Trust(29)

“Do you normally bring girls here?” I asked, following behind him up the trail. All those bouncy white bits of me were out of his sight with him in front. My hands still roved, covering my chest, holding back my belly, fumbling over my thighs. Stupid insecurities. Though seriously, what the ever-loving hell was I doing? The temptation to turn and run ate at me. No way could I imagine any of the cheerleaders and assorted others Hang had pointed out as being among John’s special private-time friends going hiking in the middle of the night.

“No.” Amusement filled his voice. “Anders and I come here sometimes, but that’s it.”

“You guys been friends a long time?”

“Since the first day of first grade.”

Georgia and I had been the same; funny how fast forever could end. Thoughts of her caused the usual pain, but I pushed it aside. Adventuring with John being way more interesting than inner turmoil.

“Careful here.” He turned back, held out his hand. His fingers were stronger than mine, the skin rougher. Together, we climbed the rocky trail to the top of the hill and stood at the edge. Hands disengaged and all returned to relative normal.

“How you wanna do this?” he asked. “You want me to go first?”

“It’s pretty dark down there. I can’t see the water properly.” I pushed some pebbles off the edge with my toes. They scattered and fell, eventually splashing.

“Don’t worry. It’s there,” he said.

Interestingly enough, I’d been too busy hauling ass to the top of the hill and fretting about the fall to worry about my body. John’s gaze did a quick up and down; no expression of horror or anything crossed his face. We were friends, apparently. It was fine. Still, the thought of him in the water looking up, watching while I plummeted, didn’t appeal. Nor did him catching the view from above, either.

“Do you want me to push you?” he asked.

“Don’t you fucking dare!”

More laughter from the ass. “Relax, Edie. I wouldn’t do that.”

Eyes all squinty, I gave him a disgruntled look.

“Sorry. You can trust me, I swear.”

“Whatever,” I mumbled.

“So,” he said eventually. “What are we doing?”

“Can we go together?”

“Sure.”

I held out my hand and he took it, grip strong and sure.

“Count of three, on three,” he said. “Ready?”

“Yep.”

“One. Two. Three.” And we jumped.

I screamed and he laughed, the lake rushing up to greet us. Adrenaline surged through me, making me feel more alive than I had in a long time, but it was over so fast. Then we were in the water, submerged in the dark. Of course, I had to let go of his hand to swim to the surface. Still alive, thank you baby Jesus, blood pounded behind my ears. My underwear had even managed to remain intact.

John treaded water, wet hair hanging in his face. “You good?”

“Yeah. That was great!”

“What else haven’t you done before?”

“I don’t know.” I swirled my arms around in the water, keeping myself afloat. Talk about an embarrassing topic of conversation. I wouldn’t lie to him, but I wasn’t willing to be specific, either. “The usual.”

“Ever smoked a joint?”

“No, I haven’t.” And I felt a little foolish admitting it, too. “Good girls don’t do that sort of thing. We stay home and contemplate God and shit.”

“You’re a good girl?”

“No,” I said, pondering my answer. “Not anymore. I think I might’ve changed religion recently.”

A fleeting smile crossed his face. The understanding in his eyes that I couldn’t get anywhere else.

“Yeah, me too,” he said.

“Race you back to the beach?”

“You’re on.”

“Ready. Set. Go!”

With seemingly effortless strokes he cut through the water, leaving me and my dog-paddling way behind. Not that I actually tried.

“You win,” I called out and heard laughter.

Sports weren’t my strong suit. Any kind of marathon outside of shopping, TV, or reading and I’d be guaranteed to come in last. Never mind. Everyone had their strengths and weaknesses. Each and every one of us was a special little sunflower.

Coming in last also provided me with a most excellent view of John walking up the beach. Sodden dark gray boxer briefs were plastered to his butt, and what a butt it was. Whoa. A photographic memory would be so great. Not that I was objectifying my new friend or anything, because that would be wrong. And foolish.

Like an oversized dog, he shook the water from his hair. I wrapped mine around a hand and wrung it dry, following him slowly, trying to catch my breath. My makeup had probably dripped halfway down my face, but whatever. Most of my nervous energy had been burnt up in the fall. From inside the car, he grabbed a lighter and a little baggie.

“Sit on the hood,” he said, climbing on up and leaning back against the windshield.

“That won’t hurt your car?”

“No. But it’ll keep our asses warm and help us dry.”

“Good call.” I carefully climbed onboard, hoping the metal wouldn’t start groaning or something beneath my weight. Probably, I should have just put the dress back on. That would have been the smart thing to do. But screw it.