Playing, p.17
Playing, page 17
"That's easy?"
I nod.
"You need to work on your definition."
"Trust me. You can do it."
She shoots me some serious side-eye, but, still, she places her hands outside her shoulders.
"On three."
She nods.
"One, two, three."
She pushes herself up and jumps to one side. She lands for a hot second then stumbles off the board, onto the sand.
I catch her. "Great first attempt."
"How do you do this?"
"Practice."
"It's horrible."
"Suits me."
She laughs. "I guess that's true." She wipes sweat from her brow. "It's so hot like this."
"We'll be in the ocean soon."
"You have water?"
"Yeah." I dig it out from my bag and hand it to her.
She pops the lid and takes a greedy sip. She hands it over. Pulls her arm over her chest.
It's funny. That's the same gesture as Bree.
But that's about where their similarities stop and end. Iris is nothing like Bree. She's honest. Smart. Together.
Iris would never pull the kind of shit my sister does.
Her gaze turns toward the sky. "It's beautiful here, huh?"
"Yeah."
"Makes you think. You know, all that stuff about the ocean going on forever? How it never changes?"
"The ocean always wins."
"Yeah." She gnaws on her bottom lip.
It's like last night.
She's thinking something.
Hurting over something.
"You okay?" I ask.
"Maybe."
"Is that your go-to response?"
"No." Slowly, she meets my gaze. Her expression gets soft. Vulnerable. "I should tell you something."
"I know you're freaked about sharks."
"No. Well, I am. But that's not it." She takes a deep breath. "It's about… about the past, I guess."
"Is it important?"
"Yeah."
Fuck, she looks terrified.
I want to be someone Iris can lean on. I want her to be comfortable telling me anything.
But is now really the time?
She went from joyous to miserable like that.
Last night was heavy. We need something light. Fun. Easy.
"Will telling me make you feel better?" I ask.
Her brow furrows as she turns over the question. "No, it won't. But this is… you deserve to know."
"That doesn't matter."
"Walker, you—"
"No. Whatever it is, it doesn't matter."
"This will matter to you."
"It won't."
"It will."
My voice gets sure. "No. It won't. The past is the past." I slide my arms around her waist. Pull her closer. "Tell me if you want. That's your call. But if it's something that happened before we met, I don't need to know."
She looks up at me. "But you have no idea what it is."
"I don't care what it is. It doesn't matter. It's not gonna change how I feel about you. I want you exactly as you are."
She blinks, dumbfounded. "Really?"
"Yeah." There's nothing Iris could tell me that would change how I see her.
"Okay. I…" She presses her lips together. "I guess we should get to it then."
"We should."
She motions to the board. "Do I have to do the push-up thing, again?"
"It's easier on land. We need to practice. Get the muscle memory."
"You just like watching me jump in a wet suit." There's still something heavy in her voice.
"It doesn't hurt." I motion to the board.
She rolls onto her stomach, does another pop-up. Sticks the landing.
We go through another dozen. Then a dozen more. She gets flushed and breathless. Fuck, she looks like she's melting.
I know I am. Wetsuits are fucking warm on the sand.
I pick up the board and point to the beach. It's quiet here. Only a few other surfers and a couple having a picnic. We're well into Malibu. Farther than we were last night. But…
I'm not going there right now. The beach is my happy place or some cheesy shit like that. It always clears my head. Helps me make sense of the world.
I lead Iris into the water. Get deep enough to drop the board, watch her climb onto, bring it past the break point.
The ocean is freezing against my hands and toes, but it feels good. Soothing. Invigorating.
I tread water with one hand on her board.
She turns her head to look me in the eyes. Uses her arm as a pillow. "This is relaxing." All that heaviness fades from her voice.
Fuck, that makes me warm all over.
I want this. I want to see that smile every fucking day.
The waves rock the surfboard back and forth. "Can I hang out like this forever?"
"Yeah."
"Really? You'll hang there all day?"
"You underestimate how much I love it here."
"That much?"
I nod. "The ocean is constant. Steady. It can kick your ass a million ways, but it's always there, wearing rocks into sand."
"When did you learn to surf?"
"A friend's birthday party. I was eleven or twelve. I lived at the pool in the summer. Begged my parents to take us to the beach every weekend."
"Did they?"
"Yeah. But they weren't into it. They'd argue over who's turn it was then sit there, under an umbrella, working."
"Working at the beach?"
"You ever see a guy scribbling on a legal pad in board shorts?"
She shakes her head.
"Then you've never seen my dad at the beach."
"What's he do?"
"Business consulting. I'm not sure, exactly. I tune it out."
"And your mom?"
"Same kinda thing. Finance. The details always escape me."
"They worked a lot when you were a kid?"
"Yeah. We had a nanny when I was young, but she didn't really hang out with me. It was always me and Bree. She'd help me with my homework, make me dinner, let me tag along with her friends."
"You were close?"
