A/N: Hello everyone! Wanted to get this chapter up as a little Spring Break/Easter surprise. Enjoy and please please please leave me a review.

JULY 8 – continued - RACHEL'S POV

Rachel was transfixed by the man on the beach, as if he was some kind of sea god emerged from the waves. Drops of ocean cascaded over copper skin, over impeccably wrought muscle. Almost like an out-of-body experience, she drew closer and closer as if helpless not to.

She couldn't have moved her eyes off of him in that moment, not for a million dollars or a townhouse in Manhattan.

So when the handsome stranger yanked on his jeans and turned toward her, eyes closed and his cut jaw making her swoon from even a distance, she admired him like he was a painting created especially for her. What a striking sight.

He inhaled deeply, gorgeous features turned stony, and his eyes flew open to meet hers directly, and she froze out of embarrassment…

Except then his face went agog; his strange, striking eyes (so familiar, but from where?) flew wide as his lips parted. He stepped forward. A whisper: "Rachel."

If she wasn't already rooted to the spot, that would've done it. She felt like she was in a dream: staring down the most beautiful man she'd ever laid eyes on, and hearing her own name from his lips– her blood was hot, rushing to her cheeks and through her limbs and making her thighs tingle in with feminine appreciation.

The man was staring at her as if she was the dream. He stepped close again; his gaze traveled down her torso, her legs, back up again until those strange green eyes caught hers again.

I know those eyes.

But how? She'd never looked into eyes so alight with awe and raw tenderness. A huge hand reached toward her. "Rachel," he whispered again.

The sudden realization fell on her like rain; slow at first, then a beating downpour of recognition. That face– softer, younger– staring at her in contempt as his lip curled. "Seriously? You're not my type." Older and leaner, but still looking like his vendetta against the world had just begun: "People like you are the ones who make stress out of nothing." That same shade of green, but cold and mocking. "Listening to you nag, damn." Black eyelashes around a slitted, rueful gaze. She'd guessed then that there was more behind those eyes, but who'd ever have guessed that such tenderness could live in such angry eyes?

Yeah, she knew those eyes.

"Paul? Paul Lahote?" But this man was too old to be Paul. He looked older than her– not four years her junior. It just didn't make sense. Even last summer, at that party, he hadn't looked this mature, even after a growth spurt. This was beyond a growth spurt; it just simply didn't compute that some teenager could miraculously transform into such a beautiful specimen of man so quickly.

A smile curled over his lips. Oh shit. Her breath literally caught at the sight.

Leah's words from earlier now made sense, about Paul "whoring it up with every girl in Washington." Jesus, looking like that, it was no surprise. Even Rachel wasn't immune…her eyes dropped back to his chest, unconsciously. She was surprised he didn't have a line of women with him right now. This man was practically sculpted for sex.

Then he spoke, in a voice like coffee on a quiet Sunday morning, and he said, "Good to see you again, Miss Perfect."

And it finally was time for Rachel Black to remember herself, and to snap out of this hormone-drenched spell that she'd fallen under. Because he clearly remembered her. And she wasn't about to undo years of hard work and reputation just because Paul Lahote was extraordinarily good-looking.

He was trouble then; he would be even more trouble now.

"Hi, Paul." He was staring into her eyes with such an unnerving focus; soft but glittering with something that made her skin heat. "You've been well?"

"Y'know, lately, life has been really good to me."

"Good." She was still trying to figure out what could've possibly spurred such a growth spurt. He looked a decade older than he actually was. Caught somewhere between awe and lust– with a heavy dose of consternation regardless, her eyes kept wanting to drop to his gorgeous chest and mouthwatering abdomen and stunning Adonis belt creases that led to the waist of his unbuttoned—

He cleared his throat.

She snapped her attention back to his face. "Sorry," she said reflexively. But his assessing expression was cut with arrogance, and the curl of his smile was nothing short of corrupting.

"No need to be sorry. Like what you see?" His voice was honeyed, playful seduction.

