There’snothing worse than The Walk of Shame. Everyone has done it. Sneaking into the dorm or back to an apartment before classes start for the day. Tell-tale signs: Messy bedhead. The same clothes as the night before. Smeared make-up. Oh, and don’t forget the purplish bags under the eyes from lack of sleep.
While Justin showers and dresses, I try my best to tame my hair and at least wash my face. It doesn’t help that he and I were up late and awake early. Not to mention my eyes have that post-ugly-cry puffy thing going on.
Whit’s in the kitchen when I walk out, dropping vegetables into a blender. Shirtless, his broad, tanned chest is exposed and his hair is tied up in a bun. He winks when he sees me.
“So much for no one knowing I was here,” I mutter.
“Stop being silly,” Justin says, kissing me on my temple. He’s in his marina uniform. Why doesn’t he look like he just spent the night doing naughty things in bed and not sleeping? “I’ve got to run. Leave when you’re ready, okay?”
“Okay.”
Part of me wants to run out the door with him, feeling awkward and weird coming from Justin’s room. I’ve kissed Whit. Had his hands all over my body. This is where the test of the Pact comes in, I guess. Are these guys really okay with it? With me being with more than one of them at the same time.
I turn to say something to Whit but the blender whirrs, mixing together the scary concoction that’s now green. The noise stops and he takes off the lid and drinks straight from the blender.
“Good?” I ask, trying to break the one-sided tension.
“Needs more kale.”
I wrinkle my nose and approach the counter. Easing into a bar stool, I say, “So how bad does it look, on a scale of slut to harlot, for me to walk out of Justin’s bedroom this morning?”
“I’m not here to judge, babe.” He licks a bit of smoothie off his upper lip. “But if you want a basic opinion, you look sexy as hell first thing in the morning.”
I glare at him.
“I’m headed out to the dock, wanna come?”
I nod eagerly. Anything to keep from skulking through the campground at 5:30 a.m.
Whit leads the way down the stairwell and around the back of the cottage. He leads me out of the yard toward the long dock that travels over the marshy wetlands between the shore and the waterway. He’s quiet, drinking his smoothie, eyes cast over the early gray morning.
At the dock, he opens a shed and pulls out a large surfboard. Bigger than a surfboard? I take it while he gets a second one out as well. “You know I can’t surf, right?”
“It’s a paddle board,” he says, handing me a long paddle. “You don’t even have to get wet.”
I’ve seen people cruising around on these—usually far out past the breakers. The waterway is smooth right now.
“I used to think this was for old people,” he tells me, moving to the edge of the dock. He lays the board flat and gestures for me to place my feet on it so it doesn’t drift away. “But this is a pretty zen way to start the day, too.”
I’ve learned to trust Whit in the water. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still terrified of the dark murkiness below and the fact I can’t see what’s down there, but I do have faith that Whit is looking out for me. I follow his directions. Or try.
“Don’t panic,” he says, when I fight against the moving water. “Just relax and ease on the top.”
His voice is calm, smooth, and soon I’m standing with braced knees. He pushes the board away from the deck with his hands and I sail out into the water.
“Oh my god,” I cry. This is going to end badly.
“Put the paddle in the water, Summer. You’re in charge.”
He’s up and on his own board in a matter of seconds, quickly coasting over the water toward me. Again, I listen to him, focus on his voice and watching the way his body navigates the water. His shoulders are ridiculously broad, lean and muscular. His stomach is well-defined and taut. Swim trunks hang over his hips and he turns my way, giving me a little smile.
“You’re doing it.”
“I guess,” I say with a little wobble, but I stay upright. But a few minutes later Iamdoing it and holy shit, it’s fun.
Once I get my sea legs, Whit waves at me to follow. Soon we’re off the main waterway and down a twisty creek. Tall grasses and cattails line the passage and soon trees grow out of the water with low-hanging branches. I have no idea where we’re going and the narrowing makes me nervous, but I keep my eyes on Whit’s back and follow him into the shady oasis. Just when I think he’s gotten us horribly lost, he looks back and says, “Almost there.”
“There,” is a break in the trees, a small lagoon of clear water and a sandy beach. Whit hops off his board into hip-deep water and pushes the board and paddle on shore. He wades over to me and I lower to my knees, still trying not to fall.
