I didn’t play around; I didn’t experiment at all. Sex was fine, sure, but I was always caught up in trying to be good for them, the best they’d ever had, like I was in constant competition with every other girl in their past. Even Alexander never liked me to take control or show too much passion; he was a missionary-style guy, a few minutes of quick thrusting and he was done. I would fake it for him, loud and breathy, then slip into the bathroom after he fell asleep to take myself over the edge, feeling furtive and shameful somehow that I couldn’t be satisfied with him alone.
But there was no faking it with Garrett. God, no.
I feel my pulse kick, just thinking about him, demanding, teasing, driving me so wild I didn’t care how I looked or acted anymore. He knows his way around a woman’s body alright, almost even better than I know it myself. And the things he could do with his tongue…
I feel a rush of heat, my skin prickling, and realize I’m getting turned on all over again: in broad daylight, with pedestrians strolling down the sidewalk and kids playing in the park by the church. I stop at a red light, waiting for people to cross, and feel a sudden surge of wickedness.
I grab my phone and type out a text to Garrett.
I want you again.
I hit “send” before I can think twice, giddy at my boldness. Old voices rear up in my mind, scolding me. He could think I’m a slut, that I’m easy, but I realize with a shock that I don’t care. I can be anything I want now; that’s the point of this, isn’t it? Of me leaving my life behind, and starting from scratch right here?
I can be anyone, do anything. Anything I want.
And oh, how I want Garrett.
By the time I turn down the coastal road to the beach house, I’ve thought up a dozen ways I’m going to seduce Garrett; anticipation like wildfire in my veins. I get out of the car and bound up the porch steps, making it to the door before my brain catches up with my eyes and I register the beat-up old Honda sitting beside Garrett’s truck out front.
Juliet.
I freeze, the air rushing out of my lungs. In an instant, my good mood evaporates, replaced with a terrible lurch of guilt and uncertainty. What’s she doing here?
“Hello?” I call cautiously, stepping inside. “Garrett?”
“Back here,” his voice comes, and I follow it down the hallway to the kitchen. He’s laughing, grilling up some bacon at the stove, while my sister relaxes at the kitchen table, sipping coffee.
Garrett turns to me. “Look who dropped by,” he says.
I blink. “Hi,” I offer Juliet, awkward. “How was the honeymoon?”
“Great.” She replies shortly.
“I, um, didn’t know you were coming out here.” I say.
“That makes two of us.” Juliet watches me, her expression guarded. “Garrett was just saying you’ve been in Beachwood a couple of weeks.”“That’s right.” I send Garrett an anxious look.
“I told her you broke up with Alexander,” he says quickly, “and you needed a place to figure things out.” He gives me an imperceptible nod, as if to reassure me. He hasn’t told her anything more.
I don’t know whether or not to be relieved.
“I’m sorry about the breakup,” Juliet says, after a moment’s pause. “Are you OK?”
I nod. “I’m fine now. I just needed to get away,” I say, still hovering awkwardly in the doorway. “I’m staying above the bar.”
“Not with me,” Garrett interrupts quickly.
Too quick.
I glance over at him, wondering what he’s trying to say. Is he worried Juliet will think we’re together? Why would he even care?
Am I supposed to act like we’re just friends?
As a dozen questions whirl through my mind, Garrett clears his throat. “I better check in with the bar,” he says, shutting off the grill. He walks past me to the back door, and as he goes, he rests his hand on my shoulder for a split second and gives a reassuring squeeze. “Why don’t you guys start?” he murmurs. “There’s plenty of food.”
“Oh. Sure.” I watch him go, my head spinning. I’m losing track of how I’m supposed to behave around him, so I turn my attention to breakfast instead: silently setting out plates and cutlery with Juliet. We maneuver around each other in the small space without speaking, until finally, we’re both sitting down at the table with plates full of eggs and toast.
Silence.
I take a bite of food, but suddenly, I’m not hungry anymore. I shoot a look across the table at Juliet, studying her for the first time since the wedding. She looks pulled together and grown up, her dark hair caught up in a casual ponytail, wearing a blue sweater and jeans.
My little sister, not so little anymore.
I feel an ache, deep in my chest. It seems like only yesterday she was playing dress-up as a kid, conjuring robes out of the sheets in the laundry pile, but it must have been fifteen years ago, at least.
Fifteen years. God, has it really been so long?
“What are you doing here?” I finally break the silence. “I mean, I thought you and Emerson were busy in the city,” I add.
She shrugs, pushing food around her plate. “We are, but…I thought I’d come out to visit. It’s Mom’s birthday,” she adds, looking down.
Guilt crashes through me.
“Oh god, I forgot,” I whisper, feeling like the worst person in the world. “How could I forget?”