Rachel stiffened. Sudden flashbacks to the Tutoring Club, and eavesdropping on this man when he was just a wayward, smug miscreant, had her feeling discombobulated. The vulnerability she'd seen moments before was gone; had it ever been there at all? She must've imagined it. She peered into his face, trying to see past the ego. Trying to catch a glimpse of the boy she once knew…and maybe even had a small soft spot for.

But he wasn't under there; this Paul was all swagger, just like he'd pretended to be as a boy…as a man, he'd perfected the act and made it reality.

Disappointing.

"I like what I see," Paul intoned suggestively with another smoldering appraisal.

"Hmmm. I don't recall asking for your opinion."

He actually licked his lips as he met her gaze again. "Still a ball-buster, huh?"

"You have no idea," she replied, tone flat. If he was seriously going to try to hit on her, he was going to figure out real quick that Rachel Black was not the one. "If you have any doubts, keep pushing your luck and you'll see."

"You can't scare me," he said with an impish smirk. "I work with Leah Clearwater on the daily, Rachel. Nobody's a bigger ball-buster than her."

Hmm. After a moment's consideration, she conceded with a sweet smile, "You might be right, but I'm willing to compete for the title if the opportunity arises."

"No need. Consider yourself in-charge, and me your willing slave." That damn insinuation was back, coloring his voice. His eyes were fixed on her smile– on her mouth.

"Do you say everything flirtatiously?"

"When I'm in the company of the most beautiful girl in La Push…yeah, apparently."

"Hmmm." This time she hummed aloud, giving him an assessing look that CJ used to call her "judgy face."

CJ.

She felt a sudden pinch in her heart.

"Do you always like to be in-charge?" Paul asked, voice gravelly and loaded with thoughtful implication.

She and CJ used to grapple for control in bed, honestly. It used to irritate her, in the early days, because he just assumed she'd enjoy a man-in-charge. But what she found– after being with the same person for more than a few encounters– was that she ached to lead the way…and CJ was receptive to it. He acknowledged he liked to lead the action, as well, but happily compromised with her. They split it, and traded off (albeit, sometimes begrudgingly). Because CJ was sweet, communicative, mature and respectful. Sometimes the pre-sex discussion aspect was a little bit of a buzzkill, but what kind of girl would complain about that when he was already conceding so much to work with her tastes?

He'd wanted her to enjoy herself, because…he loved her.

Even if he hadn't said it, because they'd run out of time. Again, your own stupid fault. So quick to leave, to keep climbing.

At any rate, Rachel thought soberly, bringing herself back to the present…Paul Lahote was not a man to compromise. Even if she hadn't known him from growing up in La Push, she could spot that reality from a mile away.

He might "like what he saw" – and hell, she might even like what she saw– but the reality was, they'd drive each other crazy when it came to actual compatibility and there was nothing good to come of this. Aligned goals and values? She wanted to snort. Not even for a casual fling, which was the extent of Paul's usefulness.

She gave one last furtive look to his well-built chest, then said, "It was nice to see you, Paul, but I have to go. Take care of yourself." She stepped away and began to make her way to her car.

He caught up with her easily, half a second later. "Where are you off to?"

"Home."

"Can– well, do you have dinner plans?"

"Yes. At home. With my dad."

"That's cool. Y'know I haven't seen Billy in awhile and—"

"You're not invited."

He blinked at the harshness of her words, his brows pulling together. For the first time, he seemed put-off. "Well- I could help make dinner," he offered, recovering his suaveness.

"My dad's grilling, and I'm making sides…and our kitchen is really small…" Was she babbling? God, what an embarrassment. But wouldn't it be worse to share a tiny kitchen with this drool-worthy asshole who'd been flirting with her mercilessly? "There's really nothing for you to do–"

"Yeah, I know it's small. I'm there all the time. In fact, that's the reason I should go with you. I can clean up as you go. I know where everything is, so I'm self-sufficient."

She narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean? You're at my house a lot?"

"With Jake."

"I didn't realize you were friends." Before today, she wanted to add, eyes narrowing. Back to the mystery of Jake and his suddenly wide circle of unexpected friends. "In fact, I remember you two squabbling…"

"We've been good buddies since last year. Practically brothers, you could say."

She huffed a laugh. "You must be close if you're over a lot."

