Until We Meet Again(12)
And intriguing.
And stupidly attractive.
His smile lingers in my mind like a dull ache. I puff out a
breath. No, he’s a jerk. Don’t forget how he acted last night. Like
he owned the whole town.
So, why do I still want to find out more about him?
Because I’m stupid. I accept this fact.
“Can I hang out with Travis today?” I ask, looking up at Mom
hopefully. He’d know more about Lawrence, I’m betting.
“Not on your life. Your butt is grounded, Cass.”
“He can come here.”
“Nope. You have chores, then summer reading, and then, if
I’m feeling generous, I’ll let you have your laptop after lunch.”
I sigh loudly. “Fantastic.”
Mom’s face is an iron wall of indifference to my plight. “You
made your bed, now you have to lie in it.”
I flop off the bar stool and march toward the stairs. “Actually,
I didn’t make my bed yet this morning. But I think I will go lie
in it.”
“I’m so proud,” Mom calls as I stomp up the stairs.
h
Being grounded isn’t the worst punishment Mom could have
given me, if only because it’s almost no different from the
rest of this summer vacation. But somehow I’m in my worst
mood yet. As two uneventful days lurch by, the restlessness
morphs into bitterness. Soured like old milk.
By the third day, I’m in such a lousy mood that the sound
of Frank slurping his watermelon after dinner sends me to the
edge of hysteria. I need to get out of here fast. I grab two dripping slices and announce that I’m going to get some fresh air.
Mom and Frank can barely mask their relief. I’m sure I’ve been
an absolute treat to be around.
Munching the watermelon, I tromp out onto the lawn. As
I walk, I realize I’m headed to the beach. Of course. I hesitate
for a moment. How pathetic is it to go back there? Very. But
then again, at this point, how’s that any worse?
Setting my jaw, I press ahead. I need to see the beach again.
I need to get its association with Lawrence out of my system.
As I approach the pathway, the sound of surf drifts toward me,
making my heart skip a little. Which is ridiculous. Glaring, I
push through the bushes and burst out onto the sand.
And there he is.
Lawrence. Emerging from the water. Shirtless. Wearing
funny, little swim trunks. He smoothes the water from his tousled hair and his eyes lock on mine.
I would chalk this up to a really pathetic daydream on my
part, if not for the equally stunned expression that crosses his
face. For a split second, we stare at each other. “Cassandra?” he
calls over the pound of surf.
He takes me in, as if checking if I’m real. I’m at once aware of
the watermelon juice on my chin, of my too-short, shredding
jean shorts, of my hair in a scraggly bun. I scrape my arm over
my mouth.
“What on earth are you doing here?” I demand, marching
down to the grass so he can hear me.
“I’m…swimming?”
My eyes unavoidably go to his bare arms and chest. His body
is firm, but not in the gross, too-much-weightlifting kind of
way. He’s not buff but clearly strong. As I stare, a trickle of
water slides down his bare chest, like liquid gold in the early
evening sun.
I snap my gaze back up to his face. Focus, Cass.
“Um, yeah,” I say. “I can see that you’re swimming. I mean,
what are you doing here? On private property.”
“I could ask you the same thing,” he says, laughing a little.
These rich people really are too much. There’s probably a
path to this beach somewhere over by the point, which makes
it as good as public property, right?
“It’s quite an unexpected surprise to see you,” Lawrence says,
his smile derailing my train of thought.
I brush a windblown strand of hair from my face and fold my
arms.
“Listen—”
“I’m glad you came back,” he says, stepping forward to grab
his towel. “We ended on such a bad note the other night. I
thought for sure I’d never see you again.”
His words throw me off. Suddenly, the crisp response I had
vanishes on my tongue. He gives his hair a quick rub with
his towel, giving it that perfectly sexy, tousled look. Then he
smiles, putting the final seal on my tongue-tied state.
“Did you come for a swim?” he asks. “The water’s excellent.”
“Uh, no. I was…brooding again, I guess.”
“Seems to be a favorite pastime of yours. What burdens you
so, Cassandra?”
I roll my eyes. “I told you already.”
“That’s right,” he says, pointing. “The subtle anguish of
life.”
I nod, though I’m surprised he remembered. “Something