Cunningham Family: Lost And Found Part 3

There's a beach-themed restaurant called the Sand Dollar Shack right next to the lot where we left the car. I'm quick to discover that their fried shrimp is positively o.r.g.a.s.mic-or at least good enough to make me temporarily ignore the fact that my clothes are sopping wet. Or that everyone at the patio tables around us is staring at me in my dripping jeans like I'm insane. Which, to be fair, I kind of am.

The shrimp comes with what the waitress tells us is their "secret sauce," which is both spicy and sweet. I take one bite and then smother my entire basket of fried goodness with the stuff. Ward appears to be digging his crab cakes just as much.

"These are insane," he says around a mouthful of food. He holds his next bite toward me. "Try some."

I lean forward and close my lips around the fork. The crab cake has a spicy tang that sets my entire mouth on fire, but he's right-it's amazing.

"Good, right?" he says.

"Now you have to have some of my shrimp." I grab one by the tail and hold it out to him. His smile widens as he leans forward, and he eats it right out of my hand. Some of the sauce gets on his cheek, and I start to reach toward him, intending to wipe it away with my finger, but I get a better idea. I lean forward and flick my tongue at the sauce, licking it up.

Okay, so maybe the other customers are actually staring at us because we're all over each other.

This feels almost like a date-a real date, even with the drenched clothes.

I push my wet hair back over my shoulder. It's already curling like crazy and hasn't even seen a good brush in several days, but somehow it doesn't matter that I'm a complete mess. Ward is smiling as he watches me. Suddenly he reaches out and grabs one of my curls. He twirls it between his fingers.

"Are you going to let the blond grow out?" he asks.

"I'm definitely not going to keep it like this," I say. "Though I'm pretty sure I'm rocking the dark roots."

That gets a chuckle, but he keeps looking at me like he expects me to say more.

"Maybe I'll dye it," I say, suddenly self-conscious. I haven't stopped to think about what I'm going to do with my hair. I'm not sure why, but the decision makes me nervous. "Maybe I'll go with something closer to my natural color. Or something crazy. Like purple."

Ward makes a face, and now it's my turn to laugh.

"What's wrong with purple?" I ask. "I think I'd look hot with purple hair."

"You'd look hot no matter what color your hair is," he agrees. "So if you have your heart set on purple or green or any other color, then go for it." He reaches out and takes my hand. His face is full of adoration, but the longer he looks at me, the more his good humor begins to seep away. His smile falters, then falls, and he tightens his grip on my fingers.

I tense. I don't like that expression. I don't like it at all.

"We have to talk about something," he says. "About what happened out there." His voice is gentle, but the weight of his words hangs between us.

I want to tell him to stop there, to forget whatever is bothering him. If we don't have this conversation, we can go on pretending that we're on an amazing date together. But I just sit there, frozen and speechless like the coward I am.

"We can't do that again," he says finally.

Do what? Have amazing s.e.x?

"We have to be more careful," he continues. "We can't-I mean, as much as I enjoy..." He closes his eyes and opens them again. "We have to use protection. Every time. And if we don't have any condoms, then we need to try and avoid temptation."

Oh.

"I mean, not that I didn't enjoy it," he rushes on. "Jesus, I enjoyed it." His eyes catch mine, and his voice drops low. "You have no f.u.c.king idea how good that felt."

I smile. "I have some idea."

He squeezes my hand. "And it's going to be hard as h.e.l.l to resist doing it again. But we have to." His eyes still haven't left mine. "I don't want you to end up like my mom."

Like his mom. Does he mean knocked up and left to raise a kid on my own? Ward won't even let me run away on my own. I can't imagine, even for a minute, that he'd abandon me if I got pregnant.

But this isn't about that, I realize as I study him. It's about his father. He's afraid of being his father.

Guilt surges through me. I know I'm not to blame for Carolson's sins, but I hate that I'm responsible in any way for the expression he's wearing right now. I was the one who suggested s.e.x when we didn't have a condom. I was the one who stripped down and rubbed against him when I knew I didn't have the self-control to stop or pull back. I hate that I put Ward in that situation.

He twists his fingers through mine.

"Come back to me, Lou," he says softly.

I blink and meet his gaze once more.

"Whatever you're thinking right now," he says, "you're wrong."

I give a rueful smile. "You have no idea what I'm thinking."

"But I can guess. I know that look."

I search his expression, and though I know by now how easy it is for him to read me, it's still a shock to see the truth in his eyes.

"Whatever you're beating yourself up about," he says, "you're wrong."

I shake my head. "You don't-"

"Whatever it is, forget it," he says. "For now, at least. Forget everything but this, right here." He raises my fingers to his lips and kisses them one by one. His stubble tickles. When he looks up at me again, his eyes are bright. "At the very least, forget everything but that shrimp."

I can't help but crack a grin at that.

He's still holding my hand. "That out there was the most mind-blowing s.e.x of my entire life. I don't want you anywhere but right here with me."

If he told me he wanted to throw me down and take me right on top of the table, I'd let him.

"I'm here," I tell him, pus.h.i.+ng every other thought aside.

He gives a satisfied nod. "Good."

I can tell he wants to say more, but he doesn't. He holds my hand a little longer, just looking at me, until one of the resident seagulls gets a little too close to our food. We shoo him away, but not before the little thief manages to steal a fry. I laugh as Ward goes after him with a napkin.

