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It’s something else.
Something I want more of.
Something I can’t have.
After an incredibly long photoshoot, Leighton convinces me to join her in the water.
She laugh-shrieks as a wave smacks into her stomach. Grabs my arms. Pulls me under the water with her.
We run around the beach forever.
Mostly, I stare out at the horizon.
She jumps around in the waves.
The Pacific Ocean is freezing, same as every summer.
But there’s something about the cold water and the salty air.
Something familiar. Comfortable. Warm.
For the first time in forever, I want to stay somewhere besides work. I want to hang here with her. I want to hang with her, period.
Maybe that’s enough of a reason to say yes.
To buy me six weeks—five now—of Leighton all the time.
This guy is gonna come to his senses. Realize she’s amazing. Scoop her up.
Then she’ll be his.
And not mine.
It doesn’t matter how platonic we insist we are. Mystery Man isn’t gonna be okay with me making her dinner, driving her home, spending the night on her couch.
Shit is gonna change.
The thought steals my oxygen.
It’s as bad as the memory of Penny groaning Frank’s name.
Worse even.
It bounces around my brain as we dry off, pack our stuff, drive back to Leighton’s place.
A shower fails to wash it away.
It fills the room with the scent of her shampoo. Leaves me smelling of her. Like we slept in the same bed.
Like we fucked all goddamn night.
Orange light floods the tiny space as I pull the blinds. This is a nice apartment—all the touches of her are perfect—but it’s tiny.
And without air conditioning.
I push the windows open. Let the breeze fill the room. We’re far enough from the beach that it only barely smells of salt.
But that’s enough that it doesn’t smell of her coconut shampoo.
