Chapter Thirteen

Today

This bedroom is beautiful. The coral watercolor art, the vintage dresser, the distressed chalk paint on the shiplap walls. Painted tile covers the en suite bathroom floor and walls, framing two round mirrors above the sinks. There's a copper clawfoot tub and a walk-in shower.

I assume this to be the main bedroom. At least they gave me that. This bomb in my lap cannot be ignored but at least I'll have a view of the Atlantic ocean when this vacation implodes.

Rifling through my bag, I pull out and put on bikini bottoms and tie the matching coverup at my waist. I've packed all of my favorite beachwear items, unconcerned with the weather or the fact that it's Winter - I wanted to feel tropical and fun. I clip the top of my hair back.

Tucker has gone to change in the powder room, and I locked the door behind him, lest he get any ideas about sabotage. He will be sleeping on the couch tonight. I will win this bet because I love a challenge and if there's one thing I could never fail at, it's seducing Elijah Tucker. When someone's been attracted to you from the onset of puberty until they are twenty-two, it doesn't just go away after a few years.

Unless.

Does he have a girlfriend?

No.

If he did, our friends surely wouldn't have expected him to sleep in the bed with me. Johnny never viewed Tucker's attention on me as harmless, and Serena would have come to the same conclusion. Wyatt, probably. Ritchie most definitely.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror, suddenly feeling fifteen again. I hated his commentary on my body then and now, I hate myself for craving it. I was always beautiful to him in what he called an ‘objective' way and I still want to be beautiful to him because that was a steady element of our connection. Even if Tucker hated me, even if he pissed me off and enjoyed being mean, he at least found me attractive. It was some small sliver of him that belonged to me. Some ease in our tension.

Ritchie's voice wafts down the hallway.

They were roommates in college and for four years, Ritchie kept his distance from me, as if I was Tucker's little sister. Johnny told me junior year that Ritchie had a crush on me. Serena told me. Wyatt did, too. I waited for Tucker to bring it up but all he said was, "Don't worry, I told him you were a feral psycho. He's not into crazy chicks. He won't bother you."

That November, Ritchie ended up dating Olivia, a beautiful, statuesque woman who was on track to become a model before they got married and she decided to be a stay-at-home wife. Olivia was a little mean. She took advantage of Ritchie's generosity and appreciated him for his money and good looks. She also openly flirted with Tucker, which royally pissed me off.

For Ritchie's sake.

Heading outside, I walk past the bed I will not be sharing with Tucker and the piles of his clothes on the ground. Messy, scattered, unorganized. Seeing his sneakers, always ridiculously clean and simple, elicits a strange roll in my stomach.

He's here.

Finally.

But it's too late, I tell myself. That two-faced girl that lives inside of me wants to pick up that shirt and smell it, to get lost in the memory of him. But the man who stripped this shirt off is not my boy. He's a cold-hearted man-child who probably never cared for me at all, and I'd rather leave the past version of him in sunshine and rainbows where he belongs.

Serena whistles at the end of the hallway. Music blasts from speakers all over the house and her hands rise into the air. "The birthday girl's ready to party!" She picks up a tray of chips and dip. "Grab that, will ya?"

I take the second tray of appetizers and follow her out to the pool. Floats have been blown up and the sun is dipping toward the horizon. The guys and Callie lounge in the pool, holding cans of beer and seltzer, while Tucker stands in the little hut behind the bar top. He holds down the top of a blender.

Serena sets our trays on the table. "So…did you and Tuck talk?"

"Why is everything about him?" I fuss.

Her crystal bracelets jingle. "Because you two being together again is the most exciting thing to have happened in years. I couldn't even focus on the Catfish episode I was watching this morning, I was so amped up."

"I don't even get a - hey Ell, good to see you, how was your Nutcracker season? Who are you sleeping with these days?"

She takes a bite of a chip. "Hey Ell. How was Nutcracker? How's your love life? Did you and Tucker talk?"

"Good, dryer than the Sahara, and I hate him ." I glance at Tucker. "What exactly was your plan? Where did you guys think this would lead? Because I'll tell you what, at this rate, this holiday is going to be featured on Dateline , so you'd better start practicing describing Tucker as having a smile that lit up a room."

