Everything We Didn't Say(16)

“Look who we have here.” The voice is deep and vaguely familiar in my dozy state.

“Shall we write something on her stomach in sunscreen?” Ashley’s giggle tells me all I need to know. Of course he found us.

I crack one eye beneath my sunglasses and find Sullivan crouching beside us, sandals abandoned in the sand and black board shorts riding up his thighs. Something darts through me quicksilver fast, but I can’t quite catch it. It’s impossible to pin down how Sullivan makes me feel. Other than mildly annoyed.

“I’m awake,” I say before they can make good on their vague threats.

“Perfect. Move.”

I comply, squeezing closer to Ashley to make room for Sullivan on the blanket. This wasn’t how I planned it. We were going to join him on the docks later, when there were lots of people around and I didn’t have to feel thrown by his subtle advances. Or heartsick about the way Ashley inhales high and shallow when he rubs the back of his fingers along his jaw in a move that feels calculated to me.

I sigh and sit up, pressed between my best friend and the boy she’s wanted for years. We touch at unexpected places, ankle to ankle, knees bumping, my shoulder against the curve of his bicep until Ashley scoots over and we all have room to breathe.

“Break time?” I ask stupidly. My headache has dulled, but it still feels as if my skull is stuffed with cotton balls.

“You know, that’s why I like you, Baker. Always on the ball.”

Ashley laughs at Sullivan’s non-joke as he mock-salutes me. I manage a dry chuckle.

“I was just on my way to grab a Red Bull.” Sullivan leans back on his elbows and closes his eyes. “But Pete’s is so far…”

“Suck it up,” I say at the exact same moment that Ashley says: “I’ll go!”

She reaches for her little teal purse, and I’m grateful when Sullivan digs in his pocket and hands her a five. Apparently, he’ll use her to fetch him a drink but stops short of expecting her to pay for it. I roll my eyes behind my sunglasses.

“Thanks, Ash. You’re a peach.”

I watch Ashley walk away, but I can feel Sullivan watching me.

“A peach?” I say when she’s out of earshot. “You’re using her.”

He lifts one shoulder casually. “I’ve never led her on.”

It’s true. Sullivan has been nice enough but clearly disinterested in Ashley’s often conspicuous advances. If only she could see it.

I continue looking ahead and say without preamble: “So Baxter’s dead.” I didn’t intend to be so blunt, but here we are.

“Yet another reason I like you, June. Your charming conversational skills.”

“I’m being serious. I think somebody killed him.” The heaviness of what I’m saying settles over us.

“When’s the funeral?” Sullivan’s nonplussed.

“Really?” I shoot him a disappointed glance. “That’s your response?”

Sullivan pulls his aviators down with his index finger and regards me over the top of the gold wire frames. His hazel-green eyes are narrowed and his lashes unusually long. I can’t read his expression, but for once he’s not goading me.

I try to hold his gaze, but I can’t. I feel a blush racing into my already warm cheeks. Suddenly I’m boiling, skin prickling all over and desperate for the siren call of the dark blue lake. I look out over the water, trace the peaks of whitecaps frothed up by boats crisscrossing the glassy surface. It’s an unusually still afternoon for Iowa, calm in the wake of the storm that rolled through on its way to Wisconsin and beyond. But I’m disquieted.

“Come on, talk to me. Please,” I force myself to say. “Tell me what you know.”

After a beat he slides his sunglasses back up and moves to stand, raining fine grains of sand all over the blanket.

Almost against my will my hand shoots out and catches his wrist. It’s thick in my grip, and when I realize what I’ve done, I start to let go. But it’s Sullivan’s turn. He twists his wrist and grabs my hand, tugs me so that I topple off-balance. Suddenly I’m pressed against his chest. I feel his breath on my skin, minty and warm.

“Tomorrow night,” he says into my hair. “I’ll tell you what I know.” His lips just barely graze the curl of my ear before he stands, slipping on his sandals as I try to recover.

“What’s tomorrow night?” My hands are braced beneath me, and Sullivan towers overhead, blocking the sun. His face is in shadow, and I can’t tell if he’s toying with me.

“I’ll pick you up. Eight.”

“But—”

“Just be ready,” Sullivan says. He doesn’t spare me a backward glance.

And he doesn’t wait for his drink.

“Where is he?” Ashley asks when she gets back. The apples of her cheeks are rosy, her voice pitched higher than normal. She stands for a moment with her hand shading her eyes as she scans the beach. There’s still the hint of a smile on her lips, and I’m grateful for that one small grace. Ashley didn’t see Sullivan touch me.

“He had to go,” I manage, pushing myself to my feet. “Here, toss it to me. I’ll stick it in the cooler. I’m sure we’ll find him later.”

Ashley shakes her head. “It’ll get warm. Is he on the docks? Was his break cut short?”