Page 72 of No One But Us

“Are you okay?” she asks.

My jaw grinds. “Yeah. Just arguing with my dad.”

“You want to talk about it?”

I attempt a smile. “I don’t have a vagina, Elle. Men don’t talk about their problems.”

She punches me in the shoulder. “I was just trying to make you feel better.”

“You can definitely make me feel better,” I tell her, pulling her so she’s flat on the bed. “But it won’t involve any talking.”

Chapter 42

ELLE

James cuts our next trip to the beach short. “If you want to stay at the beach longer,” he whispers, “you’ve got to stop wearing bikinis.”

He pulls me back to the house, making quick work of my clothes, his mouth tracing over every inch of skin he’s bared. I love everything about these minutes with him. I love the press of his mouth, the noises he makes when my hand slides into his boxers. I love the way he gasps just before he finishes. And I love lying with him afterward, the way his fingers trace patterns over my skin, his mouth ghosting over my face and neck as if I am something special instead of something temporary.

The air conditioner kicks on, and he bundles the blankets over us and pulls me tighter. I’ve never felt this warm and safe in my life. “I’m going to fall asleep like this,” I tell him.

“I wish we could fall asleep like this every night,” he replies, his voice heavy and slow.

* * *

The next time I open my eyes, the light in the room has changed. And someone is knocking on the door.

“James?” It’s Ginny, and her knocking gets louder.

He told her a few days ago about his plan to not return to law school, and she’s been like a dog with a bone ever since. It’s an annoyance I can live with under normal circumstances, except he and I are both completely naked at this precise moment, his leg thrown over mine, the duvet on the floor and the sheet up to our waists. “Can I come in?”

“Just a minute!” he shouts, his voice slightly strangled by panic. I’m already jumping out of bed, throwing on my shorts and T-shirt. He hands me my bikini and I run, opening the sliding glass door to his small deck. I’m a full story off the ground here, but if I can climb from his deck to Max’s, I can reach the stairs and get out that way. I’m suspended between the two balconies when I see Martin, our creepy neighbor, standing in the side yard with a big, shit-eating grin on his face. Given that I’m suspended mid-air, I really don’t have time to worry about the ramifications.

“Need a hand?” he calls.

I ignore him, landing on Max’s deck with a thud and running to the stairs. Martin’s waiting at the bottom when I get there, still smirking.

“What?” I snap.

“Quite the little soap opera going on over here,” he laughs. “I had no idea.”

“Shut up, Martin,” I try to move around him but he blocks me.

“So let me see if I’ve got this right. You’re sleeping with either Max or James, and the two of you don’t want anyone to know?”

“This is none of your business.”

“This is juicy gossip,” he argues. “So it’s important that I get my facts straight.”

“Please don’t say anything,” I plead.

There’s a gleam in his eye, one that tells me I’m not going to like whatever he has to say.

“What’s it worth to you?” he asks.

“Nothing.” I start to walk off, and he grabs my arm.

“Fine. Just give me that.” He nods to the red-and-white striped fabric in my hand.