"Yeah. Best friends. Until she went to college. She was always there to make shit better. Our parents are the type to sweep shit under the rug. They'd always pretend like everything was fine, try to hide their fights. But they didn't. I always heard them. It freaked me out. Bree would calm me down. Distract me."
Iris's lips press together. Her eyes go to her nails. They're lilac.
"I… um, I guess I should try to actually catch one of these." She motions to the waves breaking toward the beach.
Yeah. I'm here to teach her. Conversation can come later. The beach isn't the place to zone out. The ocean is merciless. It's easy to lose control. Get pulled into the depths or smacked into the sand.
I don't mind taking that risk every time I step on my board.
But I'm not asking that of Iris.
I'm here to protect her as much as I'm here to teach her.
Still. "These are shit waves. After the next set."
"I have no idea what that means."
"Parents didn't make you do Jr. Lifeguards?"
"No. Swim team. Our neighborhood had one."
"Whose didn't?"
"True."
"What was your stroke?"
"Breaststroke. You?"
"Freestyle."
"Of course."
"Of course?" I raise a brow.
"You just seem like the type." She scrunches her brow. Thinking.
About this?
Or about what she wanted to tell me?
It doesn't matter. Either way, I need to guide her through this. To get her focusing on her immediate surroundings.
I nod uh huh, even though she's full of it, then I motion to the waves. There's one rolling toward the beach. "Waves come in a set. Three or four, then there's a calm, then another set. The waves in the same set tend to be about the same size. But all the waves here are small. That's why I came here."
"Bunny slopes?"
"Basically." I turn her board in the right direction. "Think freestyle for this. You want to paddle with the wave until you feel it catch you, then do a pop-up. I'll tell when you've caught it. Yell 'Iris, now.' But the ocean's loud. You might not hear me. If you feel like you've got it, go for it."
"Uh…" She stares back at me in horror.
"You can do it. Trust me."
"That's my line."
"I'm stealing it." I press my palms against her board, push myself enough to plant a kiss on her lips.
She tastes good. Like salt and sunscreen and Iris.
A wave breaks and crashes into the sand. "You ready?"
"Yeah."
"I'll tell you when." The next wave isn't big enough. I watch it crest, break, pound the sand. There. The next. Almost. "Now." I push her in the right direction.
She starts paddling.
And just keeps paddling.
She rides the wave all the way to the sand, but she's on her stomach the whole time.
Reasonable for a first attempt. Fuck knows it took me forever to actually get on my feet.
I swim out to meet her, help her bring the board back.
She climbs on. Shoots me a sheepish expression. "I chickened out."
"It takes time to get comfortable."
"Yeah. A long time."
A long fucking time. "Go for it when you're ready."
"No. I want to be ready. Now."
"There's no secret. You just have to do it."
She nods with understanding. Presses herself into sphinx position. Looks me in the eyes. "What do you think you're going to do about your sister?"
"I don't know."
"It's tough."
"You can still walk, you know."
"I know. I don't want to."
"You don't think I'm pathetic?"
"No."
"Merciless?"
"No. I get it. You do cut her off, she dies. You try to help, she might take you with her. And if your parents aren't following through on their threats…" Her voice gets low. Soft. "How can anyone choose between those options?"
"What would you do?"
"Honestly?"
"Yeah."
She presses her index finger into her thumb. Stares at her purple nails. "I'd give her one chance then cut her off."
"Forever?"
"Let her know you'll be there if she gets sober. That the door is always open. But if she's not…" She looks up at the bright blue sky. Then toward the horizon. "It's too calm, huh?"
"You know a lot about this."
"Yeah."
"Anyone you know—"
"No one I loved. I, um… I guess you should talk to your parents."
"They wanted to do dinner tonight. But that was before—"
"I can talk to them if you want. Scare them with research."
"Nothing scares them."
"I can still go. Hold your hand." She presses her lips together. "Or… I don't want to intrude."
"No. I want you there."
She nods. "Good." She turns back to the ocean. "Oh. That's one, a set, right?" Her voice gets bright. "I'm going to catch this one."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. You'll see. I'm going to have a Roxy contract in no time flat." She looks to me with a smile.
The first waves crashes into the beach.
The next rolls toward us.
"Go." I push her board in the right direction.
She paddles. Catches the waves. Pops up with one messy step. She rides the wave for a second and a half, then she falls/jumps into the water.
It's a smooth fall. Like she's been surfing for years.
She pushes the board back to me.
And she wraps her arms around me and she kisses me like she needs everything I have to give.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Iris
"Mmmm." I fall onto the bench seat as I take a long sip of my sugary cold brew. Sweet, sweet caffeine. "Thank you, surf gods."
"You're welcome." Walker slides onto the bench next to me. He taps the outside of my knee with the outside of his.
We're both in shorts and t-shirts. We both towel changed at the beach. After about a gallon of water, I'm finally hydrated enough to caffeinate properly.
"Don't you want to eat?" He arches a brow as he takes a long sip of his black cold brew.
"Eventually. This first." I lean back in my seat. Sip. Sigh with pleasure.
