Beach Cute, page 25
I don’t know what it means, but it feels like a promise.
* * *
—
We share a cab back to the resort, and Gabriel leads me around the hotel and down to the beach, in the opposite direction of the beach bar and the villas. Even if we haven’t exactly talked about what is going on between us, it feels like something has slotted into place. Something gentle and delicate, wrapping around us like cotton wool.
That’s okay. For once, I don’t let myself worry about the future, about what’s next. There’s only enjoying where I am now.
Where we are.
Walking hand in hand along the beach, I tell Gabriel about the veritable shitstorm of our night out and all the drama. We laugh about the #LobsterFail video, which he saw earlier, and it really is quite funny; I’m sure even Rory will realize that eventually. I intend to gloss over the details of the fight with Luna, but surprise myself at how emotional I get relaying it all.
“I think it just hit a nerve,” I find myself admitting—not just to Gabriel but to myself. “I haven’t let myself have space in my life for romance, or any real, solid friendships, or even my family for ages now. Not since I went off to uni. I think I’ve been trying so hard to live up to this life I told myself I should want, it’s…kind of hard to step back and admit I don’t actually want any of that at all.”
“What do you want?” he asks. It’s a loaded question, but there’s something about the earnestness of his open expression, like nothing I say could be the wrong answer, that makes it feel safe, and not like the grenade I’ve been skirting around for so long.
“Not that,” I say, and it comes out with a watery chuckle, a couple of tears splashing down my cheeks out of nowhere. I brush them away. “I want romance. I want relationships. A boyfriend. Friends I actually care about and want to hear from, not ones I resent because it feels like their lives are so much better than mine and it’s all one big competition, you know? And I don’t want to be at uni. I hate it there. I like having something to apply myself to, and there’s bits of my course I like—but the whole thing, it’s just…It’s not me.”
So much for not worrying about the future, I think, as a few more tears fall.
I wipe them away with the back of my wrist, sniffling, and realize the only thing I actually feel for saying all that out loud is relief.
Gabriel’s hand squeezes mine. “Then why don’t you let yourself have all those things, querida?”
Like it’s that easy.
But there’s a weight off my chest, a clarity around the idea instead of nervousness and disappointment, and I squeeze his hand back. “I think I’d like to.”
We walk a little while longer, down to the shore and then back up, swapping quiet, lighthearted stories about our families, our interests and what we want to do with our lives, the places we want to go, the things we’d like to try out there in the big, wide world.
Gabriel and I come to a stop near some neat rows of plush loungers swallowed up by the darkness and starlight. The sea washes noisily on the shore, lines of white foam illuminated in the night. He takes a seat on the end of one of the loungers and tugs me toward the spot beside him.
I don’t take it.
Instead, I stand between his legs, my hands settling on his shoulders. When I bend to kiss him slowly, his tongue drags along my lower lip like a question, and I come alive. There’s only the two of us, the solitude of the warm night air carrying a salty tang, the heat of his skin against mine, the burning need that makes my heart cry out for more, more, and I let him pull me down to sit on his lap. My thigh brushes against his erection, and he grips me a little closer as I deepen the kiss, my hand skating over the bulge in his shorts at the same time as his fingers squeeze my breast.
“Gabriel,” I breathe, because it’s all I can say, all I can find to voice the need searing through my veins and the way he makes me feel so seen.
As if reading my mind, he pauses to meet my gaze. “You are so beautiful, Jodie,” he tells me, lowering his head to kiss a trail down my throat. His voice is even lower than usual, husky, and a thrill runs through me that it’s all because of me. “You are…spectacular.”
I shiver against him, his voice, his words, his touch, and just as I start to shift to straddle him, Gabriel’s arm slides around me and he lowers me down beneath him, his eyes dark and fixed on mine so intently that it makes my breath hitch in my throat.
His hands rest on my waist and my fingers toy with the hem of his T-shirt.
When he kisses me, I’m floating. His lips are soft on mine and his teeth tug my lower lip. My hand presses flat against his chest, the coarse hairs there tickling my palm, and I can feel how hard his heart is beating. His belt clanks softly as I draw him closer, and I arch into the kisses he places beneath my ear, in the space between my neck and shoulder. Just the two of us, under this blanket of the night sky.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many stars.
31 Luna
When I wake up, I have a raging headache, and I feel absolutely awful.
I’m quite sure it has less to do with the hangover lurking at my temples and the sawdust-like taste in my mouth, and a lot more to do with how horrible I was to the girls last night and how I cried myself to sleep about everything. About the new friendships I might have ruined, the ones I thought I had back home and at uni that don’t exist anymore, and the ex-boyfriend who still has a piece of my heart.
Fresh tears spring to my eyes and I blink them frantically away, focusing hard on my breathing instead. In and out, in and out…
I match it to the sound of Jodie’s deep, even breathing on the other side of the bed, where she’s fast asleep.
She got in late. I’d slept so badly that the sound of the door opening downstairs jolted me awake easily. Jodie arrived back quite a long while after Rory; I wonder if she did end up hooking up with that guy in the khaki shorts after all.
