"Sex wax?"
The tips of his ears glow crimson and he tries not to laugh at the innocent, unassuming way she says it. Even he has to admit, the name ventures more toward erotic than indicative of how it is to be used - but to hear her say it sounds a bit like her asking him if he watches pornography (he doesn't, but the example stands). She's never really attempted to venture too far into his world and while often times, he found himself wishing she would join him at the beach, if only to watch, he knows better than to push. She has her comfort zone and he's better off not pushing her.
But, still, he is more than pleasantly surprised to see her standing there, tossing the bright red canister in a neat arc between her hands. Her eyebrows quirk and a giggle is just waiting to escape her at how flustered he's become. He's not sure what's flustered him more - the fact that she's there or the fact that she was asking about the name of his favorite brand of surfwax. His surfboards required a lot of upkeep, if he wanted to not drown and he'd found that sex wax was simply the best way to keep them in good shape.
Not that he feels like he has to explain, he knows he doesn't but - oh hell, it's Jory and she's his best friend and he doesn't want her assuming things. She knows his past reputation and it's caused enough friction between them in the past, a simple can of surfwax needn't bring about any more trouble.
"It's just surfwax, Jor." he holds his hand up for the aforementioned item. "And, I need it."
She tosses it to him and laughs at his embarrassment. "I know what sex wax is, Ian."
It's the way she says his name, he swears. It is not the word sex leaving her mouth for the second time in less than ten minutes that causes him to stop what he's doing and just stare at her. Of course, she knows what flusters him and she uses it to her advantage. "Jory!"
"Surfshop." she motions behind her, jerking her thumb somewhere off to her right. "Saw them advertise it."
"What are you doing here, anyway?"
His abrupt question is a slight put-off but she shrugs and answers simply. "You seem to like it here, wanted to know what all the fuss is about."
"Oh hell." he sighs, scrubbing his face with his hand, seeming to realize what that must have sounded like to her. He looks up from his surfboard with apologetic eyes. "I didn't mean it like that, Jory. I just meant that you don't...I mean you.."
"I know what you meant." she brushes him off, leaning against the side of his car. Her hazel eyes peer over his shoulder at the rush of gray foam crashing against the golden sand just behind them. Her mouth falls open as the tide swells, crawling up a jagged cliff-face, and mushrooms as it recedes back into the ocean. She watches this repeat three more times before realizing that Ian is waving his hand in front of her face, trying to get her attention.
"Jo-ry!"
"What?"
He tilts his head toward the beach and grins widely. "C'mon. It's even better down there."
The steep sand-bank is manageable for someone like Ian, who scales the thing multiple times a day, but Jory feels like she's going to make an idiot out of herself if she attempts to climb down. To her surprise - could her cheeks be any redder? - he locks his arm around her waist and helps her all the way down, until the bank slides into the flat parchment of glittering sand. His surfboard is tucked under his other arm and once he's assured of her safety, he grins maniacally and sprints into the water.
xxx
"Jory," he steals a french fry from her plate, drowning it in ketchup before deeming it edible. "Why did you really come today?"
"I told you - "
"No, Jay." Ian interrupts stealing another fry. "The real reason."
She sighs and shoves her plate toward him, her appetite for fish 'n chips disappearing with the emergence of his prodding. She watches him slide the plate back toward her, so it's between them. Always a gentleman that Ian. Just like his Mother taught him. She pulls her hand through her tousled waves and sighs. "Ian."
"Jay." he drawls in that particular way he does when he wants an answer.
"I heard a bunch of girls talking at school." Jory admits, hanging her head. "They were saying all this stuff about how I wouldn't be your friend much longer, because I wasn't interested in surfing and it just...I don't know.."
"Jory!" his voice is chiding and stern; something she's never heard from him before. "You never let what people say get to you."
"It was your ex-girlfriend." Jory raises an eyebrow at him.
"Melody Kyle, my ex-girlfriend?" his hand pauses, french fry in mid-air and dripping ketchup on the table.
"Brunette, looks like a two dollar slut?" Jory inquires, trying to keep from laughing.
Splat. Well, there went that french fry. Ian couldn't help it, though. He was laughing much too hard to worry about what happened to his food. Two dollar slut is possibly the most apt description that can be made of his ex-girlfriend, Melody Kyle. His last girlfriend in a string of them before he met Jory and the most gullible person on earth - having been convinced by Taylor Hagan and her minions that Ian was cheating on her with Jory. Not that it made a difference to him, now.