He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me onto his lap. "You make me so fucking jealous, Iris."
"Yeah?" I lean back so my neck brushes against his cheek. It feels warm. It feels better than it has any right to.
"You don't fool me, sweetness. You do it on purpose." He places his palm on my quad and rubs my inner thigh with his thumb. "You sure you're good to do dinner at seven tonight?"
I nod.
"Fuck, we're jumping into relationship fast."
I laugh. "True."
"Too much?"
"No." Not even a little too much.
He brushes my hair behind my ear. "Tell me the truth."
I thought you'd ask. There's no way you're okay with the past being the past. I really, really want to believe that, but I can't. "Yeah?"
"You love surfing."
Oh. "I do." It makes me feel alive and vibrant. A natural high. It makes sense now, why so many former addicts drive motorcycles or jump out of planes. The rush is everything. "Walker, I—"
"Don't tell me you're already backing out."
"No. Of course not. This is, um, part of being a girlfriend. Or whatever we're calling this."
"I like girlfriend."
"Yeah?"
He nods. "I've never been a boyfriend before."
"You're a virgin?"
He nods.
"Not even once in high school?"
"Not even once."
"Wow. I'm not sure I've ever popped a cherry before." I turn so I can look into his eyes. They're dark and beautiful and filled with trust.
Is it really okay keeping this secret?
Is he really okay with the past being the past?
* * *
We spend the afternoon jumping from coffee shop to lunch to coffee shop. We swing by his place to pick up clothes, then we go to mine. We fuck, shower, change.
I spend forever fixing my hair and makeup. It needs to be perfect. So his parents don't see the cracks in my story. So his sister believes I'm honest. So I see Iris the future psychologist and not Iris the fuck-up when I look in the mirror.
He slides his arms around my waist. Brushes his lips against my neck. He's in jeans and a button-up shirt. It suits him more than it should.
It's unfair how good he looks in everything.
"You ready to go?" He slides his hand over my hip.
"Not if you keep doing that."
He chuckles as he steps backward. "I can't help it. You're too fucking tempting."
My cheeks flush. I smooth my dress. Sway my hips as I spin on my heels to face him. "I'm wearing a thong."
"You're evil."
"I learned from the best."
* * *
My confidence plummets as I step onto the hardwood floor. This place is even more beautiful with the sunset flowing through the sheer curtains. It reeks of money, taste, class.
Walker pulls me a little closer. His fingers tense. Then his arms. His shoulders. His jaw.
It's subtle. Almost imperceptible—he keeps a perfect poker face—but it's there. I'm getting good at reading him. At seeing past the carefree smile.
A woman in her fifties in a black shift dress, a royal blue cardigan, and expensive all-business heels crosses the foyer. She's taller than I am, with dark eyes and highlighted dark hair.
Her red lips—a subtle, work appropriate red—press into a smile. "Walker, sweetie. It's been too long." She turns to me. "You must be Walker's girlfriend."
"Iris," he says.
"Jen." His mom places her hand over her heart. "You can call me Mom, though I'm sure that's a bit premature."
I look into Walker's eyes for some sign on how I should react. Is she really suggesting we're going to get married? I guess it isn't unusual for the mom of a twenty-something guy who's never had a girlfriend before. But still…
"It's nice to meet you." I offer a hand.
She takes mine with both of hers. Shakes. "You too." She releases me then turns to Walker. "I miss you so much, baby." She wraps her arms around him. "I know you have issues with your sister—"
"Let's wait until we sit down," he says.
Her lips curl into a frown as she pulls away. "We worry about her too." She motions after me then turns and leads us through the main room and the sparkling, stainless steel kitchen, past the sliding door that leads out to the backyard.
The pool glows against the darkening sky.
It's inviting.
"Iris." Walker takes my hand. Motions to the dining room through the open doorway.
Oh. I'm staring at the pool. Stalling, maybe. What can I really say to his sister? To his parents? Trust me, I know how hard this is for your daughter. Why? Uh, I just do. No reason. It's not like I'm a recovering addict. You really think I'd keep that from your son? Of course not. I'm not a liar.
Ahem.
I'm not here to angst about my baggage.
I'm here to support him. To help him confront his parents.
I'm focusing on that.
I follow him into the dining room, to the massive oak table.
He pulls out my seat for me, a perfect gentleman.
I take it, cross my legs, smooth my skirt, hang my jacket off the back.
Walker takes a seat next to me. He nods to his mom. Then to his dad, sitting next to her. "Dad, this is Iris."
His dad nods. "Robert. It's lovely to meet you. I'd offer you a drink, but we're keeping the house dry."
The frown falls off Walker's face. It's news. Good news.
"Oh, that's fine. I don't drink." I press my lips into a smile. "It smells wonderful." Like lemon and cardamom. Which is weird, given the spotless kitchen.
"I wish I could take credit." Walker's mom presses her lips into a smile. "But it's takeout."
"You want me to bring it out?" Walker asks.
"Thanks, baby." His mom smiles.
