Shivering Mind

Chapter 31

  I point to the empty lifeguard chairs. “Come on. Take a chance, Matilda.”

“Stretch out that right leg first,” she advises.

“You forgot to say ‘Simon says.’”

She flushes, looks down and readjusts her halter strap. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that you don’t get to be the boss of me.”

She shakes her head. Like she wants my words and this weird push-pull between us to flip away with the breeze.

“I wasn’t saying that. I wasn’t doing that.”

“No?”

“No.” All brisk and practical now. “You’re still favoring one leg when you run. That’s probably why the other one is cramping up. I do that when I don’t pay attention, because of this broken ankle I had a few years ago. Ever break anything?”

“Other than curfew and the speed limit? A few hearts here and there.”

Total bullshit, the last. I wait for her to call me on it, to know that no one ever got that close. Instead she squares her shoulders, widens her stance, hands on hips. Like a dare.

“No worries. I’m pretty heartless.”

That’s bullshit too, but I don’t say so. “So how do I fix it? The favoring-the-leg thing?”

“Try a few lunges.” She demonstrates, one toned, tanned thigh balanced, bending smoothly at the knee, jaw fixed, looking out over the water, strong chin, full lips, these two little dimples inset neatly at the base of her spine.

Oh Matilda.

Trying not to lunge, thank you very much.

Matilda

No sign of Max anywhere. I’m bobbing in the cool water beyond the slimy swim line that connects the buoys and he was right there, yards ahead of me, and now there’s nothing. No splash, no streak of arms against the waves, nothing but a seagull shrilling and plunging in the air overhead.

Nothing at all.

Panic flickers at the edge of my vision, almost visibly, like someone flipping white lights on and off in a dark room. A wave slaps me in the face. I can’t catch my breath.

Not one of these.

Not here.

Not now.

And not him. Where is he?

I shield my eyes, sweep a look one direction, the other. A head, rusty hair nearly the same color as the buoys, bobs up.

Laughing, damn it.

“Where the hell were you?”

“To the breakwater—and back. Underwater. I win.”

“I thought you’d drowned.”

He c***s his head at me. “Seriously? I was on the swim team.”

“How would I know that? I thought you’d gone under.” My voice is trembling. “Which is the last thing I need, I mean, we need—I mean, what would happen if you drowned? If you got hurt or died while I was watching you?”

“Watching me? You’re not babysitting me,” he says, then flushes.

“I didn’t mean that. I just meant—you could have hit your head on a rock or come across a riptide or—”

“The really bad riptide is at Stony Bay Beach,” he interrupts. “Not here. Besides, I know how to get out of it. I’m a big boy, Matilda. And not your problem.”

“I didn’t mean that. But you—” I stop, not even sure what I’m so angry about.

He purses his lips, studying me, moving up and down in the waves, so close, his feet whirl the water around me as he treads, red hair dark and glinting. “I don’t f**k up everything, Matilda.”

The sound is that clear, sea-glass green it often turns in the fall, though it’s still summer-warm. His eyes are also a clear grayish blue, nothing shielded.

“I know that.” Some things you say automatically and then, inside, feel a quiet little nod. The hitch in my breath, the knot in my chest, they untangle and wash away as I look back at him, waves slapping around us.

Max

“Hot fake leather! Hot fake leather! I forgot to leave a towel on the seat,” Matilda says after sliding into the driver’s side. “Holy! I never forget to do that.”

“You were probably distracted by my hard, manly body.” I stretch into the backseat for a towel and toss it to her. She misses the catch, fumbles for it, crams it beneath her. Then turns to face me. Presses her lips together, sets her jaw, bracing herself. I wait for her to blast me for something—scaring her in the water, that she already knows about the kid, that she can read my mind and knows every little nook and cranny it’s gone to in the last two hours.

“What?”

Pucker between her brows now. Her eyes move over my face.

“What?” I ask again, reaching up to rub my chin self-consciously. I haven’t shaved.

Still frowning,

she rests her index finger between my eyebrows, brushes away the worry lines.

Then she wraps one arm around my waist, sets her fingers at the back of my neck to pull my head down. She touches her tongue to my bottom lip, and then opens her mouth. Tastes like salty ocean and sweet birthday cake and everything I’ve ever blown out candles and wished for.

I ... her back, skim one thumb slowly down her spine, the other hand hesitating at her waist for only one inhale before I press my palm hard against her soft skin, turn her to face me more fully, pull her all the way into my lap, bend all I have into all of her.

We’re in a Volkswagen and I’m six three. The fine German engineering of the People’s Car was not engineered for this. Still, there’s no freaking way I’m gonna stop and request a more comfortable situation. Even if my legs are wedged under the glove compartment and my rib cage is about to be cracked by the gearshift.

“What am I doing with you?” Matilda whispers, sliding her hands up my back. “This is crazy,” she says, shifting her hips to accommodate me. “You’re a kid.”

“I’m no kid. And you know it.” I move my lips behind her ear, along her throat, her neck, lower. Then slip one hand very slowly, tips of my fingers, edge of my thumb under the triangle of her suit.