Sunshine bleeds into the room through the broken blinds on the window, illuminating the dust floating around in the air. I watch it for a while, my thoughts swirling inside my pounding head, punishing myself by rehashing all the terrible things I said last night and their exasperation with Liam, with me, that pushed me to it.
I hate the idea that a boy who’s no longer even in my life has somehow cost me their friendship. Or, worse, that I’ve done that all by myself. I didn’t even mean the things I said to them; I only said it to hurt them, for them to feel as I did. The shame of it is nauseating.
Feeling a bit restless now that I’m awake, and a bit worried that if Jodie wakes up I might have to deal with a cold shoulder I more than deserve, I do my best to sneak out of bed. Holding my breath, I push the covers back slowly. They scratch against each other, too loud in the absolute silence of the room. The mattress creaks as I sit up, and when I stand, slotting my feet into my flip-flops, the headboard knocks against the wall.
I stay completely still for a moment, cringing and half crouching, like I’m playing Quasimodo in a game of charades.
But Jodie snores once, which I guess means she’s still out for the count. I breathe a sigh of relief and glance over my shoulder at her. Her mouth gapes open, and she has one arm flung to the side and the other hooked over her head. Her legs splay out awkwardly around the sheets she’s kicked off. Her hair, which was done so carefully last night, looks matted and frizzy, one big, knotted cloud obscuring her face. There’s a trail of drool across her cheek.
Part of me wants to laugh, wishing I could take a photo to giggle with her and Rory about later.
I’d have liked to be her friend.
I get changed quickly, not even using the toilet for fear of the flush making too much noise, grab my beach bag, which is still packed from yesterday, and tiptoe downstairs to make a quick and silent escape.
I know that avoiding the girls makes me a coward, but…isn’t that part of the reason I booked this trip in the first place? To run away from the problems I’d created, the consequences of an emotional meltdown? I just can’t bring myself to face how much they must hate me after last night, not yet.
Rory is curled up in a ball on the sofa in last night’s clothes. Her eyes are shut, but I’m not sure she’s asleep.
I don’t stick around to find out.
* * *
—
Breakfast is busy when I get there after a quick freshening up in one of the hotel toilets. The giant clock on the wall says it’s five past eight—prime in-between-activities time. Most people are wearing athleisure. It must be a busy day because there are hardly any free tables when I arrive. Oscar and his clipboard and the intensely structured itinerary seem so far away now.
I find a free table to dump my bag in a chair and set about getting myself some tea, then skip my usual muesli and fruit for the comfort of a full English.
By the time I’ve brought a heaped plate back to the table, someone else is there.
Skinny, hunched shoulders and long blond hair piled up into a messy ponytail, and still in last night’s clothes. Rory is wearing green tassel earrings today.
When I sit down, she’s bent over a cup of coffee, remnants of last night’s eyeliner smeared underneath her eyes, accentuating the shadows there. I wonder if she had a sleepless night, too, and instantly feel awful in case that was to do with something I’d said.
She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even bother to look at me.
I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for what I said last night. It was mean, uncalled for, and I shouldn’t have said it.
She won’t forgive me and has no reason to, but it doesn’t mean I shouldn’t apologize.
And yet…
I don’t. The words stick in my throat, choked with tears. I don’t want to cry; I’m not the one who has any right to be upset.
I think I’m waiting for her to yell at me—to let me know just how much she hates me, and no apology can change that, so don’t waste my breath. I sit there, bracing myself for her to say her piece, because God knows I said plenty last night.
Rory’s chair scrapes on the floor, cutting through the chatter and bustle of the restaurant and making me wince.
I watch her go over to the buffet, and my stomach knots with guilt.
She’s back a few minutes later with a plate of toast and a handful of mini packets of jam. Rory reaches across the table for one of my half-used packets of butter, pinching things off someone else’s plate like she’s been doing all week, but her hand hesitates near my plate, and I look up.
“Can I have one of these?”
“I’m sorry,” I blurt. “I’m really sorry, Rory. All those things I said—they weren’t…I shouldn’t have…I’m so sorry.”
“Sure,” she mumbles, taking the butter and concentrating on her toast. She opens her mouth a couple of times, drawing a sharp breath each time, but doesn’t say anything.
And then my mouth is running off again, as if I’ve hit self-destruct. “Why did you sit here if you weren’t going to talk to me?”
Rory puts her knife down with a clatter. “Well, excuse me, I didn’t realize you had a monopoly on tables. In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s pretty busy in here.”
She’s not wrong. Looking around, I can’t see any other free tables.
I bite hard on my tongue for a minute, hating myself.
I can’t believe I’m doing it again.
“Rory, I’m—”
“Save it. Okay? Let’s just…eat breakfast.”
I can feel the tension crackling between us. I find myself wishing Jodie would show up, because even though she’s probably on Rory’s side, it might at least change the dynamics a little bit. I’d rather them both shout at me and shun me than this awful, shameful limbo.
As if I needed to go home with my heart even more in tatters than when I left.