"We thought it was best to thrust you two together and have you work it out," she says.

I put down the appetizers and sink into a nearby chair. "In what world is that best?"

"Because if you just talked to each other – finally – then you could resolve this whole thing."

"Serena, I barely spoke a word to him until I was, like, sixteen-years-old," I argue. "Tucker and I don't work things out. We're not even really friends. We're more like… old acquaintances . One he didn't call or check up on for seven years. End of story."

She sits opposite me. "You wouldn't be mad at him if you weren't friends."

"I misunderstood him," I clarify. "I'm mad at myself for not seeing the wolf in sheep's clothing. I was duped."

"He's single right now, you know."

That's information I wanted, but I will never let on. "Good for him."

"Apparently his girlfriend just broke up with him." She rolls her eyes, and I give her a look, prompting this response, "He always breaks up with a girl right before he sees you."

I argue, "You just said she broke it off."

"That's what he claims but come on . That's awfully convenient."

My eyes involuntarily move toward him, as I'm afraid they will too often do this week. He moves behind the bar with ease. Tucker only had short-term girlfriends, and I never understood why they always ended so soon. Apart from his handsomeness, Tucker has an easy-going personality, humor when it's not funneled into jabs at me, and he's kind. He cares for people, deeply, but you might not see it immediately behind the pretty-boy exterior. I also thought those girls didn't truly know him.

Who would break up with a guy like that?

Reading my mind, Serena says, "He claims the girls break up with him, but look at him. Who would break up with that? Even if he was an asshole, they'd at least entertain it for a few weeks. You know he's got to be good in bed."

"No, I don't know that," I shoot, fast.

"No, I just mean you know he's got to be. He's so hot. Look at him handle those plastic cups."

I cover a laugh.

"Callie and I talk about it all the time." She waves her hand, no big deal. "We imagine all of you having sex."

"Please don't."

She wiggles her eyebrows and munches a chip. "I think you two should go for it. That's probably what you need to do. Just get it out of your system."

"Me and Tucker?" I question as though it's the most ridiculous suggestion.

It is a ridiculous suggestion. Now.

I sit quietly for a moment. Don't look at him and the plastic cups. With a mouth full of guacamole, I ask, "Have you seen the weather for the end of the week -"

Serena doubles over, her chin almost hitting the table. "You're changing the subject! You're actually changing the subject from Could I fuck my friend? to the weather ."

"I'm not thinking about him like that," I grumble.

"But you are thinking about him?"

"I'm thinking about his absence. Missing him. And hating that I miss him. And hating him for everything and making me miss him on top of that."

She shakes my wrist. "Do you miss Johnny like that?" I must have made some face because she points a decorated fingernail at my face and adds, "There it is. That's the look."

"What look?"

"I never said do you want Johnny, I said do you miss him like you miss Tucker? You look like you want to vomit at the thought of missing Johnny which is weird because he's your best friend. You're allowed to miss him."

"Just not like I miss Tucker," I say.

She glances sideways. "What do you miss about him?"

I smooth my hands through my hair. I won't have Tucker twisting the strands and tucking it back as an excuse to touch me this week. "The way he looks at me. Does he look at other girls like that? You can tell me, I can handle it."

"No, you can't."

"Oh my God, he does?"

"No, he doesn't ," she insists. "Ella, he doesn't look at anything or anyone the way he looks at you."

I correct, "Looked." No matter how I miss him or what we could have had, we're empty-handed now. "He's not a part of my life anymore."

Serena wavers, "Maybe he'll explain. We have days. He can't not talk to you, you're shacked up in the same bed."

"He could've called me at any time, Serena." I hold on to that lingering bit of anger. I wonder, "What is he like without me around?"

Dimples pop up on the sides of her mouth. "Honestly? He's a bore." Her face breaks into a full smile. "I've never known Tucker to not liven up a party, but without you around, he just lost his will to have a good time. Or …you were the fun-time girl and he just fed off your energy."

Before I can ask the next question on my tongue, she finishes, "I haven't seen him in a year. He's just not the same guy anymore."