"Mmhmm. Do we need anything at the store? I can pick stuff up for dinner." He smiled that lady-killer grin again. "I won't show up empty-handed."

"We?" Trying to recover her diplomatic coolness, because something deep and traitorous inside her was stirring at his insistence, Rachel said, "You don't have to come. Seriously, nice of you to offer but-"

"I want to come," he said, just before a heated hand grabbed her forearm and stilled her path. "Please let me come. I want to keep talking."

"Talking?" she echoed, skepticism plain on her face. What kind of a game was he playing at?

"I know, we barely got any time to talk. I want to change that. Let me come to dinner."

"It's– well, it's my dad's house, so …" Well, now it was her house again, even if it didn't feel that way. She flicked a bang to the side. "I'm not sure if he's okay with company, so…so no. I'll see you around, Paul."

Paul didn't argue with her, but she could feel the intensity of his stare as she hurried back to her car, and even as she pulled away from the Beach.

Trouble. Paul is trouble.

—

LATER IN THE EVENING, JULY 8

"He hasn't called," Rachel moped to herself as she shrugged a hoodie over her arms. "Stop looking."

She hated that she was inadvertently glancing at her phone every minute or so, hoping to see the front screen window lit up with an unread message from CJ. She'd tried to distract herself, too– prepping the asparagus and getting the arugula ready to be sauteed. She'd even whisked together a citrus glaze and had the Coho filets in the sink, ready to be tossed on the grill when her father arrived. Then she'd gone back to aimlessly clicking around on job websites, which had led to apartment hunting in cities she didn't yet have reason to search in, and then furniture shopping for an imaginary space she didn't live in….

Anything to keep her mind off of CJ– and off of Paul. To distract her away from men who were impossible for two very different reasons.

Her eyes slid over to her phone again, for the millionth time.

It lit up.

Rachel's breath caught, and she practically overturned the dining room chair as she jolted up right, yanking it open.

Christopher John Baker: I miss you.

Her fingers were trembling; her response was immediate.

Outgoing Text: I miss you too. Being home is hard…being away from you is harder.

Christopher John Baker: I wish you hadn't left.

Christopher John Baker: I'm going to Dylan's tonight so I'll be busy after 8, but can I call you before then? I just wanna hear your voice.

Outgoing Text: Call me now?

Christopher John Baker: I can't, I'm still at work but I'm off soon and will call before Dylan's.

Outgoing Text: I'll have my phone on me. I miss you already and today has been hard.

She hoped he'd inquire a bit more, but wasn't surprised that it seemed to be the end of the conversation. After all, just that morning, they'd agreed they probably wouldn't be in touch very often.

So much for that. She'd sell her van right now just to be in CJ's apartment, wrapped up warm and feeling loved.

With a heavy sigh, and knowing that all of this behavior was simply aggravating her own wounds, she opened up her photo gallery to gaze at a picture of CJ she'd taken one night last fall. He was shirtless, with a toothbrush in his mouth as he made a funny, crunched-up expression to the camera. He'd hated the photo…called himself scrawny (he was), pale (he was) and ugly (he wasn't)...but it made her smile every time she saw it. Now it made her smile and tear up a bit.

Maybe it wasn't too late to turn around and go back to Pullman.

Could she really wait around for CJ? Put all her plans on hold?

How long she sat staring at the photo, she couldn't say– when she finally snapped out of it, it was because her father's voice was carrying from the outside. A jovial, chatty tone with indiscernible words. He must be bringing Sue to dinner after all. Good. He wouldn't notice if she stepped away to take a call, then, if Sue was here to entertain him–

"Hey, Miss Perfect." Paul stood in the doorway, just behind Billy.

Rachel sat straight, flipping her phone over guiltily– Paul's eye tracked the movement, making her feel as if she'd been discovered looking at something obscene.

"Um– Dad?"

"Hey Rach! Saw Paul in town on my way home and he mentioned running into you earlier. I can't believe you didn't invite him over for dinner. Paul, you're always welcome here."

