Out of Time (Out of Line #2) (Volume 2) Page 5

  A blond man prepared to catch the next wave a few hundred feet over, and past him a woman with black hair bobbed in the water. It was a perfect, peaceful morning.

  But I felt anything but peaceful.

  Finn swam back to my side and I forced a bright smile. If it was the last thing I did, I would hide my anxiety from him. He didn’t need my baggage sinking him down to the bottom of the Pacific. “That was a good one.”

  He climbed back on his black board and shook his hair like a wet dog, spraying me. “It was. Next one’s yours, though.”

  “As long as it’s little enough to pass your test,” I added, unable to resist teasing him. Truth be told, I liked how protective he was. He loved me and he didn’t want to lose me. I totally got that. “Right?”

  “Right.” He looked over his shoulder and trailed his fingers through the water absentmindedly. “Here comes a good one.”

  I paddled forward, watching the wave swell closer. “See ya on the flip side.”

  “Remember, if you go under, wait it out,” he called, his voice tight.

  I nodded as I paddled faster, ignoring the fear surging through me as the wave grew and grew. Apparently, that near drowning affected me more than I thought. I refused to let it conquer my enjoyment of the sport. Heck, people got limbs chewed off by sharks and went back out there. What was an almost drowning in comparison?

  I struggled to my feet, wobbling a bit at first, but as I straightened my legs and stood, I gained my footing—and my confidence. As I rode the wave, holding my arms out for balance, I laughed from the sheer joy of the rush. I didn’t attempt any fancy moves or anything—it took all my concentration just to stay upright.

  But my head pounded and my heart raced, making me lightheaded. God, I’d become such an adrenaline junky since meeting Finn. I wanted to do all the things, and I wanted to do them now—with him at my side. Once my ride was over, I stood up and squeezed the excess moisture out of my hair.

  I made my way back to Finn, a smile on my face the whole time. I’d missed this. Missed surfing, even though it had only been a week or two since we last came out. Maybe this weekend when Finn was gone, I would—

  I stopped walking, a tingling sensation creeping up my spine. I had the weirdest feeling that someone was watching me, but when I looked over my shoulder, the beach was empty. The only people out and about were surfers, and none of them were paying any attention to me. I shook off the creepy sensation, forcing myself to keep walking.

  It was all the uncertainty messing with my head, I’d bet. All the what ifs and Finn’s own suspicions about my father’s silence were screwing with me. Maybe reliving the time I’d been kidnapped contributed to my imagining someone watching me. That hadn’t exactly been a walk in the park or a happy memory to retell.

  All of this stressful crap was obviously combining in one tight ball in my head, making me think the shadows were chasing me. Making me think I was being watched, when the only one watching me was my bodyguard slash boyfriend.

  I had enough to stress about. I needed to stop imagining new things. The whole way back to Finn, I thought about what life would be like after this year was up.

  I was terrified about what Dad would do when he found out Finn and I had fallen in love. He could totally flip out, or he could—unlikely, as it might be—accept it for what it was. Maybe he would be angry, but he’d get over it with time. Or maybe we would never be welcome in his house again.

  He could be quite stubborn when he wanted to be. It’s admittedly where I’d gotten my stubborn streak from. And I wouldn’t put it past him to make it a point to show me how many different ways I’d disappointed him through lectures and maybe even a little bit of a disowning shame. But he wouldn’t actually cut the ties with me all because I dared to fall in love.

  At least I hoped he wouldn’t.

  It was a risk I was willing to take for Finn.

  Later that night, I waited in the living room as Carrie finished getting ready in my bathroom for our date. Even though we were only going out to dinner, I was nervous for some stupid ass reason I couldn’t quite put my finger on. It was our first real date, yeah, but I didn’t think that’s what was bothering me. I just felt…

  I don’t know. Different somehow.

  As if I was pretending to be something I wasn’t. Again.

