Oh, Dakota.

Chapter Eleven.

Elijah Astor

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Finally. I almost shouted out loud from excitement. I can’t find a big enough word to describe how thankful I was and how relieved I felt when we finally pulled up into Stacey’s driveway a couple hours later.

It took a while, for Dakota had to stop at the bathroom and purposely gave me the wrong directions just for her own enjoyment. I was ready to pounce on her and pull each blonde strand right out of her scalp had it not been for finally making it to the beach house.

The sun was now high up in the sky, casting a sticky heat through the windshield of my truck. Parking into her driveway, I let out a grateful sigh, before switching off my truck. Once the engine veered out, I turned my head to the side to look at Dakota.

She was asleep. Her legs were curled under her and her palms pressed against her cheek. Her hair fell in her face, and her lips parted slightly as she slept soundlessly. Seriously? I ignored her for no more than twenty minutes and she fell asleep?

I rolled my eyes, and unbuckled my seatbelt. Reaching over Dakota, I jabbed a finger hard into her ribs. She jumped up, her eyes glassy as she glared at me. “Come on, Blondie,” I taunted, and poked her again. “We’re here, with no help to you, thanks very much.”

“Already?” She mumbled and her voice was groggy. She rolled her neck back, and stretched out her back, cracking out the kinks. “I fell asleep.”

“Really?” I asked, sarcastically and rolled my eyes again.

“Shut up.” She glared at me again, and then pushed her hand into my chest to push me away from her. She mussed her hands through her hair, taming it down before her eyes got wide as she turned to face me. Her face was one of horror and she looked appalled. “Did you just call me Blondie?” She hissed her voice dangerously low and her green eyes narrowing into deathly slits.

“Yes.” I said, jumping out of the truck and around to the back to retrieve our bags. “Don’t you like it?” I asked her as she followed me, looking around uneasily.

“No.” She snapped and threw her arms up, clearly irritated.

I grinned. “Then it stays.”

It was warm out but not nearly as humid as Phoenix. Stacey lived right across the street from the beach and the air was tinged with the smell of salt water and it drifted through the air, creating a soft, comfortable breeze.

Stacey’s house was only one story high, but still nice. It was painted a bright white, the paint chipping off in some places. She had glass doors and a small backyard, and suddenly, she was running out of the house with Ryan in tow, squealing, “You’re here!”

She was already prancing around in her bathing suit. She wore her yellow polka dotted bikini top with her black shorts. A stupid smirk slipped on my face and my eyes unashamedly trailed over her lean body, acting as though I didn’t feel the nasty glare coming from Dakota.