Rachel's cheeks pinkened. "Well, I wasn't sure if you'd want…"

"Hell, I love having some young people back in the house. Especially when I'm about to make the world's best grilled salmon…why wouldn't I want a bigger audience? Just hope you're hungry, kids."

"Billy, you know I'm always starving." Paul gave her father a warm look, but when his attention turned her way– it carried a heat of a whole different variety.

She pointedly looked away from him. "I made a glaze for the salmon, Dad. If you throw it on halfway through, it'll be perfect." She expelled a breath. "I'll get the veggies ready while you boys cook."

"I should be alright; why don't you let Paul help out in here?"
"No need. I got it."
She didn't miss the look that Billy and Paul shared, even if it was gone within a minute. "Alright, well…Paul, will you grab the filets? I'm going to go fire up the grill."

Paul lingered for just a second in the doorway as Billy made his way to the back patio's ramp. She felt the weight of his gaze. Her heart was pounding, her chest full of a feeling she wasn't quite sure what to do with.

With a smirk on his face, he asked, "Happy to see me?"

Purposefully flippant, she replied, "Nope."

"Are you mad?"

"Nope," she said, popping the 'p'- in a sudden rush, she realized she'd done that with him before…lording over him back in the day. He grinned widely, as if he was thinking the same thing. She swallowed, suddenly uncomfortable, and pushed back from the table. "I don't care who comes to dinner, Paul. I just know I don't need any help in here. If my dad can use your help, that's his business. Bring that glaze out with the filets, please."

He slipped away, hands full, without another word. She tended to her veggies and put out three glasses of water on the table.

As the vegetables cooked, Rachel meddled about the kitchen…idly flipping through mail on the corner ledge, until– a cell phone slipped out from the pile of junk papers.

Jake's cell.

It was dead.

Rachel swallowed, her throat feeling tight. Further evidence that the whole Jake story was weird and just…just weird. She couldn't say why. But why would he leave his phone? And how was he getting in touch with everyone? How did her dad know that he was okay, if his phone was here in the house? She tucked it back into the mail pile, feeling anxious and confused as she resumed stirring the greens.

When the meal was ready, the boys came in through the back door. Outside, the grey skies finally cracked and began to drizzle as they'd threatened to all day. She served asparagus and sauteed arugula onto three waiting plates, handing one to her father, then to Paul, to serve themselves the fish.

"After you," Paul invited, gesturing with an open palm toward the serving plate.

"You're the guest."

"Oh Rach, you'll wanna get in there before Paul," her dad warned, already wheeling toward their dining table with a full plate in his left hand. "He eats like a bear."

She raised a brow toward Paul.

"Big appetite," he supplied, the smirk still in place.

"Don't need to tell me twice," she mumbled. She speared a filet onto her plate, then stepped out of the way to watch as Paul helped himself to three salmon filets.

From the table just behind, her dad said, "I don't know, with a grilled piece this gorgeous…I'm thinking a cold one. You want one, Rach?"

"No, I'm good." In truth, Rachel only drank mixed drinks– and was a pretty good, casual bartender when the occasion arose. But she hated the taste of beer. "I can get you one though."

"You're the best, honey. Hey Paul, any interest in a beer?"

Rachel's response was immediate and full of censure. "Dad! He's a kid."

Paul's features twisted into a snarl immediately. "A kid? Do I look like a kid?"

She thinned her lips. "I don't care if you look like you're thirty– you're still a minor, Paul, and it's illegal to give a kid your age beer."

Paul drew himself to his full height– probably 6'6?- as if that would change her mind. His shoulders– expansive, gorgeous shoulders– were so broad when he stood straight up. With a tone equal parts annoyance and disbelief, he said, "You're really saying– you look at this, and think of me as a kid?"

"I think you're a seventeen-year-old with a freaky growth spurt, and nothing more." She'd be damned if she let some smug-ass high schooler try to intimidate her. Especially not over something that she was 100% in the right for.

"I'm eighteen," he snapped in reply. "I'm just as much an adult as you, if not more so." He gestured to her height, as if she was some kind of toddler.

In a low growl, she said, "You could be nine feet tall, Lahote, and it wouldn't change the fact that you're too young for a beer so sit down."