By the time we've settled down again-still chuckling at the gull, who's watching us from afar-it's beginning to feel like a date once more. Fun and carefree and romantic. And Ward keeps his eyes on mine, his gaze darkening until the b.u.t.terflies are fluttering in my stomach once more.

I grab another shrimp from my basket and bite off the end.

"So," I say casually. "We should probably figure out where we're sleeping tonight."

"There's a place just over there," he says, gesturing down the street.

I turn and follow his finger. Sure enough, there's a motel just a block away. It's sea foam green, and the sign has a flamingo on it.

I don't like motels. I deal with them, of course, because they're our only option these days. I try to make the best of the situation and pretend it's all part of some crazy adventure. But motels just make me feel so skeevy. So dirty. Like we're doing something wrong, and I don't want this to be wrong.

"Or," I say, turning back to Ward, "we could buy ourselves a couple of towels and spend the night on the beach."

"You can sleep on the beach?"

"If no one sees you."

His mouth curls into a smile. "Only slightly illegal, then."

"Only slightly." I know I should be playing it safe, considering I might or might not have a warrant out for my arrest, but I can't help myself. I need a break from dingy, roach-infested rooms.

Ward leans across the table.

"The question is," he murmurs, "how quiet can you be?"

"Quiet?"

"Tonight," he says, his tone thick with wicked suggestion. "When I'm having you every way I can imagine."

Blood rushes between my legs as I remember the promise he made to me out in the ocean. His eyes bore right into me, and I have no doubt that nothing will stop him from keeping his word.

I slide my thighs closed, trying to keep myself together. My wet clothes suddenly feel very cool against my skin. And I can barely find my voice.

"You better grab some condoms," I tell him.

"Mmhm." He claims my hand again and brings it once more to his lips. This time, though, he doesn't kiss it. Instead, he flicks his tongue against my palm. I suck in a breath at the sensation, and my reaction only encourages him. He slips his tongue in the place between my first two fingers, probing the thin skin until I'm tingling all the way up my arm.

"It'll be like the first time," he says when I've practically melted against my seat.

I can't think straight. "The first time?"

"The first time I took you," he says. "Outside. Beneath the stars."

He's doing this on purpose, isn't he? Drawing me in deeper with every word and look?

"Yes," I whisper. "Like the first time."

And though I keep telling myself that I'll convince him to go, I find myself praying that tonight won't be our last.

s.e.x on a beach is even better than s.e.x in the ocean.

At least that's what they tell you. The reality is that when you have s.e.x on the beach, sand gets everywhere. It's worse once you start to sweat-then it sticks to your skin. And sometimes you accidentally roll over onto a broken piece of sh.e.l.l and jab yourself. There are a lot of hazards, even if you plan ahead and purchase a towel for the occasion.

But honestly? I don't care. I'm damp with perspiration and covered with sand and nothing matters because Ward is beside me. We're on our backs, panting from our latest efforts, and his arm is beneath my head. Our sides are pressed together.

Ward plays with my hair. I'm surprised he can move even that much. I'm still throbbing between my legs from our last round, and I know I'm going to be sore tomorrow.

"You can see so many stars out here," he says. "I feel like I'm having an acid trip."

"An acid trip? How... romantic."

His chest shakes with a laugh. "Well, f.u.c.k. I forgot my book of cheesy poetry. Or would you rather I serenade you under the moon?"

I elbow him. "Go on then. Sing me something."

"I don't think you want that."

"Trust me, I do."

"Trust me, you don't want to hear me sing."

I'm about to insist that I definitely do, but before I can get the words out, he pulls me toward him and kisses me hard on the mouth, effectively ending our conversation.

Even though he's already had me twice tonight, Ward seems more than ready to go again. He's insatiable, and I'm a ready and willing object of his desire.

But he pulls back, and I bite back a moan of disappointment. He chuckles and lets his hand drift down my body, across my naked belly to the place just above where my legs meet. Then he s.h.i.+fts his head and looks up at the sky once more.

"Can you name any of the constellations?" I ask, snuggling closer to him. It doesn't even matter what he says. I just want to hear his voice, just want to feel the rumble of his speech through all of the places our bare skin touches.

"Some," he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. "The Big Dipper. Orion. The... uh, Little Dipper." He s.h.i.+fts slightly. "Though it's definitely harder to find them out here."

I look up, searching for some familiar pattern among the thousands of twinkling lights above us. But he's right-it's practically impossible to make out any constellations. There are an infinite number of shapes above us.

"That one over there is slightly reddish," he says, pointing up and to the left. "Maybe it's Mars."

I squint after his finger. "I don't see it."

"It's the bright one. Next to that cl.u.s.ter that looks like a turtle."

I wrinkle my nose. "A turtle? Where?"

"Right there. By that blobby shape." He gives another jab with his finger, then traces invisible lines in the air. "There's the sh.e.l.l. And the head. He kind of looks like he's eating a fish."

"Okay, now you're just making things up."

He turns his head so that his lips brush against my ear. "Maybe you just need more imagination."

"I have plenty of imagination." I continue to scan the sky in the direction he indicated. "I think I do see Mars, though. Or the red one, whatever it is."

"Supposedly you can see Saturn, too, but don't ask me to find it." He pauses, and when he speaks again, his voice is reverent. Full of wonder. "It's incredible, isn't it? Kind of makes you feel small. But in the good way."

"Well h.e.l.lo, Mr. Cliche," I tease.

"I'm allowed one cliche."