and the temperature practically changes when they enter the restaurant.

They’re royalty. Jason’s father is a salt-and-pepper high-baller—perfectly groomed, wearing a blazer and a watch they could probably see from space. Mrs. King is ageless, tanned, and a Hollywood classic beauty. She’s fiddling with the shirt collar of what must be Jason’s older brother—they have the same strong jaw, same bright eyes, and the same prowling presence of a cougar.

Jason looks different without his beach board shorts and his posse. His shirt is buttoned up all the way to his Adam’s apple and the collar looks tight. He’s holding his wrist, hands falling about to his groin—classic defensive posture. He’s the tallest one in his family, a full head taller than his father, but next to the other man, he’s shrunken, somehow. His shoulders are hunched, head half-bowed like a chastised dog.

Jason might be the king of high schoolers, but in his father’s shadow, he’s a meager prince. And it shows.

Mr. King smiles passed the concierge and the owner of The Blue Heron greets him personally with a stiff handshake. I find my eyes following them—the King family has become my new favorite nature documentary. And here, we see the Kings in the wild, prowling over their domain…

Blue sapphire eyes meet mine. Oh shit. I’ve been caught staring. I look away just when Jason’s penetrating graze connects with mine. Where to put my eyes? Outside. On the pearly stars. I twist my hair in my fingers.

Out of the corner of my vision, a too-tall figure approaches. “Shit,” I whisper under my breath.

“Mr. Blake. Misses Stratton.” Jason stands at the edge of our table, polite as a fucking church mouse.

“Jason,” Four smiles. He rests his hand on the back of Pearl’s neck. “How’s it going, son? Is your family here?”

“Yes, sir.” Jason’s eyes fix on me again. “I’m sorry to interrupt your dinner. Can I have a word with Kenzi?”

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