Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 135604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
I owed him that much.
Honestly, I probably owed him more than he was asking of me right now.
He was pissed. And he had the right to be pissed.
I should’ve said something.
It wasn’t that I was scared of the ocean. Like I told Jamie, I knew the basics when it came to swimming. I could swim. I was just a little nervous when it came to large, unpredictable bodies of water, that’s all.
Plus, there was the whole worry that I’d drown and have it be fatal this time. That might’ve been weighing heavy on my mind when I was hesitating walking out toward him.
Again, something I should’ve shared.
But no. I was playing dirty and too busy focused on hearing those sweet begging words to bother with sharing phobias. And now look at me.
Shaken up. Embarrassed. Letting this loser touch me. Missing half of the most expensive bikini I’d ever purchased and forced to cover up in a T-shirt that unfortunately didn’t smell terrible, at all. In fact, it smelled amazing, and while I was being dragged down the beach, I was battling the urge to bury my face in it and inhale deep lungfuls of arrogant surfer boy.
So apparently, I was also out of my mind. All because I let some stupid bet get to me.
The tiki bar Jamie was leading us to was more like a mini restaurant right on the beach. It had the standard wooden bar top and stools for patrons to sit, torches burning, and calypso music pumping through the speakers. It also had a large seating area with tables and chairs shaded by umbrellas and a stage for a band to perform on, I was guessing. There was no one on it at the moment.
Once Jamie reached the tables, he released my hand. Then he headed straight for the bar, pulled out a stool for himself, pulled out one for me, caught my eye, and then gave me a look indicating I needed to sit in the stool he was offering or we’d be having words. Heated ones, most likely.
Again, I owed him.
He took his seat after I took mine.
I threw my bag up on the bar and kept the towel in my lap, then having free hands, I fixed my hair into a bun so it looked intentionally messy, not like I’d just gotten tossed around by a wave.
Hair situation under control, I was now halfway presentable and blending into the crowd nicely, considering everyone was wearing bathing suits or skimpy cover-ups.
“My man! What’s goin’ on, brother?” the bartender greeted Jamie, holding his hand out and then doing that thing guys do when they embrace by mixing a handshake with a one-armed hug.
The guy was shirtless, tanned, had long dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, and wore five different shell necklaces around his neck.
Jamie grew taller on his stool and reciprocated, leaning over the bar to do it and slapping the guy’s back. Then he settled in his seat and tapped a cigarette out of the pack. “Not much, man. You? How ya been?”
“Good. Good. Same shit, ya know?”
Jamie lit up a cigarette, nodding his reply, flipped the lighter closed, took a drag, and then blew the smoke out above him.
I’d seen Jamie with cigarettes tucked behind his ear all the time, but I’d never witnessed him actually smoking before.
This was what prompted me to butt into their conversation and inquire.
“How come I’ve never seen you smoke?” I asked.
Jamie gave me a sideways look, barely turning his head. “’Cause I’m tryin’ to quit,” he answered, then he jerked his chin at the bartender. “Two Coronas. No lime for me. Give her one.”
“I’m fine, thanks,” I said, causing the man to pause midstep and bounce his gaze between the two of us, questioning what he should do.
“She’s not,” Jamie argued. “Get her a drink.”
“I’m not thirsty.”
“She is.”
“No, really, I’m—”
Jamie turned his head.
His jaw was twitching, his eyes were hard, and he looked ready to debate my need for a beverage until one of us passed out from exhaustion, most likely me.
I sighed, remembering my poor judgment and the reason I was missing a top, then I gave the bartender a weak smile. “A Corona with lime sounds perfect. Thanks.”
“Right on,” he replied, stepping away to grab our drinks.
Jamie took another drag of his cigarette. He kept his eyes fixated behind the bar.
“So why are you smoking now if you’re trying to quit?” I asked, watching him blow a perfect smoke ring out of his mouth. My brow furrowed. “And how long have you been trying to quit? Every time I see you, you have a cigarette stashed behind your ear. But you never smell like smoke. It doesn’t make sense. Why would you have your lighter with you if you’re trying to quit? Are you really trying to quit?” I tilted my head, studying him.