  I tugged on my collar. Jesus, I swore the thing was single-handedly attempting to choke the life out of me. I was also starting to think it might win. My palms were sweaty, and I was so hot I didn’t think I was going to make it through the night in this damned contraption. Maybe I’d had more Cali Surfer Boy left over in my blood than I’d thought.

  Or maybe I was going soft.

  I flopped down on the couch, setting my legs on the coffee table. This dress-up date was probably a bad idea. I wasn’t a fancy guy, even if she was a fancy girl.

  I was just me.

  Why did I feel like I needed to be this guy for her all of a sudden? Maybe it was because I was more than likely leaving, and I was having a panic attack of sorts, trying to be everything she could ever possibly want me to be. Or maybe part of me just now realized that no matter what she said or thought, she came from a world where tuxes and champagne were more common than beer and movie nights…and if we were going to be together, I had to be in that world, too.

  If I had any chance in hell in getting her father to accept me, I had to change. I had to be respectful and honorable and dress like this.

  Go on dates like this. Be like this. And I fucking hated it.

  Thinking about all the ways Carrie and I could go wrong made me realize her father still hadn’t texted me even once. My heart clenched and I picked up my phone, scanning through our messages. The last text he’d sent on his own had been the morning Carrie had woken up late for school.

  I tightened my jaw and typed: Carrie is home and taking it easy tonight.

  A whole minute passed with no reply. What. The. Fuck?

  If he wasn’t answering my texts, I didn’t know what the hell to think. First the odd call from my commanding officer, and now I was being ignored by a man who had previously needed me to hold his hand all this time. These were not good things. I knew it—even if I had no clue what the hell was going on in my life lately.

  The bathroom door opened, and I stood up, tugging on my suit jacket as I turned to face her. I was about to ask her if she’d heard from her father, but then I turned around, and she stole the words right off the tip of my tongue. She took my breath away with her beauty, and it would never cease to amaze me how much of an effect she had on me.

  I’d told her to wear a dress because we were going out somewhere nice, and she’d pulled out all the stops. She wore a dark purple dress that I suspected might melt if I touched it, it looked that soft. It clung to her body perfectly, highlighting everything that made her…well, her.

  She topped it off with her long, red hair cascading down her back, just enough makeup to bring out her gorgeous blue eyes I loved so much, and a pair of black heels that would be over my shoulders by the end of the night if I had anything to say about it.

  I didn’t know whether to drool, throw her on the bed and hide her from the world, or take her out for all to see. The old me would’ve hidden her. Kept her to myself selfishly. But the new me? The me I was trying to be for her?

  Not so much.

  “You look beautiful,” I managed to say through my tight throat and the even tighter tie. “Really fucking beautiful.”

  She dipped her gaze over me, her eyes lighting up in that way that told me she liked what she saw. “Dude. You look hot all dressed up. Like, really hot. I never thought I’d prefer you in something besides a pair of board shorts and a bare chest, but hel-lo.”

  I grinned, but my heart dropped to the pit of my stomach. I’d been right. This is wh
at she wanted from me, even if she didn’t know it yet. “If you like it, then you’ll get it anytime you want.”

  “I’ll take both versions of you, please,” she said, grinning. She ran her hands over my shoulders, smoothing my jacket. “I never thought I’d see you in one of these. It’s blowing my mind.”

  I forced a smile. “I wear them for work all the time, Ginger.”

  “I know.” Her hands fell back to her sides and her smile faded. “Is something wrong? You seem…upset or something. Different.”

  That’s because I feel different right now. I shook my head and continued smiling, wanting nothing more than a shot of some hard liquor right now. “No. Nothing’s wrong. You ready to go?”

  “Sure.” She started to grab her helmet, but I tugged her away. “Fancy people don’t ride motorcycles. They take limos.”

  Her eyes went wide. “Limos? Seriously?”

