Page 15 of The Time It Takes
TO YEARN WITHOUT ALTITUDE. TO BE OPEN WITHOUT ARMOR.
Ten years ago
Iwokeuptoa dark living room, lit only by the muted television. I rubbed my eyes before they searched the room and found everyone sleeping. My legs were laying over Dean’s lap and Phoebe was curled up in a ball on the recliner. Taylor settled in the place where Ben had sat earlier, which meant he must have gone to his room at some point.
I gently lifted my legs off Dean in an attempt not to wake him. I looked at the spot where Oliver was before I fell asleep, but it was empty. When I stood, I placed the blanket over Dean. His mouth hung open, yet Taylor was the one whose snore sounded around the room. I couldn’t fall asleep again if I wanted to with that ruckus.
I picked up some of the paper plates and empty beer bottles to throw away in the kitchen. I placed the leftover pizza in the fridge, knowing it’d be breakfast in the morning. The time on the oven caught my attention. It was 2 A.M., which meant I had to be up in five hours to teach a surfing class. I internally groaned at how tired I was going to be.
On the bright side, Phoebe had to suffer through it with me.
When I was walking back into the living room, a dim orange spark caught my attention through the window.
I bit my lower lip to stop the smile that wanted to form. Ignoring the thump in my chest at the sight of him, I slowly made my way toward the front door. The floorboards creaked and I swear they only did it at this time of night when you were trying to be quiet.
When I stepped outside, I found Oliver shirtless, sitting on the rail of the porch facing the beach with a joint pressed between his lips. The scent hit my nostrils a second later.
The sound of waves crashed against the shoreline, still raging from the storm. The sound encompassed the air and lulled me into a state of serenity. The wind gently tossed my hair around my face as my eyes rolled over Oliver. The moonlight reflected off his tanned and tattooed skin, the ink spaced across his body.
His hair was unkempt from sleep and demanded to be touched by my hands. I couldn’t remember a time when this boy didn’t make me a dizzy fool.
I watched as he French inhaled the smoke. It was admirable because I could never do it, no matter how many times I tried.
The screen door snapped closed behind me and yanked me from the daydreams of my best friend.
“Hi,” I said, my voice a groggy whisper. I cleared my throat as I approached him.
I rested my elbows on the railing beside him and I felt him look over at me as he let out a puff of smoke. I swatted it away as I brought my eyes to his. He gave me a tired smile that showed his dimples as he offered me the joint.
“Hey, Damsel.” His voice was low and sultry.
That damn nickname. I rolled my eyes half-heartedly as I took it. We sat in silence and it was the comfortable kind. The kind that warmed my skin and made me feel as if I was arriving home after a long day.
I handed the joint back to him after I took a small hit.
“I’m mad at you, you know.”
The corner of my mouth lifted. “What did I do this time?”
His eyes locked with mine as he lifted a playful brow that told me he wasn’t mad at all. Oliver had never really been mad at me before. I wasn’t entirely certain he was even capable of becoming angry at anything, or anyone.
“Because you went out there without me today,” he responded, jerking his head toward the ocean.
I narrowed my eyes at him, though I knew this was coming. “You knew there was a storm tonight you big baby.” A light chuckle escaped him. “You know the routine and besides, I tried to call you, but it didn’t go through. I figured your phone was dead.”
Oliver had always been the worst when it came to technology. He was the only person I knew who still had a flip phone.
“I think I might be out of minutes.”
I snorted. “You should consider joining the century, lad. I promise it won’t make you a dick,” I joked in a terrible accent as I stole the joint that was tucked between his lips. “A girl asks you for your number and you pull that thing out, you’ll send them running before you even state your name. It gives serial killer vibes.”
He shook his head, but laughed, running his hand through his tangled hair. “Serial killer vibes,” he repeated.
I hummed in agreement.
He sighed and gazed down at me in thought, tilting his head to the side. “It’s given me no trouble before,” he retorted, shooting me one of those devilish grins.
I took a long pull. “Whatever.” The word was muffled as white smoke poured from my mouth.
