Page 54 of Crashing Tides

“It’s fine,” I tell him. “I’m having a bad day. It’ll get better.” That’s a lie. The shock will never go away. My legs are still numb. My heart literally aches. I have acid reflux from mixing whisky and rum.

“OK,” he says. His gaze never leaves mine. I can’t tell if he’s worried or annoyed, and I don’t want to know. “Do you need anything?”

There is literally nothing Duncan Stirling or anyone else can do to help me, so I shake my head. “Should I call a ride?”

He perks up at that. “You don’t need to. I have a car.”

Damn it. I should have brought my Corolla. I didn’t think I’d need it. Maybe I was a little embarrassed to be seen in it. But I wouldn’t be tied to campus like this. I could have offered to drive, proven that I’m not completely useless.

I follow him to the student parking lot. He has a space in covered parking, which I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by—he can clearly afford it.

Then I see the car and can’t help but stare. It’s a fucking Mercedes. A spacious, nondescript sedan. The kind of car Jeremy expected me to upgrade to.

I knew Duncan was rich, I think, heart sinking. Then I backpedal. A Mercedes is considered modest by a lot of people’s standards. It’s not a big deal.

But it’s still a nice car. What if we get sand in it?

“Did you eat?” Duncan asks, unlocking the door with the click of a key fob.

“Uh, kind of,” I say. I had half a protein bar, and I was lucky to keep it down.

“OK,” he says, nodding. “Let me know if you get hungry.”

I already checked my bank account. There’s no way I’m getting anything to eat off campus.

The drive to the beach is quiet. There’s no radio. I glance at Duncan occasionally, and notice that he’s breathing very shallowly, staring straight ahead.

Do I make him uncomfortable? As weird as he is, I don’t actually want to make him nervous.

Wait. If I make him nervous, is it because he likes me?

But that can’t be the issue. If he liked me, he’d just say so, right? There’s no need to dance around the subject.

Unless… Maybe he’s had some bad experiences? Or maybe he’s still in the closet, scared I’ll out him in more ways than one.

That bothers me, but I can’t exactly blame him. My family is mostly supportive of my sexual orientation (save for an uncle or two), but a lot of people aren’t so lucky. If he’s not ready to share, I’m not going to push. “So,” I say, because I don’t want to think about this anymore. “How was your weekend?”

“It was good. I got a lot of homework done.” He is breathing through his mouth. Do I stink?

“That’s, um, productive,” I say, trying to figure out a way to check my pits without being obvious. “Hey, I—You can smell stuff really well, right?”

His shoulders stiffen. “Yeah.”

“Can I ask you something kinda weird?”

“Uh, sure,” he says, white knuckling the steering wheel like he’s afraid of what I might say.

I’m just drunk enough to be emboldened by this. “Do I smell different since I turned into a mer-thing?”

He lets out a startled little guffaw. “Um, no. I don’t think so.”

“Huh. OK. I thought maybe I smelled like fish.”

“Nope, sorry,” he says, and now he’s grinning a little.

I’m strangely encouraged by this. He has a nice smile, I think, even if his face is always doing other things and I don’t get to see it too often. “Where are you from?”

“Oh,” he says, and his smile starts to fade. Damn it. “Colorado. Up in the mountains.”