The Holiday Kiss (Briarwood High Book 4) Page 8

  Oh God, if he ever so much as suspected I’d thought something like that, I would never hear the end of it.

  I steeled my expression, hoping he hadn’t noticed the way my gaze had lingered on his abs…or the way I may have drooled a little bit.

  In my defense, and despite Luke’s not-so-funny jokes, I was not an android. I understood what he’d been talking about with the “urges” and the “needs.” I might not be a normal teenage girl, but I was still a teenage girl. I had hormones.

  Judging by his cocky, knowing grin, he’d totally caught me gawking just like he had back at the pool. Ugh. He knew how hot he was and that was such a turn off.

  At least, that’s what I told myself as I backed away. He was already heading toward the water’s edge, but he looked back as he walked. “Aren’t you coming for a swim?”

  I shook my head, expecting him to continue on without me.

  At what point would I learn that Luke never did what I expected, particularly if it was what I wanted him to do. He turned back and walked toward me. I stopped shuffling backwards in the sand but I didn’t move toward him.

  He put his hands on his hips, looking like a male model or maybe Aquaman or something posing there in front of the ocean. “Come on,” he said. “It’ll feel good to cool down after that run.”

  I frowned at him—more precisely at his teasing tone. It had been exceedingly obvious that my idea of a solid workout was not up to his standards. But not all of us had time to devote to worshipping our bodies.

  Though I wouldn’t mind worshipping his body…

  What? No. Ugh, stop already. I blinked a few times, pointedly ignoring his smirk. What had he said? Right, swimming. “I’ll just, uh…” I gestured toward the hotel. “I’ll just take a shower.”

  “But the ocean’s right here,” he argued. “And it’s way more fun.”

  Arguable, but he didn’t seem to think so. I wasn’t in the mood to debate the matter. I didn’t want to swim with him, and more than that, I needed a moment to process. My head was still churning over bits and pieces of our conversation.

  I often thought of my brain as similar to my digestive system. Some input required more time to process. I always sifted through it eventually, sometimes breaking it down to the basest elements in order to fully comprehend, but sometimes it just took time for me to process.

  My mom says it’s because I’m thoughtful, but I’m pretty sure that’s her way of saying I’m an introvert. After being around people I need time alone to process what was said and done.

  Brandon had always understood that about me and gave me the space I required. One of many reasons we worked as a couple.

  But Luke? It was clear he was not about to let this drop. Why? I couldn’t say. Maybe if I’d had time to process I could come up with a hypothesis on why he was, as he said, fascinated by me, and why he seemed so insistent of spending time in my company.

  “Come on,” he said, “What’s the problem?”

  I gestured to my clothes. “I’m not wearing a swimsuit.”

  He gave me a look of disbelief. “It’s close enough.”

  It was. My exercise clothes could pass for a swimsuit in a crunch. But that wasn’t the point and I think he knew that. This guy might not be a competitor for valedictorian but I was starting to realize he was smarter than he looked.

  And not just book smarts. He was quick. He noticed things. He was an observer like me, but unlike me he wasn’t afraid to call people out and challenge them.

  That was not like me and I didn’t appreciate it. Right now, for example, I would have preferred to be in the company with someone mild-mannered and respectful, like Brandon, who wouldn’t take my hesitation as a reason to push harder.

  Luke took a couple steps toward me until it was absolutely impossible to ignore the golden bronze of his skin or the perfect muscles, or the way he smelled impossibly good after a workout, whether or not it was a hard one.

  “What are you afraid of?”

  I blinked up at him, my spine stiffening and my chin lifting automatically in response to the challenge in his voice. This guy was beyond irritating. Why couldn’t he just let things be? “I’m not afraid of anything, I just don’t want to swim with you.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Swim with me, or swim…period?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yes.”

  I glared at him but he made no move to back off or look away. “Maya?”

  His tone was too soft, too gentle. It set me on edge even more. “What?”

  He leaned in closer until he was in my space, blocking out the rest of the world. “Do you know how to swim?”

  Damn. I debated how to respond but my hesitation seemed to be answer enough.

  Something shifted in his expression and in his whole bearing. “Why didn’t you just say so?”

  I stared at him. Seriously? Because…this. I knew this would happen. He’d give me a hard time. He’d mock me for being so smart but not knowing something so basic as swimming. I turned to walk away. Sometimes when I was around Luke I forgot that walking away was an option. He had this pull—this way of drawing me into the challenge. When he was around, I was surrounded by his intensity and the world came down to that feeling, the give and take between us.

  He always seemed to know what to say to get my brain hooked too, which was the worst part. His words, his smug smiles—taken all together Luke Perona was like the human equivalent of a New York Times crossword for my brain.

  And I’m not exaggerating by much when I say New York Times crossword puzzles are crack for my brain. I could do them all day long if given half a chance.

  Somehow Luke had that same effect. He made me want to debate, to argue, to see different positions and analyze his thought process, like we were forever in a game of chess.

  But this time I walked away. I was forfeiting the game.

  Of course that didn’t fly.

  “Wait. Maya, wait up. Where are you going?”

  I didn’t spare him a glance as I trudged through the sand to our hotel. “To take a shower.”