"Or what?" He stepped closer, towering above her. His face was dark, but now, with their proximity…she saw his eyes weren't sparked with annoyance, but with that hotness again. Her lips parted. How did he do that? How did those green eyes get so smoldering?

"Stop it, both of you," Billy said suddenly, speaking over his shoulder. "Rachel, please. Just get our guest a beer if he wants one?"

Another electric moment of stare-down before, blessedly, Paul broke it: "I don't need a beer," Paul intoned quietly, staring down at her. The smolder was relentless in those eyes.

"Good." She meant to sound victorious, but it came out surprisingly– gentle? His smolder softened into something even more tender, and her heart gave distinct double thump in response. She cleared her throat. Was it hot in here? She forced herself to look away from him. "Beer's coming right up, Dad."

The dinner conversation came quickly and flowed easily: Billy's most recent Coho salmon expedition, then the egg trays at the hatchery, then about Sue's store, and finally Paul's work with the Rez. Apparently Paul not only worked for Sam, but also had been working with the Housing Authority.

Billy inquired, "Any good prospects? I know you've been on the lookout for a new place."

"There's one over on Elmer Line; belongs to Buck Roffey?"

"Oh yeah, I know it. Buck's moving, isn't he? Has a daughter and a bunch of grandkids down on the Hoh Rez."

"You got it. Jacqueline says I'm first-in-line to get it when he's ready to go; it's a small place, only one bedroom-–"

"That's all a bachelor needs!" Her dad agreed enthusiastically.

"For now, it'll do the trick. I can always expand it later. I'm interested in learning construction." Paul took a big bite of salmon, glancing at Rachel. Was he trying to make a point about how grown-up he was? Why was he watching her so closely?

Her dad jumped in. "You hear that, Rachel? Paul's going to be a homeowner. Not bad!"

"Congratulations." Rachel meant it sincerely. Her mind drifted to the beds shoved together in her old childhood room. Embarrassment flushed her cheeks. "Getting your own place is a real accomplishment. You should be really proud of yourself."

Paul looked like she'd handed him an envelope of cash. With a surprisingly earnest tone of gratitude, he said, "Thank you, Rach."

Well, that was presumptuous. She cleared her throat, looking down at her arugula. She didn't usually allow near-strangers– especially conceited boys she'd lectured in high school– to call her such a familiar nickname, but after their little exchange in the kitchen, she thought her dad might get pissed if she made a big deal about it. Furthermore, she was getting the distinct impression that Paul enjoyed rankling her…and not in a harmless, obnoxious neighbor way. No, he seemed to….relish it in a playful, familiar way that she didn't quite understand.

She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. He'd gotten her goad too many times in the past five hours. So instead, she changed the subject. If she was going to be subject to his company, she might as well use it toward productive ends. "So, Paul– been in touch with Jake, lately?"

He suddenly looked wary at the mention of her brother's name. With a glance at Billy, he said carefully, "I've heard from him a couple times, yeah. He's doing fine."

"That's great. What's he up to?"
"Rachel," her dad said, sounding exhausted. He set down his fork.

"He's– uh, he's camping." Funny…earlier, Paul was unabashedly peeking at her every couple of minutes. Now, he fixed his attention on Billy. "He's doing good. Just getting over the whole…the whole, uh, thing with…"

"With Bella?" Rachel prompted, her tone deceptively helpful and sweet.

"Yup."

"So have you joined him at all on his little camp adventure?"

Paul shook his head, his jaw tight again. Rachel's eyes flitted between her dad and Paul. Both wore neutral, guarded expressions.

"How do you get ahold of him? Because actually, I noticed his cell phone on the ledge, over there– turned off, of course." She pointed toward the counter. "So I'm real curious as to how you all are so assured about his well-being."

Billy and Paul shared another look— this one was so long, that she started to wonder if they were telepathically communicating.

She took a bite of salmon, waiting patiently.

"Rachel," her dad finally said, breaking the silence to return her look, "there's a lot that's happened around here lately. It's a lot to explain."

"I have time, Dad. Fill me in."

Billy sighed, setting his fork down to rub his temples in exhaustion. "I don't think now's the time, Rachel."

