Page 19 of Never Date A Player
Nessa laughs and presses her fingers to her temples. “I was so hungover after the club.” Her hands flatten on the table and she gazes up wearily. “How many shots did we do?”
I shake my head. I literally have no clue, and if I did, it would probably scare me.
Nessa signals to a girl in a blue Beacon T-shirt and khaki shorts. She orders food and a Rum Runner from the girl, and I place my order next. I’m totally envious of our waitress’s uniform. So normal.
“Mira is dangerous,” Nessa continues. “She’s a man magnet, but holy hell, that was crazy. And you missed the fight she and Lewis got into after we dropped you off.” Nessa squints. “I was a little out of it, so some of it’s fuzzy. Mira was yelling at Lewis because he walked you to your door, or something. What did she think he’d do? Let you crawl? That girl has jealousy issues.”
There’s no reason for Mira to be jealous. She proved to me and everyone at the club that she can get any guy she wants. I’m not competition, just like I wasn’t competition for the A-hole’s affection. My ex had no problem setting me aside for his girlfriend back home once school ended.
I hate the idea that men think I’m disposable. In my quest to not be like my mother—hooking up with and discarding men at will—I’ve somehow become the opposite, staying in relationships I shouldn’t.
“Is it normal for them to fight this much?” I ask.
Nessa shakes her head. “No, definitely not. Mira had a rough upbringing and I know that’s affected her. She can be cranky, but this is extreme. I don’t know what’s gotten into her. From what I overheard, in between spacing out, she was overreacting or being controlling—something like that. Lewis puts up with too much.”
I wonder if it would be easier to be around Lewis if he and Mira had a solid relationship. This battle between them has my mind spinning unlikely scenarios of them breaking up. He’s with someone else. I’m not dating an A-hole part two.
Our food arrives and my burger is so good I hum in the back of my throat. Of course I eat the entire thing, while Nessa consumes a third of hers and declares herself full. The French fries are spiced, and dipped in sweet ketchup, the best lingering hangover remedy. I’m feeling so good I actually consider ordering another Rum Runner, which turns out to be this orange, smoothie-style fruit drink. There’s juice in there—nutrients. It can’t be that bad for me.
The sun beats down and Nessa slips off her T-shirt, revealing a tiny black bikini top against her slender frame. “Beach time?”
Liver, you’re getting a break. “Sure.”
We pay our bill and walk out on the sand, staking a spot near the dock where Beacon workers in blue T-shirts walk back and forth, doing… I’m not exactly sure what. Hanging out? Guarding the dock? It’s lively, considering the few boats coming in and out. Most of the activity stems from canoes and paddleboats passing beneath, en route to the Beacon beach.
I’m watching people in their canoes and whatnot duck their heads as they drift under the beams of the dock, when a paddleboarder, bent on one knee, glides under. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention, my stomach tightening. I can’t see his face, but I don’t have to.
Every aspect of Lewis comes into focus one by one, as if I’m watching a movie in slow motion. Dark, ruffled hair, bare, tanned skin, the flex of muscles as he shifts his fingers on the front of the paddleboard to support his weight while he kneels to clear the dock, his calf muscle bulging on the leg footing the board.
He passes the rest of the way, stands with his paddle in one hand, and glances at the beach. His gaze immediately narrows on me, and my breath locks in my throat. No one knew we were coming today. We made last-minute plans. There’s no logical reason why we’d run into him here, but we have.
Nessa leans in. “Oh my gosh, is that Lewis?”
I’m too disoriented to answer.
Lewis paddles to shore and I stare at his body like he just stepped out of the shower in a porno. I’ve never seen a porno, but I imagine this is what it would be like. Lewis without a shirt is erotic. Indecent. His chest and arms… I couldn’t look away from those forearms the first time I saw him at the dinner party, with his shirt pushed to his elbows. They were interesting and masculine—the bands of muscle and the hint of veins. Now I see all the way up to thick biceps sloping into strong, broad shoulders that shift and contort as he guides the paddle.
What’s wrong with me? I’m not a guy-checker-outer. I mean, I notice an attractive face, but I never much cared about muscles. With Lewis, I’m very interested in every dip and masculine edge. It’s like he was built to draw my eye—my own personal eye candy, when I didn’t realize I had an eye candy type.
He steps off the board into ankle-deep water, towing board and paddle up the beach a few feet. Slipping out a cell phone sealed inside a Ziploc from the side pocket of his maroon board shorts, he taps the screen before returning it to his pocket and walking over.
I glance away. This close he’ll read everything on my face. And it’s not like I’m hiding it; I’m practically gawking at him. God, when did I become this girl?
I dig my feet in the sand until the cold depth sends a shiver up my back, distracting me. It lasts for all of two seconds, until I sense him in front of me, and then my heart goes all jittery.
“We were just talking about you,” Nessa says cheerily.
“Interesting, I was just thinking about you.” My gaze flickers to Lewis, his hair sticking up in the front, a light sheen on his chest from the sun and exertion. His board shorts sit low on his hips, every smooth abdominal muscle visible, including the thick ones that disappear into his clothes… I blink. I’m doing it again!
When I look up, he’s staring, with a curious intensity in his eyes.
I glance at the horizon for grounding. Should I leave? Say I need to use the bathroom? This pull is infuriating—undeniable and addictive. And what if he brings up the other night? My humiliation will be complete.
Lewis looks up and raises his hand. I peer in the direction he’s gazing. Zach is jogging toward us in navy board shorts, no shirt. Two women in bikinis, somewhat older, watch him pass. Zach’s not as tall as Lewis, but he’s cut like an athlete and good looking.
Lewis slaps Zach’s hand in the air and Zach ruffles the top of Nessa’s head. “Hey, kid.” He nods at me with a grin. “Gen.”
Nessa is hot in her tiny black bikini. Her frame is petite and she hasn’t an ounce of fat on her body, but Zach’s endearment is what a guy says to his sister, almost like he’s purposely putting her in the friend zone. Nessa told me once that she’s never dated Zach or his friends. It blows my mind that one of them hasn’t tried to date her.