32 Rory
I’m running on, like, three hours’ sleep right now and probably stink of a night out I didn’t actually have. I pretended to be asleep when Luna snuck out this morning, and then I hadn’t wanted to wake Jodie by showering and changing when my stomach rumbled too much for me to ignore anymore. I figure the very least I owe her after she spent half of last night huddled in a grimy bathroom with me is a lie-in.
Luna doesn’t look too worse for wear, considering. Actually, she appears as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as ever—if kind of down in the dumps and puffy-eyed like she’s been crying.
Which, you know. Makes two of us. But it does make me wonder if there was more to her big blowout last night than just having a go at me and Jodie.
She did try to apologize. Sort of.
I was sort of expecting her to, but as soon as she started I didn’t want to hear it.
Because if she apologizes, I’ll feel compelled to tell her that it only bothered me so much because she was right, and that was all the kind of stuff I’d come here to run away from. And, you know, I’d like to stay in this bubble where I don’t actually deal with my shit for a little while longer, thank you very much.
Luna takes a while to decide she’s done with her massive plate of breakfast while I mostly just nibble some toast and nurse a lukewarm coffee. Considering I stopped drinking pretty early in the night, I shouldn’t have a hangover, but I feel like I do.
The coffee doesn’t help.
I don’t even like black coffee.
I don’t know who I’m trying to impress with it.
It just leaves a bitter taste in my mouth and makes me feel even more gross and run-down.
“Done?” I ask when Luna has poked her fork at the same bit of sausage about eight times and is slumped with her elbow on the edge of the table and fist pressing into her cheek.
“Mm,” she says.
We get up, Luna slinging her bag over her shoulder, and then the two of us trudge out to the pool.
I can’t bring myself to ask if she’s still got my bottle of sun cream in her bag, or a hairbrush rattling around in it somewhere.
She looks in such a sulk I start to think maybe I’m wrong, and last night was about me.
We don’t talk as we pick out sun loungers. (By which I mean I hang back a little as Luna walks along the row of loungers a couple of times before deciding which one she likes best. She’s chosen all week, and each time manages to nab the best of what’s available, rather than tossing her stuff on whichever is nearest like I would’ve done.) There are hotel towels already folded on the bottom of them. Someone immediately shows up to provide us with chilled bottles of water.
I busy myself wrestling with the giant umbrella so that I won’t burn. I figure I’ll head back to the villa in a little while and take a shower, freshen up, put my bikini on.
It’s the last day of the vacation.
It doesn’t feel like it.
Whenever I went away with my family, the last day of a vacation meant we were all annoyed at having a little bit too much of a lie-in before rushing to the pool, fighting over who would have to go back up to the room for whatever we’d forgotten to bring along. (It was always Dad who’d trudge back up, except the year Hannah was in sixth form and decided the chlorine was bad for her fake tan and dyed hair, so she was sent up instead. We pushed her in the pool in the end, though, and she tried to be annoyed for all of about two minutes before Nic tried to dunk her, and then we all burst out laughing.)
And Mum would always manage to miss putting sun cream on some part of herself and end up with a bright-red patch on an otherwise perfect tan. Kind of like my peeling shoulders right now, which are still pink compared to my bronzed arms and legs.
I tuck my legs up into the shade of the umbrella and smile thinking about those vacations.
“Ah! Miss Rory! I have been looking for you, señorita.”
Aaaand my momentary good mood is gone.
Shit. I forgot all about almost getting cornered by Esteban on our way out last night.
I suck in a long breath through my nose before looking up, my smile taut.
“Esteban, my good buddy. What can I do for you?”
His smarmy smile is a bit less confident than usual, and his thick eyebrows are drawn together, with a single, deep line cutting across his forehead.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say Esteban Alejandro Álvarez was nervous.
I sit up a little straighter and notice Luna lowering her book. She’s wearing sunglasses, but I’m more than certain she’s looking at me and Esteban. We might not exactly be on speaking terms right now, but she wants in on all the drama.
Can’t say I blame her, really.
“Esteban?” I prompt, sugary sweet.
Is that a bead of sweat on his upper lip, or am I delusional?
No, I think it is.
“Ah, sí, Miss Rory, I heard about what happened yesterday. Zoe informed me of the incident. Such an unfortunate accident.”
“Unfortunate?”
“Most unfortunate. But I, ah, I would like to remind you of the agreement you signed the other day, when you agreed…volunteered…to work at our Kids’ Club. Casa Dorada cannot be held liable for any minor injury in the course of—”
“Yeah, I remember.”
I’m not exactly about to sue the resort because some kid pushed me in the pool or because my shorts were too small—if only because I don’t think I could actually get away with it—but it’s so good to see him sweat.
“Yes, yes, well…” He clears his throat.
Despite everything, I can’t stop myself glancing at Luna. Her eyes are still hidden by her sunglasses, but her lips twist upward. She’s trying hard not to grin or laugh, enjoying this every bit as much as I am. I bite the inside of my cheek, fighting to keep a neutral expression as I face Esteban again.