  “Don’t walk away.” It was his tone that made me pause. He actually sounded…vulnerable. The cockiness was gone, and he sounded so surprisingly human. I slowed down and cast him a quick glance.

  He looked the same—still hot as hell—but that arrogant assuredness had been replaced by something far more earnest. “Come on,” he said. “Give me a chance.”

  I came to a stop at the gate to the hotel and pulled out my keycard. “A chance to do what?”

  “Let me teach you.”

  I stared at the keycard in my hands. Let me teach you. The words tumbled around in my mind. Let me teach you. “Why would you do that?” I asked the keycard. I couldn’t bring myself to look up again. He sounded so sincere but I swore if I looked up and saw that he was laughing at me I’d…

  Well, I didn’t know what I’d do. But there was a possibility I’d cry, and that was not a chance I was willing to take.

  I didn’t cry. Ever. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to start now. I didn’t even know where this was coming from. The fact that I couldn’t swim didn’t typically bother me. I didn’t even think about it much, to be honest. Yes, it looked fun for others, but then again, so did karaoke. That didn’t mean I was going to hop up on a stage anytime soon.

  It was his voice, I decided. A weight was crushing my chest and it seemed to be caused by his voice. Namely the fact that it was way too nice. Too concerned. Too caring. Too…intimate. No hint of teasing or mockery. That more than anything threw me.

  This was not the Luke I’d known forever. I didn’t recognize this Luke and I didn’t know what to do with him. I wasn’t prepared for this.

  He hadn’t answered me yet, and the silence put me on edge. My heart was in my throat. At this rate, I’d be puking in the cacti if this conversation went on much longer.

  I fumbled with the keycard, having to swipe it three times before the door clicked open. “I’m taking
a shower. I’ll see you later.”

  At least that’s what I think I mumbled as I opened the door and slipped inside. I fell back against the door as though I’d just come in from running sprints, my heart racing and my breath coming in gasps.

  “Are you all right?” My mom was packing a beach bag. She was getting ready to lay out on the beach, her favorite activity whenever we came here.

  I usually joined her so I could read, which was my favorite activity at the beach.

  “I’m fine,” I said, but even I could hear that weirdness in my voice. It was a little too high, too breathy.

  She narrowed her eyes at me. “Is your stomach still off?”

  I shook my head. “No.” Then it just sort of tumbled out. “Luke wants to teach me how to swim.”

  She didn’t show her surprise. My mom was a thousand times more expressive with her emotions than I was, but I think she tamped it down on purpose sometimes when she was dealing with me.

  She always did that when I was overly emotional. I think she just inherently knew that there were only so many emotions I could process, so if I was emotional, she couldn’t be. Otherwise who knew what might happen—I’d combust or something.

  Okay, I’d probably just throw up on her, but that first option sounded way more interesting.

  “Well,” she said finally when I didn’t speak. “That’s…nice of him.”

  I nodded. Too nice. I pushed away from the door. I didn’t want to think about Luke’s weird niceness or the way he’d seemed so interested in me during that run.

  I’m fascinated by you.

  Probably because he wanted more ammunition to mock me. Or maybe because he really did see me as some sort of anthropological study.

  I could understand that. I studied people that way all the time. But it was different being on the receiving end of that interest. And his curiosity didn’t feel entirely academic. It felt…intense.

  But then, everything about him was intense. Emotions roiled beneath the surface with him. That’s what that cocky attitude was hiding, and it was the reason he’d always made me uneasy even when he wasn’t outright mocking me.

  I blinked at my mom as that realization hit home. That was why I’d always been so uncomfortable around Luke. That’s why his intensity made me so unsettled. It was based in emotions.

  He might do a good job of hiding it all behind that easy smile and the obnoxious bravado, but underneath that he was a bubbling cauldron of emotions. That might be fine for some people, but it was toxic for me. It was no wonder he had such an unusual effect on me.

  “Honey, are you all right?” my mom asked again.

  I pushed away from the door as I nodded. I did feel better now that I had a logical explanation for this upset. I focused my gaze on my mother again. We hadn’t really spoken when she’d gotten home yesterday, since I was halfway asleep and recuperating from nausea. “Did you have fun with Patty last night?”

  My mom’s face lit up as she told me all about their great girls’ night out.

  By the time she was done, she’d also finished filling her bag with her beach needs—a book, sunscreen, towel, etc. and she was on her way out. “Are you going to join me?”

  I nodded. “I’ve got to shower first.”

  “Okay, hon, I’ll see you out there.”

  The rest of the day passed in a wonderfully normal way. Boring, almost, in its routine and simplicity. It was Christmas Eve and it was our tradition. Was sunning on the beach a traditional Christmas Eve? Maybe not. But it was ours and it was perfect.

  I didn’t catch sight of the Perona family and when I finally asked my mom about it, she told me that Patty had planned a day trip for her crew. They’d rented a car, it seemed, and were going to check out archaeological sites.

  My mom and I had done a guided daytrip to this same site and I remembered the museum, the pyramid bases. It had been fun for me at the time, but I was having a hard time picturing Luke and his brothers touring a historical site with the same enthusiasm.

