Summer

Chapter 6

We make it home from the beach by 5 pm, which gives me just enough time to finish another chapter of my book before having to get ready for dinner. Liam made reservations at some Michelin-starred restaurant.

I head up the staircase to my room and empty out my beach bag so that everything inside falls out onto my bed. I glance around, spacing the items out with my hand, when I notice something missing. My journal. I do a double-take to make sure that I'm seeing correctly, and even dump my bag upside down a few times, but all that comes out is a chunk of sand.

No. This can't be happening.

Now that I'm thinking about it, I never placed it back in my bag.

I head downstairs in a panic looking for Howard, and thankfully, catch him right before his shift ends.

"Howard, I need a favor," I tell him.

***

Howard doesn't think twice when I ask him to drive me to the beach. Thankfully, the streets are empty, so we're able to make it there in about 10 minutes.

When we pull up, the parking lot is deserted, and all that appears is a black pickup truck. Howard waits in the car as I race down the boardwalk.

Once I get to the beach, the only thing that I see is an empty lifeguard stand. It's too hard to tell where we were sitting with the lounge chairs put away.

"Shit!" I impulsively scream.

"Sorry," a voice calls out, catching me by surprise, "beach's closed."

I slowly turn around, trying my hardest to delay eye contact with whoever it is that I just embarrassed myself in front of.

And, of course; I should've known. It's the devil himself.

Noah stands before me, wiping down his wet body with a beach towel; his built torso on full display.

Eyes up here, Sophia, eyes up here.

"Yeah, I know. Uh," I say, scratching my head, feeling super anxious yet distracted by the alluring body that appears before me, "you didn't happen to find a red leather journal laying around here, did you?"

"Ah," he says, shaking his index finger at me. "Wait here." He climbs up the ladder on the lifeguard stand and pulls out my journal from his duffle-bag. I try to keep my eyes on the sand, but they won't stick. It's like I'm purposely trying to torture myself.

"That's it!" I exclaim as he walks towards me. The closer he gets, the more I feel my knees start to buckle.

He hands it to me, and I take it from his hold. "Found it hiding in the sand when staff was cleaning up. Figured it must be important to whoever owned it with all the writing inside."

Wait. Did he just say, 'with all the writing inside'?

"You went through it?" I scrunch my forehead and ask.

He tilts his head to the side once he detects my ingratitude. "Was I not supposed to? I was just looking for a name or something." He pauses, sizing me up and down with his eyes as I stand there with my arms crossed. "You know, most people would just say 'thank you'."

"And most people wouldn't pry through something that isn't theirs," I fire back.

"Wow, okay. I'll remember your lack of appreciation the next time shit like this happens," he says.

"'Shit like this'?" I repeat his words, tilting my chin down. "Nice expression. And, don't stress yourself. There won't be a next time, that's for sure."

He scowls at me and I can't help but return the gesture.

The silence between us gives me the opportunity to take a good look at him. As if I haven't taken 20 good looks at him already. And, 'damn' is all I can think.

"Like what you see?" he smirks condescendingly when he notices my gaze on him.

"Excuse me?"

"You're staring at me like you're hungry and I'm a piece of meat. If you want a bite, all you have to do is ask."

"You wish," I snark. It's the best response that I can come up with at the moment.

"No you wish," he throws my remark back at me and states confidently. "Anyways, I'd love to stay and chat, but I have better things to do with my night. No offense."

I give him a cold glare before coming to the realization that I should compose myself – that I should be the better person – and force a smile on my face.

"None taken. Thanks for your help," I grit through my teeth, but all he does is obnoxiously smile as if his presence is doing this world a favor, and then walks away. "Hey. What the hell is your problem? I just said 'thank you'."

"Yeah," he says, turning around and making his way back to me, "after you accused me of going through your precious journal."

"Which you did."

"Well, forgive me for mistaking your kindness for bullshit."

"You're forgiven," I mock, which causes him to suck his cheeks in.

"Listen, newbie," he gets closer, and I hate myself for liking his proximity, "if it makes you feel any better, whatever I read in there doesn't make the slightest difference to my life." Before I get the chance to challenge him, he goes even further. "For what it's worth, some of us don't have the luxury of wearing fancy clothes and living in mansions. So, don't feel too bad for yourself."

I feel my nose flare, which gets him to smirk. He stands there for a few more seconds before he walks away, leaving me to stand in the darkness alone with my guilt.