  I tried to read the expression in her eyes, but I couldn’t tell if she was pleased by my surprise. I knew she was trying to get away from the life of glamour and glitz, but I needed to prove to her, and maybe myself, that I could do this. That I could thrive in her world, even if I wasn’t so sure I could.

  I opened the door for her. “That’s what you ride back home, right?”

  “If we’re going to some sort of event?” She walked past me, her grip on her purse firm. “Sure. All the time.”

  I closed the door behind us and locked it. “We’re going to an event. A date. Kind of our first date, I guess.”

  “You didn’t have to…” She trailed off and stopped walking halfway down the stairs. “Oh my God. Is that…?”

  When she didn’t finish, I cleared my throat. “The same type of car you use back home? Yes.”

  “Wow,” she said, her voice strung tight.

  She wasn’t happy with my surprise. It only seemed to solidify my belief that I didn’t belong in her world. I tugged on my hair and eyed her. “We can cancel this whole thing if you want. Take the bike and go to Islands or something.”

  She pressed her lips together. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Come on.”

  Deep in the back of my mind, I wondered if she was trying to picture me sitting in a fancy restaurant and not meshing the Finn she knew with the Finn I needed to be. Maybe that’s why she looked as if I was torturing her instead of taking her out.

  I urged her along, using my hand pressed against her lower back to propel her along. The sooner we got this date over with and I made her happy, the better. Then we could come back home, shed our clothes, and maybe share a cold drink over some good old-fashioned American television. Maybe some football, if I could find a game.

  Man. I couldn’t wait for that.

  The driver opened the back for us, and I helped her inside. After following her, I settled into my seat and reached for the stocked bar. I poured myself a hefty dose of whiskey. Thank God they had the good stuff in here.

  I took a long draught and reclined in the seat. When I looked at Carrie, she was watching me with narrowed eyes. I froze with the glass pressed to my lips. “What?”

  “Why are we even doing this? You look miserable.”

  That’s because I am. But it wasn’t her fault. It was my own. I’d done this to myself, and I would damn well suffer through it with a grin on my face. “I’m taking the woman I love out on a date. How could I be miserable?”

  She eyed me. “I don’t know, but something’s off. What is it? Is it the suit?”

  How could she read me so fucking well? “No. I’m fine, Ginger.”

  “Yeah. Okay.”

  I gritted my teeth. “Drop it. Kick back and enjoy the date, okay? Stop worrying about everything so damn much and relax.”

  Her eyes flashed at me. I’d gone and pissed her off now. “No, I’m not going to relax. Something’s wrong and you’re not telling me what it is,” she insisted, her eyes flashing with determination. “Just tell me why you’re being all pissy and we can fix it.”

  “Jesus, Carrie. We can’t fix everything with a conversation,” I snapped.

  She blinked at me, her cheeks flushed with color. “You’re being a jerk,” she said, her voice soft. “I don’t like it.”

  Immediately, shame rushed through me fast and hard and relentless. I was yelling at her when I was supposed to be showing her a good time. Being a good fucking boyfriend. I dragged a hand through my hair and forced a smile. “I’m sorry. That was mean. I’m just…tired and stressed out. Maybe I should have had another cup of coffee tonight.”

  “I don’t believe you,” she said, her voice small and hurt. “You’re not being yourself right now, and it has nothing to do with coffee.”

  Something snapped inside me, and I replied without thinking. “You’re damned right I’m not, because right now I’m realizing that this is the me I’m going to have to be from now on. I guess I hadn’t really thought about it much, but now it’s the only thing I can think about.” I finished the last of the whiskey and grabbed the bottle for some more. I could feel her watching me the whole time. “I used to attend these damn balls and galas, but I stood in the shadows, where no one saw me. Now when I go? I’ll be judged…and more than likely found lacking.”

  “Welcome to my world.”

  I slapped my hand on my knee. “I didn’t know it would be mine, too. I didn’t know…” I fought for the right words, but nothing came. “I didn’t know, okay?”

