Heart Bones(44)

We stare at each other, much like we always do, but it’s different this time. Now we know what each other tastes like. He knows my darkest secret, yet he’s still looking at me like I’m the most interesting thing on this peninsula.

He drops his gaze and looks down between our chairs. He drags a finger in the sand. “How do you spell your name?”

“B-e-y-a-h.”

I watch as he writes my name in the sand. When he finishes, he drags a finger across it and strikes it out, then wipes his whole hand across it until my name disappears.

I don’t know how I could possibly feel that beneath my skin, but I did.

Samson glances toward the water. “Sara and Marcos are coming back.” He puts his shades on and then hops up.

I keep my hands behind my head, pretending to be relaxed, despite feeling like I’ve just been electrocuted. Samson walks to Sara, who is struggling with her board. He takes over and drags it the rest of the way out of the water for her.

Sara pulls at her ponytail when she reaches me and takes a seat on the lounge chair Samson was just lying on. She squeezes water out of her hair.

“You have a good nap?” Sara asks.

“Yeah. I can’t believe I fell asleep.”

“You snore,” she says, laughing. “Did you ask Samson if he wants to double date tonight?”

“No. It didn’t come up.”

Marcos and Samson are walking the paddle boards toward us. “Samson, we’re all going on a double date,” Sara says to him. “Be ready at six.”

Samson doesn’t miss a beat in his response. “Who’s my date?”

“Beyah. Idiot.”

Samson looks at me like he’s considering it. “Is this like a friend date?”

“It’s food,” Marcos says. “Don’t let Sara put a label on it.”

“We doing seafood?” Samson asks him.

“Would you even allow us to eat anything else?”

Samson looks back at me. “You like shrimp, Beyah?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think I’ve ever had it.”

Samson tilts his head. “I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic.”

“I’m from Kentucky. We don’t have a lot of affordable seafood restaurants.”

“You’ve never even been to a Red Lobster?” Marcos asks me.

“Y’all forget things like Red Lobster are fancy to a lot of people.”

“I’ll order for you, then,” Samson says.

“How very chauvinistic of you,” I tease.

Sara pulls on her bathing suit cover-up and stands. “Come on, let’s go get ready.”

“Now? We aren’t leaving for another two hours.”

“Yeah, but we have a lot to do to get you ready.”

“Like what?”

“I’m giving you a makeover.”

I shake my head. “No. Please, no.”

She nods. “Yes. I’m doing your hair, your nails, your makeup.” She grabs my hand and pulls me out of the lounger. She points at all the stuff we brought to the beach earlier. “You two strapping men take care of this, will ya?”

We get halfway to the house and she says, “He’s into you. I can tell. He doesn’t look at girls like he looks at you.”

I don’t respond to her because I get a text in the middle of her comment. I rarely get texts. Not many people have my phone number.

I look at my phone as Sara starts walking up the stairs. The text is from Samson.

Look at us going on a spontaneous date. Maybe we ARE fun.

“You coming?” Sara asks.

I wipe the grin off my face and follow her inside.





FIFTEEN


They’re all staring at me, waiting for me to take a bite. Even our waiter.

Talk about pressure.

“Dip it in cocktail sauce first,” Marcos suggests.

Samson pushes the cocktail sauce away from me. “Are you crazy? That’ll make her puke.” He pushes tartar sauce toward me. “Here, use this.”

Sara rolls her eyes as she stacks up three of the menus. She and Marcos just ordered, but Samson and I haven’t yet because he wanted to make sure I liked shrimp first. The waiter was amused I’d never had shrimp, so he brought me a piece to try and now he’s sticking around to watch my reaction.

It’s grilled shrimp without a shell or a tail. I’m not a huge fan of fish, so I’m not expecting much, but the pressure is real as I dip it into the tartar sauce.

“Y’all are acting like her reaction is going to be life or death,” Sara says. “I’m getting hangry.”

“It’ll only be life or death if she’s allergic to shellfish,” the waiter says.

I pause before taking the bite. “What exactly falls under the definition of shellfish?”

Samson says, “Lobster. Shrimp. Things in shells.”

“Crab. Crawfish. Turtles,” Marcos says.

“Turtles aren’t a fish,” Sara says, rolling her eyes.

“It was a joke,” Marcos says.

“Have you ever had lobster or crab?” Samson asks me.

“I’ve had crab.”

“You should be fine, then.”