Slow Burn Part 20

Chapter 18.

"Stop!" I shout.

I use my phone's flashlight app to illuminate the couple wrestling on the sand. I see a girl's arms and legs flailing as a dark haired guy pins her down with the weight of his body. His face is planted in her open s.h.i.+rt.

"Get off of her!"

He ignores me, so I hit him in the a.s.s with the baton. That gets his attention fast. He howls in pain, rolling off the girl.

"What the f.u.c.k?!" he shrieks, sitting up. "You stupid b.i.t.c.h!"

I keep the flashlight trained on him. He's a preppy-looking guy, with slicked back hair and snotty aristocratic features. Some people just look like rapists. Maybe it's that something seedy in those hooded eyes?

He lunges forward like he's going to attack me, but I hold my awesome weapon in front of me like I know how to use it. "Before you try anything stupid, just know that I have four different football players on my speed dial," I tell him, indicating the phone in my other hand. "After I take out your knees with my baton, they can be here in less than two minutes to finish the job."

Preppy Rapist is smarter than he looks. Fury burns in his eyes, but he gets to his feet, keeping his distance. His gaze s.h.i.+fts over to his victim, and he sneers.

"You're the worst f.u.c.k I've ever had. I'll be sure to warn all my friends," he taunts her, straightening his preppy clothes.

I want to throw my baton at him for that, but instead I satisfy myself by blinding him with the bright light from my phone. I also take a picture of him for good measure. He reacts like a vampire, hissing and stumbling off.

When he's a safe distance away, I turn to the girl. "Oh, my G.o.d, are you okay? I can call the...Kara?!"

The glow from my phone picks up the disheveled red hair, and Kara's tear-streaked face. Her makeup is a mess-lipstick smeared all around her mouth and muddy mascara tracks down her cheeks.

She glares up at me, pulling her s.h.i.+rt together. I recoil at the blazing hatred in her narrowed eyes. "If you tell anyone, I will ruin you," she snarls, her voice low.

Say wha-?!

My mouth falls open. "What?!" I gasp, barely able to comprehend what I'm hearing. "You're threatening me? After I just saved you from the preppy rapist?"

I stare in disbelief as she calmly starts to put herself together, b.u.t.toning her s.h.i.+rt, wiping her cheeks, and smoothing down her rumpled curls. She rearranges her long legs and carefully climbs to her feet.

She looms over me, her face full of menace. "This never happened. Breathe one word of it, and you won't be able to hide behind Johnny. I'll destroy your f.u.c.king pathetic life."

I'm completely stupefied-too stunned to even reply. When Kara pushes past me, striding away, all I can do is stare after her.

"What just happened?" I say out loud, looking around wildly.

No one answers me. I did a good thing...right? Did I not just save her from being brutalized by a psycho? I can't even...wow...what?

Maybe she's traumatized. Maybe Kara meant to thank me instead of threaten my life. People react in different ways to extreme events, they get confused. She's been through a terrible ordeal. I should just-should I call the police? I would, if I didn't think the crazy sea harpy would deny everything, and somehow blame it all on me.

I debate with myself for a couple of minutes. In the end, even though it really bothers me, I decide to do nothing. Maybe what I think I saw wasn't what I thought it was. I retract my baton and fit it back into my purse. Ooh, a chocolate bar.

Yes, I've got a chocolate bar, a collapsible baton, some breath mints, my favorite lip gloss, and a tiny pouch full of trouble dolls in my purse-but no safety pins. How am I supposed to fix my bra? Maybe if I...no, forget it, it's a lost cause. With some fancy maneuvering, I get the stupid thing off, and stuff it in my bag. I take the chocolate bar out-to make room, you know. It's got almonds.

I wander further away from the party, eating my chocolate, and listening to the calming sounds of the waves cras.h.i.+ng onto the sh.o.r.e, and the throaty moans of someone who sounds like she's really enjoying herself.

I find myself drifting toward the noise-I don't know why, I'm not a peeper. I pop out around a particular large shrub, and discover a couple making out in the sand. The girl is straddling the guy, and he sure isn't struggling to get away-so there's no question it's consensual.

The moon provides enough light for me to recognize the familiar shape of the guy-it's Dean! I don't know who the girl is, but she's got an amazing body-I can't help but notice.

I stand there, fascinated. Whoa, Dean's got some moves! He half sits and aggressively pulls the girl to him, kissing her with the kind of burning intensity you only see in movies with angst-filled couples reuniting in the rain. The girl reacts with a pa.s.sionate whimper, plunging one hand in his short dark hair; the other hand gripping the front of his s.h.i.+rt. It must be some kiss-she's practically melting into him.

