A/N: Thanks so much for all your wonderful thoughts.
I haven't had a chance to reply to reviews yet, but I did see someone ask if I plan to complete all my WIPs (Yes, I know there are a few of them out there). :) The answer is a resounding YES! I definitely do. This is just something to get them words going again. ;)
Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. All mistakes are mine.
Chapter 3 - Four at the Shore
Edward:
It turns out the dark-haired one has great peripheral vision.
In the middle of her latest bout of laughter, she stops. Then, she angles her and turns toward me so quickly that I don't even have time to look away. It's done with a sense of purpose, her forehead furrowed, as if she felt watched and has zero compunction about confronting her creeper.
When her eyes meet mine, everything surrounding her fades into a contrasting palette of common, beachside pastels because there is nothing pale or low-key about her gaze. Her eyes are the antithesis of everything soft-hued and beige about summer. They're a vibrantly dark prism befitting more a glorious winter's night sky than the Jersey Shore in June.
I don't know how long our eyes hold, but I know it's longer than a glance. I also know she's the one to break our gaze, returning her attention to her friend. When the friend glances our way, I know we're fucked.
"Shit," Emmett whispers beside me. "Busted."
"Yeah," I whisper back. "And whose fault is that?"
"Hey, don't blame me," he chuckles under his breath. "I didn't tell you to stare."
"That's pretty much exactly what you told me to do," I remind him with a sidelong scowl.
Meanwhile, the blond and brunette look our way again, and I remember Emmett's covertly-gathered information regarding their careers. Teachers. Middle School teachers. I remember my middle school teachers. They were a stern and strict lot. Mrs. Cope, my seventh-grade teacher, was a mean old crone who called me 'Eddie-boy' every time she called on me because she knew I hated it. Although now that I think back, she was probably only in her late twenties to early thirties. And there are worse things than being called 'Eddie-boy.' Funny how time and perspective change some views.
"Whatever. I'm lying back down before they turn around and start cursing."
As soon as I finish murmuring that, they turn in unison once more. This time, they don't turn back."
"Oh, shit, Ed," Emmett whispers.
"You're on your own." My back is halfway on the towel, gazing on the blue sky, when I hear,
"You guys thirsty?"
Fuck.
Of course, I assume she – whichever one is speaking – means to throw shade, as in, why the fuck are we staring at them?
"Uhh, uhmm…" Emmett hums and haws. But then I recall that he's here today because of me. For me. To be my wingman and to keep me from drowning in oceans of self-pitying moroseness. With a deep breath, I sit up, intending to return the favor by saving him from himself.
What I see is the blond one making her way toward us. More importantly, behind her, the brunette's done a complete upper-body swivel in her chair.
Now, my dad taught me to be cautious and respectful, even when there are things you can't help but notice off the bat. Like a pretty face. Like a great body in a two-piece that shows off every curve. So, yeah, she's gorgeous. Still, it's her eyes my eyes revert to.
Meanwhile, the blond gingerly drops to her knees in the sand in front of Em and me, flipping her hair over her shoulder, and I almost pity Emmett again because he's likely losing brain cells by the second. The blond carries a large hydro flask, bigger than the individual ones they've stuffed into their mesh drink holders.
So she meant actual thirst when she asked if we were thirsty.
She pops the top on the flask.
"My friend and I here made this at our beach house this morning. It's a virgin mix of watermelon, lime, cucumbers, and mint leaves.
"Sounds good," Emmett grins.
"Yeah," I agree, flashing my eyes back up to the brunette, who watches us with a grin of her own.
The blond moves in closer and whispers with a conspiratorial smile, "It's actually not virgin; it's got just a touch of rum. But if any killjoys around here find out, we'll get kicked off the beach." She pulls back with a mischievous smile.
"How do you know we're no killjoys?" Em teases her with a quirked brow.
"I don't know," she replies, lifting her own brow. "Are you?"
He replies with a hearty chuckle, which she returns in kind, and yep, Emmett's wrapped tightly around those blond strands already.
"Wait," she says, "do you guys have cups?"
Emmett turns to me with desperation clearly shining in his eyes. "Did you bring cups?"
"Nope."
The blond turns to her friend. "You got cups?"
In reply, the brunette stands from her beach chair. I can't even look away as she makes her way toward us. The entire state of New Jersey could blow up, and I couldn't move a muscle to save myself. She drops to her knees next to her friend.