Why? What had she done that made him doubt her ability to understand? Did he doubt her compassion for Jake, for a bad breakup? She was no stranger to heartache, to disappointment. Whether it was mourning a relationship, or a death, Rachel knew all about the disappointment of love lost. Was she as sensitive and huggy-snuggy as Rebecca? Maybe not, but she certainly could be empathetic. She glared down at her plate as the earlier feelings of frustration– of betrayal– started to rise in her gut. Or was it because she'd left, that suddenly she didn't deserve to know the truth of her own family? Why? Her father had been proud of her– he'd told her as much! – and now she was being punished, being deliberately kept on the outs.

"Billy…maybe…"

"Not now, Paul. Not yet." He didn't snap at him; he said it in that gentle fatherly way, as if this was a big adult secret and letting Rachel in on it required strategic care. And Paul had the privilege of knowing before she did. Her temper was boiling; she closed her eyes, breathing in through her nose.

Losing her temper wasn't going to win her anything; she was just going to feel even more humiliated, if she was to be scolded in addition to being kept in-the-dark. She set down her fork, and took a long drink of water while assessing the two of them over the rim of her glass.

"I don't understand," she said carefully, intent on keeping her temper leashed, "why you don't think I can handle it. If my brother is, indeed, safe….?" when they both nodded, after a pause, she continued, "If he is, then why won't you talk about it?"

"There's nothing more to it, Rachel," her dad said, practically pleading with her. "He's safe. He'll be back. It's as simple as that."

"Except that no one has access to him." And there's something you clearly are keeping from me, sharing all your secret looks.

"We do," Billy insisted. "We do. I can't tell you how– not yet– but I need you to trust that we know he's fine."

Trust? Trust the two of them? She was losing trust in everyone in this stupid town with every passing hour. Rachel closed her eyes again. "I feel so infantilized, right now."

"Ooh, that's a college word for sure," Paul said, maybe trying to lighten the mood, but it only served to make her more annoyed.

She clipped back, "Yeah, look it up sometime."

"Rachel," Billy said in that same warning tone, like she was a little kid or something.

She gave one last venomous look that mostly lingered on Paul. It was easier to direct her anger at him, even though she knew– deep down– it was Billy's secrecy that was most hurtful. But something about Paul…ugh, something about him just got her so wound up. He didn't get under her skin nearly half this much when she was younger; why was he so maddening now? And why was he even here? Her brother – apparently one of his new besties– wasn't even here.

Paul's returning stare was level and weirdly concerned. God. So relentless. So obnoxious. So good-looking. And arrogant. And sexy. Damnit. Rachel's neck felt hot. She pushed back from the table. "Y'know– I have to take a phone call. Excuse me." She dumped her half-eaten plate in the sink as she marched out of the kitchen with her cell phone.

No missed calls.

She sank down onto the damp wooden steps of the front porch, barely shielded from the rain by the overhand; not for the first time, she wondered if she should've stayed away from La Push.

7:43. Her thumb brushed over the illuminate time window. Why not call CJ? She could do that, right? There were no rules against it. And they'd already broken their (stupid stupid stupid) agreement not to reach out…so what was the harm?

She punched the speed-dial number that was his– 6– and waited as it rang. Rang, rang.

"Hi, this is CJ Baker. Leave me a voicemail and I'll be back to you." Beep.

She clicked the phone shut; she refused to let him hear her get emotional.

So instead, surrounded by the soft sound of the pouring rain, Rachel pressed her face against her sleeves and started to cry.

—-

A/N: I hope you all are still with me! I have most of the next chapter written- I was going to throw it in with this one, but then it would've been like forty pages annnnd I need just a bit more time to adjust the pace of the story I've planned so far. Things are going to start progressing for these two pretty quickly...angst and yearning and sexual tension ahead. :) I hope you're enjoying. Thanks for every comment that you guys leave me. I read them whenever I have a rough day- you all make me feel so supported. I appreciate the imprint-fanfic-lover community..you guys are simply fantastic. Love you and please leave me a review! I'll get the second chapter up soon—and more reviews help me get my butt in gear/my priorities straight! Ha!