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“Ivy,” Freya echoes. “I don’t think I know an…” her voice trails off, her attention following me as I set my water on the counter and wander through the clothing racks.
I pause behind her, watching her appreciate the surfboard in the stand. She studies the inlaid wood accents, running her fingertips over the line work around the design. She smells like soap, dressed in my black Deftones t-shirt, tiny jean shorts, and her combat boots. When she tilts her head, I can see the faintoutline of a bruise on her neck. A bruise the size of my mouth. I swallow hard. What do I even say to her after everything we did last night?
“It’s a hybrid between a fish and a longboard,” I begin hesitantly. “Suitable for smaller waves, but with enough definition to slice through the larger ones when the surf picks up. A local favorite.”
She stills, then slowly turns to face me. Her intoxicating green eyes rise to mine, shimmering in the sunlight.
“It’s beautiful,” she says, chewing on her bottom lip. “Do you work here?”
“I own it.”
“You own Kaos?”
I nod. “Are you… interested in surfing? Looking for recommendations on a beginner board?” I pause. “Something else?”
She releases an unsteady breath, shaking her head. “I fucked this all up, didn’t I?”
I shake my head. “The only thing you fucked up was breakfast. I’m an amazing cook, and you missed it.”
A smile teases at the corners of her beautiful lips. “There’s a lot of baggage in my head right now. I had to walk it off. I’m sorry,” she confesses, shoving her hands into her pockets.
I step closer, reaching out to toy with the bottom hem of my Deftones shirt. “I’m not sorry. For any of it.”
She retreats a step. “We really should end this,” she says. “Before we both get hurt.”
“Probably,” I agree, moving toward her, my hand sliding to her waist as my thumb traces circles on the smooth skin of her stomach beneath the edge of her shirt. Her breath catches, and I lick my bottom lip. “You’d better go.”
“I know,” she says, rolling the ball of her tongue ring between her lips. A war wages in the green depths of her eyes, and I feel it echo inside me. I know what I should do and what I need to do. But the intrusive thoughts are louder, screaming at me to grab her. To kiss her and never let her go.
She pulls away, sidestepping me to wind her way through the clothing racks, heading for the exit. For several seconds, I watch her leave, my heart thundering in my chest. When she reaches for the door, I curse and follow her.
I grab her hand, and she turns back toward me, her eyes narrowed in confusion. I close the distance between us and fix my mouth on hers, my hands threading into her hair. A sigh escapes her as she leans into me, her arms sliding around my neck. I sink into her, losing myself in her, fighting to pull her closer. I glide my palms down her body, under her shirt, and up the bare skin of her back. I hold her tight, my mouth trailing down her neck, tracing the outline of her bruise with my tongue.
She drags my mouth back to hers, her lips sliding over mine as her hands grip the fabric of my shirt. I pull her bottom lip between mine, silky and smooth, and cherry from her lip gloss. Then I pull back, resting my forehead against hers as I catch my breath.
“I’m trying really hard to be mad at you,” I admit, my fingers toying with the long ends of her violet hair.
“You should be.”
“I know,” I reply. “It’s a work in progress.” I release her and step back.
“You must be Ivy,” Freya notes curiously, winding her way around the sales floor with hercoffee cup.
Ivy nods.
“I had a feeling,” she confirms with an amused smile.
I roll my eyes. “This is my Aunt Freya.”
“Hey, your family. Great,” Ivy says awkwardly, combing a hand through her hair as she shoots me a warning glare. I bite my lip to keep from smiling.
“Zaden said you work at the Sandbar,” Freya adds. “You like it?”
Ivy shrugs. “The tips are good, and the help is tolerable.”
Freya laughs. “I like you. You’re good for his ego.”
“Ivy was just leaving,” I interject before Freya can embarrass me. “Come on, I’ll walk you out.”