I should go. But look at Dean. I've never seen this side of him, and it's really hot. Based strictly on observation, I would rate him a- "Can we help you?"

The annoyed voice is directed at me, I suddenly realize. Dean's girl is glaring at me, clutching her s.h.i.+rt together as she scrambles off of his lap. I don't blame her for that murderous scowl on her face. If I caught some creeper eating a candy bar and watching me hook up with someone, I'd be super p.i.s.sed, too.

I freeze in mid-bite. Most of Dean's remarkable face is hidden in the shadows, but from what I can see, he doesn't look thrilled. G.o.d, no one's ever happy to see me when I stumble in on their intimate moments. It's like my thing.

"Who the h.e.l.l are you?" the girl demands.

I've been caught. No sense trying to deny it. I give a casual chin nod in their direction. "'Sup?"

Dean's kissing pal looks at him incredulously, as if asking, "can you believe the audacity?" She starts toward me, intent on kicking my a.s.s. I have a baton, but she has rage, and about five inches and thirty pounds on her side. I may not win.

"I'm Dean's sister," I say quickly, before she's within hair-pulling distance. Dean's head comes up at this, but he doesn't say anything, so I let the lies continue to roll off my tongue. "I'm twelve."

That stops her in her tracks. She glances from me to Dean, her expression uncertain. "Is that true?" she asks him.

He stares out at the ocean. "Why the h.e.l.l would she lie about that?" he mutters in a very un-rhetorical way.

The girl hesitates, clearly suspicious. "I didn't know you had a little sister."

"Oh, he doesn't like to talk about me-I'm an embarra.s.sment," I say quickly. I smile in an obnoxious tween way. "Can I have a moment with my brother? I have some family issues I need to talk to him about. Mom's drinking again."

What can she say to that? Clearly annoyed, she throws a terse "call me" at Dean before stomping away. I do feel bad for ruining her s.e.xy time.

I sink down in the sand next to Dean. He doesn't look at me, so it's hard to gauge how angry he is.

"I'm really, really sorry," I say finally. "I don't even know why I did it-and I totally didn't meant to spy on you like that. It was just...weird, you know? I've never seen you with a girl, so I always kinda thought you were-um, not gay. More like...as.e.xual?"

That earns me a look. "Thanks," he says dryly.

"Okay, that came out really bad," I admit with a laugh. "It's just that you have this 'strong, silent' thing going on, which makes it kind of hard to relate to you. Though I have to admit, you've been pretty human lately."

Dean glances at me again, and that upward turn at the corner of his mouth gives a glimpse of how incredible a full-blown smile from him would be. "Are you trying to p.i.s.s me off?"

"Old habits die hard," I fire back. I don't know why we keep repeating each other, but I can do it all day if he wants.

He shakes his head, and goes back to looking out at the ocean. We sit in companionable silence for a while, and it's nice. I offer him a part of my chocolate bar, which he declines with a small gesture of his hand.

"I'm not good at it," he says finally, out of the blue.

"What?" I swallow a bite of chocolate-painfully. "Being human?"

"Getting to know people...small talk." He shrugs. "Making friends."

"Oh, well, that's probably because you've been skating by on your looks for most of your life." I mean to say this in a teasing way, but I don't think I quite make it.

The flash of humor on Dean's face makes me sigh in relief. He's not mad. "You're not so good at the whole making friends thing yourself."

"Come on, you must know you're really, ridiculously attractive, right?"

"How am I suppose to answer that without sounding like an a.s.shole?"

I have to smile at that. "Tell you what-you can practice on me."

Dean raises an eyebrow. "Being an a.s.shole?"

"Ha, no, I'm sure you don't need more experience in that area. I can't believe I'm saying this, but...we could be friends."

He doesn't reply right away, and for a second, I wonder if I've overstepped my bounds. What could I bring to the friends.h.i.+p, other than insults and too-personal observations?

"You wanna be friends?" Dean finally says, tilting his head to the side and squinting in that way he does. He looks both amused and uncertain.

"Sure," I say decisively. I run my fingers through my long hair, pulling it away from my face. "I'm not saying I totally forgive you for being so mean to me before...but it's in the past, so let's leave it there. No more fighting."

"No fighting? I don't know if I could live with that."

His tone is teasing, and I take that as a good sign. "Oh, me neither. We'd have to have a couple of friendly arguments every once in a while. You could push me down in the mud, and I could beat you in a race. For old time's sake."

"Come again?" Dean says, looking at me like maybe he heard wrong. "You've never beat me in a race."

"You ate my dust that one time," I say indignantly. "You know, you should really see someone about that selective memory of yours."