  She looked confused. Her nose wrinkled up and she looked at me as if she didn’t even recognize me. “I didn’t ask you to dress up for me or to stand in the spotlight. You don’t even have to go with me when I go to those things. And I wouldn’t make you do anything you didn’t want to do, so don’t act like I would.”

  That might be true for now. But what if we got married? Had kids? The likelihood of me being off in the background was slim to none. People would want to know all about me—all about us. I couldn’t let her down.

  “But don’t you see?” I splayed my arms. “I’ll do it for you, damn it. To make you happy.”

  “This isn’t you. It’s not us.” She motioned at me, then the limo. “We don’t dress like this, and we don’t scream at each other in a limo. And it’s not making me freaking happy.”

  “But you want it to be us.” I took a long drink, welcoming the burning sensation, and pointed my glass at her. “You do. Admit it.”

  “What?” She paled, but her curled hands twitched in her lap as if she was considering hitting me. I deserved it. “Why would you say that? I’ve never—”

  “I asked you on a date, and you got all excited about fancy dresses and limos and all that shit. You know where I wanted to go? Islands. Burgers and shakes. And as you so aptly pointed out—I like them. I’m that kind of guy.”

  “And I like that guy. Actually, I love him,” she said, her eyes narrow on me. “But I’ll be honest. This guy?” She gestured toward me and the bar. “I don’t like him very much.”

  I sat up straight and finished my drink, then set it down a little too hard. Maybe I’d had too much too fast. “Yeah, well, it’s the guy you’re going to be stuck with, so get used to it. I’d have been just as happy eating at a burger joint.”

  “So we should’ve gone there,” she snapped. I knew she was angry with me now. Knew I’d gone and ruined everything. Hurt her. But I couldn’t seem to stop myself from lashing out at her. “You don’t have to take me out to an expensive restaurant to make me happy. God. You should know that by now.”

  “Should I? I don’t think so.” I grabbed her hands, trying to entwine my fingers with hers, but she didn’t uncurl her fists. “The girl I know surfs and goes to soup kitchens and isn’t afraid to get dirty. The girl I know loves McDonald’s and Islands and doesn’t care about tuxes and dresses.”

  She snatched her hands back. “Yeah, and that’s sti
ll me. Fancy dresses don’t change what’s underneath.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying.” I sighed and shut my eyes for a second, trying to find the right words to make her understand what I was thinking. When I opened them, she looked at me as if I’d killed her puppy in front of her and then served him up for dinner. “Look, I’ve been thinking, and—”

  “Oh my God.” She scooted into the corner of the limo, her lower lip quivering. “Are you…are you breaking up with me? Already?”

  My mind whirled at that. “What? No.”

  She took a shaky breath. “You scared the heck out of me. Never start a fight and then say, ‘I’ve been thinking’ ever again.” She smacked my arm hard, then did it again even harder. “Got it, love? And also? Don’t take me on dates you’re going to hate. That’s not my idea of a fun time, for future reference.”

  “Fine. But tell me one thing, Ginger,” I said, emphasizing the nickname in the same sarcastic way she’d done to me. “Why can’t you admit you fucking wanted this date and stop acting like you don’t? Why can’t you admit you want suits and jewelry and limos? Why can’t you admit who you are?”

  She threw her hands up. “Okay, maybe I did want it for one night. Jeez, is that so bad? Does that warrant you yelling at me and acting like an alcoholic because you’re forced to go out with me?”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” I looked out the window, trying to regain the calm I’d lost the second we’d started arguing. I’d been trying to tell her I had to change and would—but that it wasn’t easy for me. And now we were in each other’s faces screaming about shit that didn’t matter. “I had two drinks. Two. Drinks.”

  “In three seconds,” she snapped. “Why can’t you admit that?”

  I snorted. “When you’re old enough to drink, you can lecture me about my drinking habits. Until then? Not so much. You’re barely more than a baby as it is. You can grow the fuck up before you judge me.”