Something in the Way (Something in the Way #1)(70)

Lake had her window all the way down now. She stuck her head and part of her torso outside. Her long, blonde hair flew around her, and she had to push it out of her face. “You can see all the stars here, too,” she said. “I’m looking for the Summer Triangle.”

I smiled to myself and checked through the windshield. I couldn’t see it, or maybe I didn’t want to take my eyes off her long enough to find it. Carefree as she looked right now, the outfit and her confidence tonight reminded me that what Tiffany said was true. Lake wasn’t a child. She’d be eighteen soon. Didn’t mean anything for me, really. I’d never be the kind of man she deserved. But it did get my heart pounding a little, thinking of her body the way I thought of her mind—something belonging to a young adult rather than a teen girl.

We drove around that way for a while, miles under the speed limit. I told her we were going slow because I liked driving without the lights on, but the truth was, I wanted a few more minutes with her. No sneaking around. No checking over my shoulder. Finally, just her and me, not doing anything wrong, just being.

Eventually, the residential maze spit us out on to a main street, and I had to switch the headlights on again. Lake sat back in her seat, rolled up her window partway, and got the kind of quiet that made me wonder if she was upset.

I shifted gears on our way up the hill back to camp and looked over to check on her. Whatever had changed her mood, I suspected there wasn’t anything I could really say to comfort her.

Lake gasped. I whipped my gaze back to the road as something darted in front of the car. Hitting the brakes, I reached for Lake, keeping her in her seat as I swerved to miss the animal. The truck shuddered, too much bulk to stop so fast, but I steered it off the highway.

“What was that?” she asked, sounding breathless.

I looked over at her. My hand was on her shoulder. “You all right?”

“I’m fine. It looked like a dog.”

“Coyote. Must’ve been.”

We sat there a moment, catching our breath. What the fuck was I doing out here anyway? What if we’d gotten into an accident and I’d had to explain why I had a sixteen-year-old girl and two pints in a truck that didn’t belong to me.

“That was a rush,” she said.

“A rush? No. No, it wasn’t.” I went to pull away, but she stopped me, spreading her fingers over the top of my hand. Hers was shades whiter than mine and probably half the size.

“Do we have to go back?” she asked.

The more I tried to ignore her soft palm on my skin, the harder it got. I needed to take my hand off. It wasn’t as if she could hold me there against my will. “We’ve been gone long enough,” I said.

“But I don’t want to.”

“I know you don’t. That’s why we went for a drive. But this—you’re not supposed to be out here, and it isn’t even about camp. Just in general, you shouldn’t be here, now.”

I only heard her breathing. She took her hand off, and so did I.

“Nobody even knows I’m gone.” She unclicked her seatbelt. “Come on. I see water.”

“Lake, no.”

With what must’ve been a sudden burst of strength, she shouldered her door open and hopped out of the truck.

“Come on, Lake. Get back in.”

“I just want to see. Maybe put my toes in.”

Fuck. Barefoot, she headed into the dark. I fumbled with my seatbelt, barely remembering to shut off the engine before jumping out. “Lake?”

The trees were thick around the highway, and my voice echoed into the woods. I couldn’t see shit. I strode down a soft-dirt hill, which opened up to a sprawling body of black water. The moon was just a sliver rippling over the lake. When I saw her near the shore, I exhaled a breath I’d been holding. She stripped off her shorts. My gut smarted, a warning. No way she’d get in there. You couldn’t see your own foot in that lake.

With her back to me, in white panties and a t-shirt, she waded in like a water nymph, glowing against a black backdrop.

“Come on, Lake.” My heart pounded. I’d warned her about the water. “I’m not messing around. You don’t know what’s in there.”

“Fish?” She smiled at me over her shoulder. My gaze, the water, her hair, it all moved with her as she glided deeper. When the waterline touched her hips, she pulled one arm through a sleeve and then the other.

I stood paralyzed as she took off her top. It was clumsy, drawn out, long enough for me to tell her to stop. She threw it a few yards from my feet. I went and picked it up, a scrap of fabric that’d been a necessary barrier between us. She had this white, strappy bra thing on and, thankfully, enough long blonde hair to hide her breasts, not that there was much to cover.

I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t move.

I ran a hand through my hair, trying to decide what to do. I had a lot of self-control, but I didn’t want to test it by taking off my pants. It wouldn’t look good to show up back at camp in wet jeans, either.

Lake kept going. Her hair started to disappear under the surface, pieces of it plastering to her back. The memory scraped across my brain like nails on a chalkboard. Maddy—limp, soaked, sheet-white—her wet hair sticking to my forearms and knees as I’d pulled her from the water into my lap.

I tried to call Lake back. The words came out strangled. I took off my shoes and socks. Tossing her shirt with her shorts, I walked right in. The cold water bit, but she couldn’t get any farther from my reach.