When he just chuckles and shakes his head, I spring up. Kicking off my sandals, I stand in front of him, hands on my hips.

"Okay, Youngblood, on your feet. I challenge you to a rematch right now."

His head comes up . "What are the terms?"

I shrug. "Winner gets bragging rights."

Dean climbs to his feet, towering over me. He looks down at me with a challenging gleam in those beautifully odd eyes. "I accept. First one to that post and back."

He indicates the direction with a nod of his head, and I immediately take off, not looking back. Swearing, he follows-right on my heels, despite my head start.

It's much harder to run on the sand than on-oh, anything else. But I love to run when I'm being chased. My bare feet sink into the sand with each running step, and my long hair streams behind me, slowing me down in a parachute-like effect. I don't care, I don't even care if I win-this is fun! I feel like a carefree child, unconscious of style or form as I pump my legs forward.

I could use the support of a bra, though. The bouncing...ow.

Dean is right behind me, and I feel him effortlessly catch up. "You pulled that same move last time," he says as casually as if he were sitting down instead of sprinting in the sand.

"And you fell for it again-ha!"

Grinning, I give him a little shove, hoping to throw him off his rhythm. Then I put on a burst of speed, surging ahead.

For one brief delusional second, I think I'm going to win. Then Dean streaks by, reaching the post mere feet ahead of me. He's not even out of breath, and he's laughing at me!

I'm trying to get my breath back. It's not the running that stole it. I'm staring at Dean the way one would stare at a beautiful work of art, or a particularly stunning sunset-so in awe it makes my chest hurt a little. Despite the shadows of the night, I try to individually catalogue his features, wondering what makes him so beautiful. Is it the way they are arranged so harmoniously on his face? No, each attribute is striking on its own, I conclude. How sickening. I don't think I'll ever be able to not admire that face.

"How did you get those scars?" I ask him abruptly.

Dean is checking his phone. He glances up at me with a half grin. "Fighting and football." He slides the phone into the back pocket of his jeans. "Johnny's looking for you."

"Oh," I say, frowning. "Oh! I was looking for Heather. I'd better grab my purse and shoes."

I start to head back to where I abandoned my belongings on the sand, but Dean stops me. "I'll get them," he offers.

He jogs off, then returns shortly with my things. "Thanks," I say, reaching for my purse.

Somehow, I end up knocking it out of his hand. My purse falls on its side, spilling most of the contents out onto the sand. Way to go, Clumsy.

We both crouch down in the sand to pick up the items. I'm so glad I cleaned out my purse yesterday. Dean does not to see the crumpled up tissues and tampons I usually have stashed in there.

"What's this?"

Dean's holding up a drawstring pouch. "Those are my trouble dolls," I tell him.

At his puzzled look, I take it from him and open it up. "Hold out your hand," I order him.

When he does, I shake the contents of the pouch onto his palm. The seven brightly colored dolls look even tinier in his big hand.

"You tell them your troubles and then stick them under your pillow. While you're sleeping, they're suppose to solve all your problems for you," I explain to him. "My mom got them from a psychic shop in San Diego she used to go to all the time. They're from Guatemala."

Dean picks one of the little dolls up, and holds it up, squinting at it in the moonlight. "You sleep with these things?"

"No, I don't actually believe in the legend." I roll my eyes and carefully take my dolls back, sticking them back in the pouch. "I think they're cute. I don't remember how they ended up in my purse, though." I'm totally lying-Marta, Greta, Ansel, Avery, Giovanni, Blodwyn, and Shaniqua have gone everywhere with me since I was twelve.

I check my phone and notice several missed calls and texts, mostly from Johnny. He still freaks out when I'm out of his sight for too long. I wish I didn't find that endearing. You're sick, Juliet. Sick and twisted, and so- "I think this belongs to you."

I look up to see Dean holding up my bra, dangling it from his fingers like a fish on a hook. Before I can say anything, amused male voice suddenly sounds out of the darkness.

"Well, well, what have we here, boys and girls?"

I sigh in relief as Ben strolls forward, hands tucked into the front pocket of his khaki shorts. He's looking back and forth between me and Dean, an insinuating smirk on his handsome face.

"Nothing to see here." I roll my eyes at Ben's wide grin. "Dean needed a slingshot-I was in an accommodating mood."

"Yeah, I bet you were."

Ben grabs my bra from Dean and starts twirling it around, burlesque style. "Does Johnny know about this?"

I snicker, s.n.a.t.c.hing it back from him. "What, that Dean and I have been trysting on the beach at night? We were waiting for the perfect opportunity to tell him, weren't we, Dean? Our love is so new, I wanted to keep it a secret for a while longer. At least until the baby is born."