“No!” She stood and kept grabbing at me, the boat rocking perilously, and finally I did as she asked and wrapped my hands around her neck or else she was going to tip us over. She dropped to her knees again at my feet, her fingers tight around my wrists, holding them to her.
I felt sick inside. “Is this what you want? For me to hurt you?”
“You won’t hurt me.” In contrast to my panicked yelling, she spoke quietly, if a little breathlessly, and in her eyes I saw no fear. “You won’t hurt me.”
We paused there a moment, both of us breathing hard. My heart pounded, my body coursed with adrenaline, and my hands shook. Desperately I battled the urge to count as I inhaled and exhaled slowly, trying to calm my overwrought nervous system. But as the seconds ticked by and I did nothing violent, I realized she was right—I wasn’t going to harm her. My body relaxed, my breathing slowed.
“There,” she said softly. “See?” She pulled my hands off her neck, and immediately I curled my fingers over the edge of the bench again. She scooted even closer to me, resting her arms on my thighs. “Now tell me what else to do so we can go back to what we were doing.”
“There’s nothing you can do,” I said sourly. “It’s just the way I am.” I looked out across the water, unable to handle the hurt expression on her face. You fucking coward.
“I don’t believe that.”
“Well, it’s true.” I fucking hated myself, so I took it out on her, of course. “You think this is the first time this has happened to me? I know how this goes, Skylar.” I forced myself to look at her. I wanted the asshole in my head to see exactly what he was giving up. “We have sex because we like each other and we’re attracted to each to each other and we think that’s enough but then who we are isn’t really what the other person thinks we are, so nothing works out and six months later we end up disappointing each other and blaming ourselves for what we should have admitted in the first place—this shouldn’t happen.”
She sat back, her butt on the boat’s bottom. “Holy shit, Sebastian.”
“What?”
“You’re killing me. I can’t even think where I’m going to live next week and you’re able to imagine exactly what would happen in six months if I give you a hand job in this boat.”
She was going to give me a hand job. Fuck.
“Is that what happened with your ex?”
I exhaled. “Sort of.” The wind picked up, and I listened to the waves lap against the side of the boat for a moment. The sound calmed me. “I’m sorry. I panic easily.”
She nodded. “I’m beginning to see that.”
Well, this was it. She was realizing how difficult I was, how frustrating it was to get close to me, and she’d abandon me because of it. It’s nothing I didn’t expect…it had happened plenty of times before with girls a lot less beautiful than Skylar. So her next words shocked me.
“You know what we need? Some fried chicken. You’re coming to dinner at my parents’ house.”
Nausea hit me. Strangers. A dinner table. A new situation. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Well, I do. And you’re going to come along and make it up to me for being a jerk just now when all I’m trying to do is have some fun.” She hugged her knees again, tilting her face to the sun. The light played with her hair, streaking it with silver and gold. It looked so soft and warm, and I wondered if I’d ever get another chance to run my hands through it.
“What time is it?” she asked suddenly.
I pulled my phone from my pocket. “Close to six.”
“Dinner is at six-thirty, so we should think about heading back.”
I frowned. “Skylar, I’m not entirely comfortable with this. It’s nothing against your family, I just don’t like situations where I don’t know anyone.”
“You know me. And Natalie will be there with her boyfriend, Dan. You can meet him, and our older sister Jillian, and my parents too. They are perfectly nice people with clean dishes. And we don’t use sharp knives for fried chicken, so you don’t have to worry about stabbing anyone. But if you do, stab Dan. Natalie thinks he might be cheating on her.”
“That’s not funny.”
She lowered her chin and looked up at me. “Yes, it is. You’re not going to stab anyone. You gotta lighten up a little, Sebastian. I’ll help you.” She leaned back on her hands and stretched her feet toward mine, batting one of my ankles with her toes. “Think how proud your therapist is going to be when you go in there next.”
“He will be,” I admitted. “He told me I should talk to you.”
“Oh? Why’s that?”
I exhaled slowly, nervous to share this with her but feeling like I owed her something good. “Because the day I saw you at the beach, a lot of…feelings surfaced that triggered a relapse.”
“What kind of feelings?”
Fuck, this was embarrassing. “Old feelings. I used to…have a crush on you. In high school.”
She beamed. “You did?”
“Yeah. Along with every other guy there,” I said under my breath. “I had no chance.”
“Stop.” She kicked me gently. “You never said anything about it.”
“How could I? You were surrounded all the time. And I was so fucking awkward and shy.”
“You were shy. You’re still shy. Sort of.”
My face burned. “Yeah. I guess.”
She didn’t say anything for a minute or two, just stared out across the water. I was about to start rowing us back when she asked a question that surprised me.
“Why me?”
“Huh?”
“Why did you have a crush on me? Was it because you thought I was pretty?”
I had to think about it. Of course I thought she was pretty—everyone did. But that wasn’t all of it. “It wasn’t just your looks,” I said. “I was an observer back then, not really a participator, so I saw a lot of what went on without actually being involved. I saw that you were nice to everyone, that you didn’t bully or cut people down, that you went out of your way to smile and say nice things to people. I liked that you weren’t shy about raising your hand in class to admit you didn’t understand something. I liked that you sometimes asked me for help.” I paused to take a breath.
“Wow. That’s like the most I’ve ever heard you say at one time.” Her smile lit up her face. “And I’m totally flattered.”
That smile. It was like a drug—I wanted to say anything, do anything to keep it there. “So yes, Ken—that’s my therapist—told me that if talking to you was a fear, then I had to conquer it.”
She met my eyes. “And you did.”
“I did.”
“So now,” she said, “you’re going to conquer fried chicken, potato salad, and cherry pie with the Nixon family.”
Taking the oars in my hands, I shook my head. “You’re much bossier than you were back then.”
“I’m not bossy,” she said indignantly. “I’m just good at seeing what needs to be done.” She grimaced. “Except when it comes to myself. Then I’m horrible.”
I began rowing us back toward the dock. “I’ll help you. Maybe we can help each other.”
I watched Sebastian row us back toward the cabin, the muscles in his chest and arms working hard. Even though our brief romantic interlude had been a little frustrating, what happened afterward had been good for us. Truthfully, I wasn’t sure what had made me act the way I did, insisting he grab me by the throat—it could have backfired terribly. But I was so sure he wouldn’t hurt me, I needed him to know it. And maybe it hadn’t solved the problem entirely, but I felt like we at least gained some ground.
He was so different—for most guys, it would be the other way around. They’d be all over the sex part, and then when you asked about their thoughts, they’d go silent. Sebastian had those silent moments too, and moments where he snapped, but I felt like I understood him better. He was just so hard on himself.