The Dysasters (The Dysasters #1)(43)

“Thank you,” Charlotte retrieved the card from the floor. When she stood she saw that the man had obviously been trying to look up her dress when she bent over.

His smile was cruel as he rubbed the bulge in his crotch. “I’ll bet you give one hell of a b.j.”

Charlotte fled with his mocking laughter following her. She didn’t want to go to the men’s room, but she was certain she was going to be sick. She rushed inside, closing the door after her. The stench of the urinal hit her and she doubled over, puking into the full trash can. With hands that shook, she went to the sink, running cold water so she could rinse her mouth and as she straightened, Charlotte caught her reflection in the mirror.

Her makeup was perfect. Her hair was perfect. Her dress was perfect. Everything, everything about her was perfect. Everything except that name on that card, and that name did not define her.

“Don’t let them win, Charlotte,” she told her reflection. “Don’t let them break you. You’re on your way to the rest of your life. You’re going to be Charlotte by the Sea, not the butt of someone’s joke.” She smiled through her tears—a real smile. One meant for herself and no one else. “Remember, you’re priceless, Charlotte Myrtle Davis.”





Bastien


“Hey! You can’t sleep here.”

Bastien’s eyelids snapped open and he grimaced at the sand being kicked onto his naked back.

“Move it along!”



Bastien instinctually felt around the beach for the leash of his board before sitting up and scrubbing off the snow white, salty ghosts of the waves that had washed up his shins and lulled him to sleep. For as long as he could remember Bastien had felt at home in the water. His elementary school self had even begged his parents for a waterbed. But that was in the before. All of his happiness was in the before.

“I have ears, me,” he said, freeing the sand from his inky black hair with a few swift shakes of his head.

“Then use ’em and listen to me when I tell you to get outta here.”

Bastien stood and took his time patting down his empty pockets before lifting each of his feet and peering down at the golden granules like he’d lost something. Truth was, he didn’t own anything except the clothes on his back and the board at his feet. Everything else he’d left back in Louisiana.

“I haven’t got all day.” The young man sneered, wrinkles forming across the bridge of his thin nose.

“There you are!” The cheerful voice wiped the sneer from his face—most of it anyway. Bastien wasn’t sure the guy could get rid of it completely. He’d just walk around the world with that “I smell shit” look wrinkling his narrow features. “You’ll have to excuse my little brother.” She brushed her hand through his sunbleached hair, mussing the gelled strands much to his disapproval. “He fell out of the dick tree and hit every floppy limb on the way down.” She elbowed him in the ribs a bit too hard for a simple joke.

Bastien just might like this girl, whoever she was.

“Haven’t I seen you around?” She glanced at his board, at the majestic phoenix stretching its wings from the glowing embers of its past. “Yeah,” she bobbed her head like she’d just received an answer to a question she’d long been wondering. “I’ve definitely seen you out there. You were here when all those waves started. That was like a week ago, wasn’t it, Richie?”

Richie. Well that just about figured, didn’t it? Wasn’t Dick the nickname for Richard?

“I guess,” Richie grumbled.

“Well, anywho, we’re looking for help. A bunch of our staff was seasonal and is headed back to college. How would you like a job?”

“Josie!”

The corner of Bastien’s mouth ticked up in a faint half smile. Little Dickie might just have a heart attack and start Bastien’s day off right.

Josie held up her hand. “Daddy gave this location to me, Richie, to me. Plus”—her long mermaid blue braid slid off her shoulder as she hiked it up toward her ear—“I can tell stuff about people, their auras I guess you could call it, and I can tell that you need a little help. Not that this is charity or anything.”

Richie snorted, and Bastien just might agree with him.

“It’s not,” Josie continued, shooting a narrowed side eye at her brother. “There’s work involved. A lot of work. It’s minimum wage plus tips paid in cash all off the books. Plus, there’s a bed in the back where—”

“A cot,” Richie interrupted.

Josie pushed on. “Where you can stay as long as you’re okay with closing up the place each night.”

Bastien mulled over the proposition. He didn’t particularly like the idea that he’d be accountable to someone, someone who was keeping him away from the sweet Galveston waves, but he’d also be on the beach every day, which was no different from how he was living currently, but he currently didn’t have to be somewhere every night to close up shop. However, and this was a big however, a monumental however, he’d have his own money.

“Who’d I be workin’ for?” His eyes never left Josie’s, not wanting for one second for Richie to think he had any kind of power over him.

“You’d be working for me as a Seas the Day Team Member,” she pointed to the logo on her brother’s T-shirt that matched her own. “Just like Richie. We’ll be good to you if you’re good to us.”