I don't see a change in him. He hollers something at Wyatt and a laugh rumbles through his chest, causing his head to fall back. Tucker's not different now, he has the same brash grin, cocky humor, playful energy. He commands attention without knowing it. Just as always, when Tucker is in a room, you can't take your eyes off him.

Sopping wet, Callie comes over to me and asks, "Hey, Tucker wants to know the secret to your mom's margaritas?"

He flickers his eyes to mine, hearing her request, and my stomach swirls. I raise my brows to Serena. "He's using a third party to communicate with me. He doesn't want to talk to me, either. We're not friends. We just have to make it through a few days without murdering each other." I slide off the chair and say loudly, "Tell Tucker he can suck it ."

I untie my coverup and walk toward the pool. "Where's Jen?"

Johnny tosses me a foam float. "In our bedroom, watching television. She's not a big fan of…flesh."

Ritchie and Wyatt laugh.

"She doesn't like to show skin?" I lay on the float, the warm water pooling around my hips. "She can swim in whatever, we're not going to judge her."

Wyatt says, "I think it's our flesh she's afraid of."

"She's just a little modest," Johnny explains. "I told her to do whatever she's comfortable with, I just want her here. I don't want my wife to not feel comfortable coming on vacation with my friends, you know?"

Ritchie swims toward me. "I should have done that before I got married. Olivia never liked coming on group trips with us."

"Why?" I ask. "We're a good time."

"Well, after the ski trip, she realized we weren't the high-class breed of people she was used to."

I flick water at him. "I am very classy."

"You are the exact reason she didn't want to hang out with us. She only came on the ski trip because you weren't supposed to be there. That weekend in Destin really did it for her."

"He dared me!" I argue, gesturing toward the man with the cups. "I didn't want to jump in the pool!"

"Naked."

"It's called skinny-dipping, it has a name. I wasn't just frolicking naked in a hotel pool."

"That doesn't make it normal!" He laughs.

I grumble, "Well then tell your friend to stop daring me to do stuff."

At the other end of the pool, Tucker calls out, "At least she's clothed now."

Watching him walk toward us, I find myself thinking about noon. With the sun at its peak in the sky, Tucker's golden skin would shine, blinding us all with his lean muscles and broad shoulders.

I remember days on the beach, on his stepdad's boat, at the neighborhood pool. I can hear the whiny drawl of the girls he dated and recall the image of their eyes undressing him further. Right now, he's cast in some shadow, his bare feet at the pool's edge, but he's still as gorgeous as he's ever been.

His arms might have more muscle tone. His chest hair darker, thicker. His swim trunks hang low on his hips, showing a cut of muscle right above his -

Stop it, Ella.

I shut my eyes.

"Pass this to the babe in the back," he says.

I open my eyes to a plastic cup in front of my face. I take the cold, frozen drink that Ritchie offers and stiffen when Tucker walks down the pool steps. He leans back and rests his elbows beside where Callie sits, dangling her feet in the water.

I look forward, eye-level with the waistband of his trunks.

"My eyes are up here, Ella," Tucker says.

I drink my icy margarita and avoid Tucker's gaze, my non-occupied hand stirring the water, trying to paddle backward.

Johnny's hands land on my float and he pushes me forward saying, "Tuck, when's that bed and breakfast going to be ready?"

Tucker runs a hand over his face. "Ah, that one's been a bitch. I've had that property for almost a year now and just can't seem to catch a break. We put in brand-new hardwood floors last month and then a pipe burst and ruined all of it ."

"Oh no!" Callie grabs by float and pushes it back. "Didn't you have issues with the roof, too?"

"Mold. Asbestos. Bat infestation."

Wyatt squeezes the foam beside my head as I'm stopped. He says, "Dude, why don't you just get rid of it?"

Tucker sighs. "I've got enough projects going that will fund the work, and it's a perfect location. The house is amazing. I know it'll be great when it gets finished, but it feels like I'm paddling upstream right now."

Wyatt pushes my raft, and it lands in front of Tucker who grabs it, holding me still. Staring down at me. He mutters, "I just can't let it go."