"Nope. I didn't think we'd need any." She looks at me, and when she smiles, one corner of my mouth manages to respond in kind.
"Oh, crap," the blond says, reclaiming the brunette's attention. Then with an exaggerated shrug and sigh, the blond adds, "Guess we can't share. Oh, well. Come on."
"Wait, wait, wait!" Emmett lifts a palm up high to halt them. He turns and searches our area, mumbling, "There's gotta be…"
The girls look at one another and chuckle. Then the brunette looks at me again.
"What's he looking for?" she asks, jerking her jaw toward Emmett.
I shrug my shoulders. "Cups that we didn't pack but will magically appear."
They laugh. She laughs. Up close this time so that the sound reverberates throughout my chest and…settles there.
"Aha!" Emmett cries out, breaking the spell. He turns back with two plastic water bottles, both still sealed, and shoves one hard against my chest.
"Oomph."
"Empty that out," he commands, uncapping his bottle.
"But it's still sealed," I point out. "It's perfectly good water."
He's already flipping his over the sand, shaking it hard to make the water pour out quicker.
Sighing, I follow suit.
"Wow, but now the pressure's really on," the brunette says as I empty out my bottle.
"Why?" I ask with a snort.
"I mean, you guys are pouring out what's literally nature's perfect drink – a substance that's been around since the beginning of time and which is capable of sustaining every living organism on this planet. All for a bit of a pink drink we mixed over our sink this morning. What if you hate it?"
I swallow hard.
Because I know there's something I should be saying here, some quip, performing that back-and-forth banter that, like the water we're currently spilling out, has been around since the beginning of time for one very important purpose: In this case, communicating interest between two parties. It's something that would've come naturally to me a few months ago, in a heartbeat. But just minutes ago, I was contemplating the benefits and drawbacks of being in Hell. So banter's not coming easy.
Either way, Emmett beats me to it.
"Well, if we hate it, you both owe us a drink," he quips, his eyes on the blond. "How's that sound?"
The blond shoots the brunette a look, and the brunette shrugs.
"Deal," the blond grins.
Once we've disposed of perfectly good water and turned the sand around us into mud, we hold out our bottles. The blond moves to fill Emmett's first, but before a drop falls, the brunette stays her hand by laying a hand on the blond's wrist.
"Wait, hold on." Again, the brunette looks at me. "Are you guys driving, or are you nearby?"
"We're nearby," I confirm, holding her gaze.
She smiles and withdraws her hand. "So are we. Go ahead," she says, giving her friend the okay.
The blond fills Emmett's bottle, and the fucker doesn't even wait for my bottle to be filled before he lifts his to his lips. He then swallows down the reddish-pink liquid like he's been in a desert and hasn't had a drop of water in years. Never mind the two perfectly good water bottles he's just wasted. By the time I take my first sip, he's already done, smacking his lips together with no little exaggeration.
"Ahh. That hit the spot."
"Right?" The blond says. "It's the best thing for a hot, sticky day at the beach."
"Yeah." The word erupts almost like a squeak from Emmett.
"What did you think of the cucumber taste?" the blond further prompts.
"Real good," Emmett breathes.
"Yeah. I like cucumber too," the blond replies.
Meanwhile, I resort to hiding my amusement by drinking. When I meet the brunette's gaze around the water bottle, she rolls her eyes at their obvious antics.
"Good?" she asks me when I set down my bottle.
"Yeah. Yeah, it is." Like a salute, I hold the bottle up between us and murmur, "Thanks."
"Yeah, no problem." Again, she looks at me expectantly, like she's waiting for me to say more. And this time, it's the blond who saves me.
"So, I guess that means we don't owe you guys drinks after all?"
"Oh, shit," Emmett chuckles, remembering that bit of this dance. "No, never mind. That drink sucked! You totally owe us drinks!"
We all laugh at this, but…it's the brunette's laughter that carries in the breeze. It's like the chord that ties together a symphony. The blond makes the introductions.
"I'm Rose, by the way. This is Bella."
Bella.
"I'm Emmett." Emmett smacks my shoulder. "And this here's my buddy, Edward."
We exchange "Heys."
And just like that, we're now a group of four at the shore.
A/N: Thoughts?
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