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She nodded. “Ash was going to come, but she got sick.” Her eyes clouded, and I stopped, dropping my arm around her shoulders so she could lean her head against my chest.
“You okay?” She nodded. “Did you tell Brooks about the pills yet?”
“No.” She licked her lips, and I sucked in a breath. What the hell was wrong with me? “I was hoping maybe…maybe you could be there when I did. Just in case…”
I brought her in closer, telling myself it was to offer comfort and not because she felt so good against me. “Of course. Tomorrow? We can do it after we surf in the morning.”
Her relief was audible, and another knot inside of me loosened. “Is Hunter here?”
“And Brooks,” I said. “Come on, we can grab a drink and then maybe we can take a walk.”
The crowd was getting larger, and louder; it was the only excuse I needed to link my fingers through hers and keep her close, to lean down and speak directly into her ear so that I could inhale her scent. When we found Hunter, he was halfway to being indecent with the same blonde, but he paused long enough to swing Nala up in a hug.
Possessiveness surged through me, and with it the urge to yank her away from him and bring her back to my side. Because it was inappropriate, and scarily strong, I got another beer, and allowed myself to wink and flirt with the girls who surrounded us.
And then I saw someone hand Nala a beer, and I almost committed murder. “What the fuck, man?” Shoving the hipster hard enough he stumbled, I yanked the beer from Nala’s hand and tossed it after him. “She’s not old enough for that.”
“Jesus, Malcolm, relax. It was just a beer.One. And you’re not old enough either, if that’s what you’re going with.” I whipped around at the sound of Nala’s voice. “Just one? How often do you drink?”
Her raised eyebrow had the rage I’d pushed back when she arrived blaring forward full throttle. “How often do you drink?” she shot back.
“Did you know about this?” I asked, eyes whipping to Brooklyn, who had just appeared again. He kept a lazy arm around the brunette he was dating—name undisclosed or not important enough for me to remember—and shook his head.
“Do you really think I’d let her drink? You’re the one who brought her in here.”
“I’m not a puppy,” Nala snapped, shoving Brooklyn. “I wasn’t led here on a leash. I walked,alone, like a big girl. Just like I can drink a beer like a big girl. And have, several times.” My head was ready to explode, images of Nala at parties alone, where I couldn’t watch her, nameless dickheads handing her open beers and ogling her on repeat. My breath was ragged, and my hands were clenched into fists, the urge to hit someone so strong it was making me shake. And then she looked right at me and raised a challenging brow. “I’m not a child anymore.”
Oh. Fuck.
Stepping up to her, I grabbed her arm and tugged her through the crowd, out to the back deck. Ignoring her protests, I found a semi-quiet spot and turned her so I was between her and everyone else.
“What the hell is going on?”
“You tell me,” I demanded. “Why are you here, Nala? And how often do come to parties like this and drink? And Jesus, do not ever let me see or hear about you taking an open container from some douche ever again. Don’t you know what could happen?”
Her mouth snapped shut, and though I wanted to say I was sorry, to step forward and bring her against my chest, I didn’t, because I was having a hard time remembering that touching her wasn’t allowed. She wasn’t mine.
But goddamn fucking hell she felt like she was.
“First, you drink, and have for a long time, so stop being a hypocrite. Just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean I can’t have fun like you do—and did when you lived here. Second, he wasn’t a douche, he was a friend of Brooks’s, and we know each other. And third,” she said, slamming her hand against my arm, “I came to see you, you big idiot, because I missed you.”
She stepped closer and warning bells sounded in my head. I ignored them, unable to move when she shoved to her toes and pressed herself against me, wrapping her arms around my neck and lining us up so our mouths were only inches apart. “I came to see you, Malcolm,” she whispered, “because I love you.” And then she pressed her lips to mine, and my world exploded.
I needed to let go—and did, but not before I filled myself on the taste of Nala, drawing her into my lungs, and memorizing every feel, touch, sound of that moment. And then I remembered who she was, and who I was, and I broke the kiss, jerking back so hard that she stumbled away.
“Nala, no.” My heart was slamming against my ribs, and god help me, my erection was pressing against my zipper, begging me to grab her and kiss her again. Nala Jansen was no longer a child, but she wasn’t yet an adult, and I was. And I wasn’t an innocent one.
Which meant that whatever had just happened couldn’t happen again. “Mal,” she started, but I cut her off. I couldn’t let her speak. It had taken every ounce of willpower I had to push her away once—if she got close to me again, I wouldn’t be able to do it, and whatever she thought she wanted right now, I knew it wasn’t what she deserved.
I was the kid people left behind, the son they beat because it felt good, the man they fucked because they wanted something. This was Nala, the girl who looked and smelled like the beach, and she deserved so much better than me.
“Go home, Nala.” And because I was a bastard, I walked away without another word, taking only one second to stop by Brooks and tell him she needed a ride. And when I saw her step into the doorway to the kitchen, I grabbed the girl closest to me and pulled her out of the room, ready to use her in order to prove to me and Nala what kind of man I really was.
When she didn’t show up at her normal spot to surf the next morning, I told myself it was for the best. But when I didn’t see her again the entire weekend, no matter how many of her normal haunts I visited, my chest grew hollow and I wondered if I had somehow just ruined the best thing I’d ever had.
+ + +
It’s been almost five years since I pushed Nala out of my life, and no matter how far and how fast I ran, I’ve never forgotten that moment, or forgiven myself for the way I turned on her.
