Page 72 of Forget Me Twice

I spin, trying to bully my features into something resembling neutral, but I know my expression must be all kinds of fucked up. The way her eyes roam over my face, and then soften ever so slightly tells me she saw it, too.

She tugs on my hand again, and I reluctantly drop it.

This is it.

But she doesn’t turn to head back to the car. She simply bends down—using that free hand on my shoulder for balance—before slipping off her Academy-issued shoes and knee-high socks. The school insists on everyone wearing their full academic uniforms to home games, even on the weekends. “Not walking on the beach in heels,” she mutters, and I can feel my ears getting hot.

A quiet breath whooshes out of me.

Once she’s ready, I’m off again, determined and powering towards my destination—a run-down husk of a lifeguard tower that’s a ways down the beach. Her toes squeak in the cool sand as she hurries to catch up.

The wind shifts, and the seaspray hits my face. I feel like I might be able to finally take a breath again.

This. This is my domain.

Fucking and fighting are easy for blowing of steam, butnothingcalms me like losing a few hours out on my board, surrounded by nothing but the wind and the swell.

By the time we reach the isolated hut, my veins no longer feel like they're full of spiders and I’m as close to settled as I can get these days.

“What is this place?” Sabine asks curiously, eyes roaming over the weather-beaten shack like she can force it to give up all my secrets.

“Old lifeguard clubhouse and tower. They left it up after they built new ones closer to the Pier.” I toss my backpack up and over the metal railing and hoist myself up. Most of the steps have rotted out in the salty air, and the rest are swollen with moisture. I turn around and offer my hand.

She grips my fingers and hoists herself up. But rather than climb over as I did, she slips between two of the handrails in a sexy as fuck feat of gymnastics. My face breaks out in a grin. “That kind of flexibility will come in handy.”

Her answering grin is just as knowing. “You have no idea,” she purrs.

“Lord have mercy on my cock,” I murmur, palming it roughly again through my shorts. I feel like I’ve been hard for hours at this point.

Sabine follows the gesture and her smile turns feral. “C’mon then, pretty boy.”

Fuck, yes.I practically spring forward, shoving open a door that’s been warped by the constant salt-infused damp, all the protective coatings long since worn away.

The inside of the shack is only in marginally better shape than the outside. The interior’s been gutted, and the walls are stripped and pitted, but the huge fixed storm windows and roof are still intact, so it stays relatively dry.

I always assumed the original furniture must have been cleared out when they shut the place down. Over time I’ve added some ancient faded floor pillows and an old quilt of my mom’s. There’s also a fuck ton of mason jars with an assortment of candles scattered around the space. They’re useful if I’m ever out here past sundown.

She wanders in behind me, surveying the place with a look of appreciation close to the one she gave the restored Mustang. “You put this all together?”

“Yeah. No one ever really comes this far down the beach, not after they added all the tourist shit and moved the patrol area closer to the Pier.”

I move forward, and fling myself into the cushions. I pat the one next to me in an open invitation. As I wait for her to join me, I pull my backpack between my knees and start emptying the contents.

“Hungry?” Arranged between us are an assortment of Reubens and BLTs that Ares had lovingly created this morning. I wonder idly if he’s noticed they’re missing as well. At least I was kind enough to leave Apollo’s gluten-free monstrosities behind.

No doubt he’d be livid if he knew I’d also brought along a bunch of energy drinks to share. Claims they fuck with my sleep, and are a bad trigger for my episodes.

I push thoughts of my overprotective brother away. He’s not here right now. It’s just me and our girl.

Finally.

I go to pick up one of the sandwiches for her, but she beats me to it, tearing into a BLT like she’s on the clock. “Make sure you chew first,” I snicker at her, before I start in on one of the Reubens.

It doesn’t take long for us to finish off the food, and then we’re both flopping back down against the pillows and letting out matching sighs of satiation.

“Damn, girl, you’ve got a voracious appetite, don’t you,” I say in an appreciative tone.

“It’s about to get bigger,” she chuckles, magicking up two neatly rolled joints from thin air. She holds one out to me. “Courtesy of that traitorous fuck King. I paid his dorm a visit this morning before the game.”

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