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Malia-Tarni
I’m still frozen in place wondering what the hell just happened when Summer comes for me. ‘My Way’ by Limp Bizkit is playing poignantly in the background.
“MT? You okay? I was starting to think you bailed on me and went home.”
“No, I’m good.” I shake my head both in answer to her question, which sounds like it’s coming from underwater, and to snap out of my daze.
“Who was that hottie you were talking to? Did you scare him off?” Summer goes up onto her tiptoes in an attempt to see why my professor went. She won’t be seeing him again, he’s left. I heard the door slam behind him, and I don’t even understand why I so desperately wanted to run after him.
The guy’s an arsehole and in my loose-lipped merry state, I think I let him know exactly what I think of him. But he still looked at me like…I don’t know. Maybe he wanted to kill me, not kiss me. I’m so bad at reading people that aren’t Summer or my parents. My parents are easy to read, they only have three emotions and facial expressions: we’re mad at you, we’re disappointed in you, and we’re going to hurt you now.
Summer has a lot more, but I’ve known her long enough that I can ‘read’ her pretty well. Right now she’s drooling after my professor like she doesn’t already have five boyfriends of her own to worry about.
My professor.
Obviously, I don’t mean that he’s mine, in the possessive sense of the word. Just that he’s my teacher, not Summer’s.
That dimple though…
“So shall we move on? Have you had enough? I’m ready to dance and the music in here blows. What do you say? Shall we hit the beach?”
Numb at the realisation that I have a slight crush on my awful professor, I simply nod to agree to whatever Summer is proposing.
Bhodi and the professor are real arseholes. I shouldn’t find them attractive. I shouldn’t be thinking about kissing either of them. I—
“Let’s go!” I force a smile on my face. I am not prepared to follow that train of thought just yet. A hell of a lot more alcohol will be needed for that.
Summer drags me back to the beach club place we partied at before, but this time we stay inside, dancing to the music under the strobe lights. I bear it as best I can but the thumping bass, flashing lights and the press of bodies against me – not to mention the smell – is total sensory overload.
I motion for Summer to break for a drink and she nods and leads the way to the bar, which is marginally less busy than the dance floor.
I hang back from the crowd, content to wait my turn but Summer elbows her way to the front, using her cleavage and winning smile to jump the line and get served first.
“That is a sexy dress,” a sleazy male voice says in my ear. He’s too close, his breath too hot, and something gives me a real ick feeling about him.
“You can borrow it sometime if you want,” I reply dismissively without turning around but taking a small step away from him.
“How about now? You could take it off and give it to me.”
I ignore him until his hand falls to my shoulder, slips under the shoestring strap of my dress and drags it down my arm. I whirl around ready to shove him away but I don’t get that far.
“Get your fucking hands off her!” An enraged voice yells above the music.
A fist comes out of nowhere and makes contact with the creep’s nose, which instantly erupts, spraying blood everywhere. I take a smart step backwards to avoid it.
“What the fuck’s it got to do with you?” bleeding nose guy snarls back at his attacker who has positioned himself directly in front of me, so I can only see the back of his blond head.
“She’s with me, fucker.” I open my mouth to protest that I am absolutely not with this stranger when his next words make me pause. “And even if she wasn’t, you don’t go around undressing women in public – especially if they didn’t ask for it. Now get the fuck out of here before I have you thrown out and barred from every bar on this island.”
The angry man and his broken nose leave, a trail of bloody droplets the only evidence of what just took place.
“Are you okay?” My defender turns to face me and I realise it’s not a stranger after all. It’s the surfing club guy. Cove with the bright blue eyes and gorgeous smile. My pulse flutters.
“You don’t strike me as the fighting type,” I say.
“That wasn’t a fight. That was justice. Jeez, what an asshole. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. He only touched the strap of my dress.” And my bare skin. Which now feels tainted and I need to go scrub myself with bleach.