My friends have passed me around, pushing my raft, but Tucker keeps me steady in front of him with a hand on my shin. His scratchy skin molds to my smooth leg, and I'd be interested in that action were it not for his ping-ponging eyes across my reclined body. He catches my eye and suddenly that hand feels hotter than a red-hot poker, branding him to my flesh.

His eyelids lower. "What are you thinking?"

That I was right.

"I'm just thinking about bets," I answer casually.

He picks, "How they're against the Lord?"

"No," I answer, glancing pointedly at his hand. "How you shouldn't make bets you can't win."

Serena sits beside Callie and pulls her crinkled hair to the top of her head. "What bet are we talking about?"

"It's between me and Tucker," I say.

I see the twinge of amusement in his mouth, the mirror of mine, and I wish I knew if he thought it was funny or if he was just trying not to smile just because I was.

"Ella thinks she's irresistible." His cold beer lands in between my boobs.

"Ow!" I hiss.

"She assumes I'm so in love with her that I must have her name tattooed somewhere."

My raft glides back and forth. Tucker's hand has slid down to my ankle, moving me absently.

I say, "Please. Like you're brave enough to put a blemish on that Greek god of a body."

He pauses. "Greek god?"

"Shut up." I splash water at his smirk.

Tucker takes my drink from my hand before I can speak. All of a sudden, the raft is flipped and I'm in the water.

" Elijah !" I bark when I pop out of the water.

"I've just never been into water rats," he jokes.

Our friends laugh as I swim toward his head, grabbing it and trying to push him under. He leans away, this is very easy for him to escape from, before disappearing into the water. I feel his hands on my thighs. His head between my legs.

He hooks me onto his shoulders and stands.

"Put me down!" I demand.

He holds my legs tight against his torso. "Get yourself down."

Johnny laughs and some beer spurts out of his mouth. "I forgot about your game of chicken. God, they used to do this as kids. Look at Ella - she's having a nervous breakdown."

"I am not," I deny, clutching the sides of Tucker's head.

Tucker holds me tight and explains, "The goal of the game is for Ella to free herself. But she's afraid of heights and scared she's going to fall backward and crack her head open. She's also a maniac who is prone to panic attacks - ow! Don't pinch me!"

"Well, I don't like having tall strangers holding me hostage."

"If I was a stranger, I wouldn't know this bothers you." He begins to move his hands up to tickle my sides, but I smack his fingers.

I lean my face over to stare upside down into his. "I'm not a little girl anymore. You can't control me as easily." I try to tip over into the water and he pulls back as much as possible to keep me glued to his shoulders.

He snickers, "Wow you're not as top-heavy as I'd thought you'd be."

I grab his face and kick my feet.

"Get your fingers out of my eye sockets!"

"I know you're only doing this because you want my vagina on your neck," I provoke.

"Yeah. That's where men want vaginas."

"I don't trust you, Tucker," I spit.

His fingers tense. "You used to trust me."

"I used to let you do this to me because I knew you'd never let me get hurt, even if I was scared. I don't think that anymore. You are a stranger to me because the friend I left behind wouldn't have done what you did to me."

He doesn't respond. I see my friends' eyes drop to his face. Tucker quietly takes my hands from his head, I let him, and he dunks himself under the water until I'm freed. I swim around to face him, and he squats to my eyeline.

"I thought I wasn't your friend?" he grumbles.

I decide to screw the control over my facial expressions. I don't care if he sees me crack. The sun feels warm, the water warmer, but my blood runs cold, seeing this man who used to be a boy and thinking of how carefully he once handled me. The flippancy of his statement, the way it ping-pongs the responsibility back, makes me angry.

"Is that how you sleep at night?" I snap. Our friends stay quiet.

Tucker watches me as if they're not even here. "Those are your words."

"You know what I mean by that."

"No - I don't!" He exhales, exasperated. "Because I was nothing but a really, fucking good friend to you."

"You were my best friend!" I cry.

I've never said that to him. Not out loud.

I thrust, "You know you should have shown up. You know it. And you didn't." I swim off to the edge of the pool. Callie leans out of the way as I crawl out beside her, a rainfall of water dripping off my body and hair.

As I snatch a towel off a chair, I shout, "Everything nice you did before the accident doesn't count. Because you didn't exist after that."