  Luke would probably be itching for some sort of physical activity and I couldn’t imagine that his brothers would be any more patient with the lectures and exhibits.

  “Sounds…interesting,” I said.

  My mom nodded, but her eyes turned sad. “This is hard on them.”

  She wasn’t referring to historical tours.

  “I know,” I said. That’s all we said about that. That’s all that needed to be said. My dad left when I was twelve—long enough ago that we didn’t rehash the topic, but not so long ago that I didn’t remember.

  I turned my attention to my book to avoid any further conversation about the Peronas. I didn’t want to belabor the topic, and I didn’t want to think about how those kids were feeling right now.

  Or how Luke was feeling.

  Just touching on the topic in my mind made my heart constrict on his behalf. While my mom might like to indulge those sensations, I was not in the habit, and quite frankly, I didn’t see the point.

  My suffering on his behalf wouldn’t help him any.

  Besides, I was enjoying this time with my mom even more than usual now that I knew Luke wouldn’t wander past us on the beach. Or worse, interrupt my reading to harass me with questions I didn’t want to answer.

  “Bad book?” my mom asked. I’d thought she’d drifted off but although her voice was sleepy, she was watching me from where she lay on her beach towel.

  I shook my head. The book was fine. I hadn’t realized I’d been scowling at it so I eased my features to something more neutral.

  “Hon…” My mom’s voice was oddly tentative. “Did something happen between you and Luke?”

  I jerked in my beach chair like she’d just touched me with a cattle prod. “No, of course not. Why would you think that?”

  She shrugged but I saw her press her lips together—she was either trying not to laugh or uncomfortable about what she wanted to say.

  My mom was incredibly easy to read.

  Finally, she said, “I just thought…I don’t know. I thought maybe I sensed something between you two when I came home last night.”

  I shook my head. “He’s Luke Perona.” That was not the eloquent argument I’d planned and she arched her brows in response. She seemed to be waking up and her eyes were alert as they landed on me.

  “Yes, I know that, hon.” Her voice was amused and I let out an exasperated huff.

  “What I meant was—of course not, because he’s Luke Perona.”

  Stressing those words didn’t make them sound more eloquent. Before she could laugh again, I hurried on. “He’s the captain of the swim team. He’s spent the better part of my life making fun of me behind my back.” I had a memory of him calling out to me in the hallway just last week, making everyone think we’d hooked up or something. “Making fun of me, period.”

  I glanced over and saw my mom pressing her lips together again, but this time there was no doubt she was trying to smother a smile.

  “He’s pushy,” I added with far more force than necessary.

  “I see.”

  I frowned at her. “What do you see?”

  She smiled. “He pushes you.”

  My frown intensified into a glare. I hated when my mom messed with semantics. “That’s not what I said.”

  “It’s what I heard,” she said sweetly.

  I let out a huffing sound before turning back to my book. But I couldn’t concentrate. I snapped the book shut and turned to face my mom, who had her eyes closed once more, but I knew she wasn’t sleeping. “What were you implying with that comment?”

  She knew better than to prevaricate. Her gaze met mine and I saw a world of understanding.

  Wonderful. My mother apparently had all the answers and I was floundering in the dark…when it came to Luke, at least.

  She gave a half shrug. “I suppose I meant that it might be good for you to be around someone who pushes you.”

  I frowned again, but this time it wasn’t directed at my
mom. I was just trying to sift through her words. She knew me well enough to stay quiet as I did.

  “I don’t need pushing,” I said slowly. “You’ve said yourself numerous times that I’m the most highly motivated teenager you know.”

  She let out a little laugh, turning her face toward me. “You are, love. But I was referring to academics.”

  “Oh.” I thought that over. “So how do I need pushing?”

  She sighed and the sound was a little sad. It made me shift uncomfortably in my chair. I didn’t want my mom sounding sad at all, but definitely not over me.

  “This is one topic I can’t spell out for you, hon.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked quickly. This was not the time for my mom to start getting all mystical and wise. I needed answers, and my mom was the one who understood this stuff. Emotional stuff. This was how we worked. I explained things like how Wi-Fi worked and she explained the less cut and dry stuff…like emotions and high school politics and why girls in my class found Harry Styles attractive.

  She sighed again as she rolled over onto her stomach. Propping herself up on her elbows, she met my gaze head on. “Think of it like academics.”

  I tilted my head to the side and arched one brow in a look that clearly said Really? My mom knew very well how much I hated imprecise analogies.

  Her smile was filled with amusement, which was better than sad sighs on my behalf, I supposed, but not by much.

  “Seriously,” she said. “The only way you continue to learn and improve in science and math classes is by pushing yourself, right? If you just kept taking basic algebra over and over you would never improve.”

  I stared at her. “And this has to do with Luke how?”

  She outright laughed then, dropping her head into her hands for a moment before lifting it to meet my gaze. “I’m proposing that perhaps being around someone so different from you is forcing you to experience new insights.” Her gaze met mine and her amusement was tempered with love. “Where that will lead, I don’t know. But trust me that it’s for the best. You might be able to learn a thing or two if you let him in.”