Snow On The Beach // R.C.

1.03

Sprinklers. Going off. Everywhere.

The moment I begin pedaling my yellow bike down the Camerons' front drive, all the sprinkler heads shoot up from the grass, their signature hiss acting as the only warning I get before water arcs into the air, across the sky, and all over me. Biting back a shriek at the cold droplets landing on my skin, my hair, my clothes, I pedal faster.

Only to slow down when I notice the front door wide open, Rafe Cameron about to fall over as he grips his stomach, wheezing with laughter.

"Fuck this," I mutter under my breath as I pull up to the porch. Grabbing my bag from the wicker basket on the front of my bike, I get off and throw it into the dirt before storming up the small set of porch steps.

"What hap— What happened to you?" He asks when we come face to face. He's hardly able to speak through his laughter.

"Oh, like you don't know," I snap, running my sopping hair out of my eyes. Motioning to the sprinklers behind me with a haphazard motion of my hand, I don't dare take my gaze off Rafe. "You did this."

His words from last night suddenly resurface in my mind: No good Pogues like you belong at the bottom of the ocean. Well, I certainly feel like I've just clawed myself up through the depths.

"Okay, yeah. Go ahead and blame your bad timing on me," Rafe says. He blocks the entire doorway, arms and ankles crossed, one shoulder leaning against the frame. His eyes swallow me whole, lingering on my chest for just a moment too long. "Must be uncomfortable being so wet, huh?"

That's when I realize my shirt is white. And I'm not wearing a bra.

Keeping my face as still as possible, vainly trying to hide the nauseous waves crashing in my stomach and the red, hot heat crawling like spiders up my neck, I slowly cross my arms over my chest. I allow us to stay in silence for a few moments too long as I gulp down my horror. Rafe doesn't seem to mind; he never once breaks eye contact. "You're a perv," I finally speak.

"Never once claimed I wasn't."

I try to push past him, but he steps in my way. Try again. History repeats itself.

"Where's Sarah?" I sigh, hoping she might come along and rescue me from this hell. My shorts are starting to feel like cement around my thighs.

"Sleeping on The Druthers."

Checking my watch, I see that it's 11:10. First, I think about the fact that Sarah always has been a night owl, whereas I've always thrived in the morning. Then, I think about how I'm ten minutes late (and counting) for my work day with Ward.

I don't have time for Rafe and his antics anymore.

"You know," I say, shifting my weight from one hip to the other. "You're dad probably won't be too pleased to find out that you're overwatering his lawn. Especially when the city is under a water usage limit after the storm, and there's a hefty fine for breaking it. Not to mention the extra electricity these sprinklers are using on your already overworked generators—"

"Okay!" Rafe snaps. "I get it. But who's going to tell him? You're certainly not—"

My eyes look over his shoulder, crinkling at the sides as I lift a hand and wave. "Hi, Mr. Cameron."

Rafe whirls around, flinging himself out of the doorway.

And I walk right inside, water trailing behind me. "You are too gullible," I laugh, patting Rafe on the shoulder. He flinches at my touch. "If you really want me out of Tannyhill, you're going to have to do better than a couple dozen sprinklers."