He likes to think he got the better end of that deal. After all, the person he was supposedly cheating with, was now his best friend.
"That's her." he nods, pulling a napkin from the dispenser to clean up his mess. "Don't listen to her, Jor. She is the last person you ever want to go to for information. All of her information is a load of crap. You are my best friend, Jory Cavanaugh. No matter what."
"I know, she just - "
"Needs to be told exactly where she can shove those lies." Ian grumbles, taking a sip of his coke. "I'll talk to her, Jory. She shouldn't say crap like that."
"It doesn't matter now, Ian." Jory shakes her head, digging the lemon out of her iced tea with her spoon. "I watched you surf and it was fun."
"Seriously?" Ian raises an eyebrow at her.
"Ian, I always have fun when I'm with you." it's the truth. She does. Whether it's watching him surf or doing something else, she never gets bored with him around. "It doesn't matter what we're doing."
"Well, if that's the case, there's a bonfire on the beach, tonight. Join me?" he wonders if she'll say yes. Hopes, really. And given today, he's thinking it's tipping in his favor.
"Sure."
"Pick you up at eight."
xxx
"Havin' fun?"
"Yeah."
He follows her gaze to the thick piece of wood she's intent on watching; it smolders and glows bright orange from the inside-out. She's been standing by the fire for the past twenty minutes, while the rest of them have been talking and laughing. She doesn't feel like she fits into this part of his life; the beach bum with surfer friends, hot girls in bikinis, and bonfires on the beach. It's not her and as much as she'd like to fit in, she knows she's not going to. She has nothing in common with the skinny girls in tiny bikinis or with the other boys, who, like Ian, surf in their spare time.
"I'm sorry." he apologizes, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.
"For what?" her eyebrows knit together in confusion. "I chose to come here."
"Jory." he tugs her closer to him and kisses her head. "I know you, you'd rather be at home right now. I shouldn't have suggested we come."
Well, she couldn't deny that. She knows of at least three movies she could be watching right now, rather than standing around watching Ian interact with friends, who didn't seem to pay her any mind. When Ian had tried to introduce her, they hadn't cared and ignored her. She doesn't belong in this world and as much as she'd like to, for Ian's sake, there's nothing she can do that will change it. "It's not your fault." she wraps an arm around his waist. "I don't fit in here."
"But, I want you too." it's not much but it's a start. "I want you in every part of my life, Jory."
"Your friends hate me, Ian." she mumbles into his shirt, careful to keep her voice quiet enough they won't be able to hear her.
"Then, you know what?" he lets her go for a moment to reach down and pick up her bag. He hands it to her and slings his arm around her shoulder, turning them away from the bonfire. "Let's go. I'd rather watch movies alone with you than be around a group of people who don't like you."
"Ian!" Jory tries to protest.
"Jory, you're miserable, here." Ian interrupts her. "Let's go home. I'm tired of my friends, anyway. I'm pretty sure, they're all drunk."
They make it to the base of the sand-bank before one of his friends realizes they're leaving and sprints across the sand, to reach them before they begin their climb up the bank. "Where you goin',?"
"Goin' home, man."
His friend is obviously hammered and without thinking, Ian puts himself between his drunken friend and Jory. He's always been protective of her, but a drunk is the last thing he ever thought he'd have to protect her from. But, he knows his friend Jordan and it takes him sobering up to realize what kind of crap he pulled while under the influence. Still just a senior in high school, Jordan Glass had long ago discovered the forbidden delights locked away in his parents' liquor cabinet and had been known to steal expensive bottles of scotch for his own pleasure.
"Why?" there's a distinct whine in his voice, as he tugs on Ian's arm.
"Too much alcohol, don't want it." he brushes his friend off, not wanting them to know the real reason he's leaving. "Go sober up. I saw you dancing earlier, you're going to set yourself on fire at the rate you're going."
Jordan's further protests about his decision to leave are ignored as Ian resumes climbing up the bank with Jory. The more he thinks about it, the more he realizes that maybe it's time to find a new group of friends. He's told them about his best friend, he knows he has, he remembers doing so, but they had never asked him to invite her to anything. They never showed any interest in her and that hurt him. She was his best friend.
"Love you, Jor."
"Love you, too."
