“Ha. Yes, he does...”

“But that’s not why, or that’s not all of it.”

“Then what is it? Why am I here?”

Sam was quiet for a minute, then asked, “Why do you think?”

I glanced over her shoulder, my eyes resting on the magnificent view behind her. The entire back wall of the suite was glass and overlooked the beach. The house was some feet above sea level. If I’d been standing I would see the white, sandy shore. But from this vantage point, all I saw was blue sky kissing the blue ocean at the horizon.

“I think,” I started, deciding to speak my thoughts out loud as they occurred to me. I needed to talk this through with someone and I needed to get out of my own head because I couldn’t get any further than, This makes no sense!

“I think he wants someone to be nice to him,” I blurted.

I brought Sam back into focus, saw her surprised expression, but then something like contemplation gripped her features.

I continued. “I think he’s tired of people judging him or making assumptions about who he is based on who his family is. I think he wants someone to be nice to him, like him, and show interest in who he is because he’s Martin, just Martin, and not because of who is family is, how much money he has…or what he looks like.”

“That sounds…well, actually, that sounds plausible.”

“I wonder,” I propped myself up on my elbow, facing Sam and mirroring her position on the bed, “maybe he really just wants a friend. I think I could do that for him.”

Her eyes narrowed on me. “I don’t think he wants you to be his friend.”

“But that’s what he needs,” I said, wrinkling my nose. “I think he trusts me because I don’t want anything from him. I think he just really desperately needs someone to talk to, someone who is on his side, and he’s confusing trust with…lust.”

Sam smiled her amusement, her eyes dancing over my face. “Or he’s confusing lust with trust.”

I rolled my eyes and fell back to the bed, again staring out through the skylight.

“But seriously,” she started, paused, then took a deep breath, “he’s kind of possessive of you, right? Like, how he stared down Ray in the limo. And I thought he was going to bite Griffin’s arm when he touched you while we were on the boat. It seems especially strange since you two aren’t even really together yet.”

Yet… O.o

“It is weird. I’m glad you said something because I wondered if I was just overreacting. And it’s all so fast.”

“No, not really. You’ve been lab partners for almost two semesters. From what you told me about your conversation with him against the pool table last night, for him, I think this relationship—in some form—has been going on for months, not hours. I suspect he’s been thinking about you far more than you realize.”

I covered my face with my hands. “How do I survive this? How am I going to get through this week? He needs a friend and all I can think about is doing very bad things to his body.”

“You’re starved for physical intimacy. He’s starved for emotional intimacy. Maybe you can help him and help yourself.”

“I don’t want to use him like that. I think his whole life people have been trying to use him.”

“I’m not talking about sex, Katy. I still don’t think you’re ready for that. You have a big heart and it would definitely get in the way of a no-strings arrangement. I’m just saying, there’s nothing wrong with fooling around a little with a guy you’re attracted to. Maybe…,” Sam reached for my hands and pulled them away from my face. She then lifted her eyebrows and gave me a pointed look. “Maybe you can help each other.”

CHAPTER 8

Bond Polarity and Electronegativity

Sam spent the night with me. Having her there helped. But despite the heavenly bed and the sound of the ocean in the background, I didn’t sleep very well.

Sam and I hadn’t joined the boys for dinner. Instead we opted to sit on the balcony overlooking the sea and study. This was my idea. I needed more time to think, to consider, to plan my next move with Martin. I was certain he needed a friend much, much more than he needed a girlfriend, now I just needed to convince him of this fact.

Mr. Thompson stopped by to check in and make sure everything was to our liking. I asked about having dinner in the suite and he said he’d pass the message along. One of the maids brought us dinner. Her name was Rosa and she reminded me of my paternal grandmother; her big smile was sweet and she promised us cookies if we ate all our vegetables.

She also brought me a note from Martin. In his scrawling, masculine, chaotic script it read:

Parker,

I’ll be down at the beach tonight. Come find me.

-Martin

I was relieved he didn’t come by or press the issue of me taking dinner in my room. I needed space and time and…basically all the known dimensions available to me, maybe even the assistance of invisible dark matter. I wasn’t ready for a moonlight stroll on the beach with Martin yet. The sky had too many stars to be anything but fatalistically romantic.

After eating, Sam and I studied some more. I opted for the giant shower with seven heads—despite the fact the bathtub was the size of a small swimming pool—then worked on a term paper until midnight when we went to bed.

It was early when I woke, the sun just making an appearance and the light still soft and hazy. I pulled on my bathrobe and walked to the window, wanting to catch the purples and oranges painting the sky before it surrendered to blue.

I got my wish and then some. The view was epically spectacular. The white sandy beach and calm water called to me in a way I’d never experienced. Suddenly, I wanted to go swimming. Right that minute. I needed to leave the manufactured luxury of the big house. The genuine beauty of nature called to me.

I quickly changed in the bathroom, careful to lather myself in super high SPF, and grabbed two oversized beach towels.

I also packed a canvas bag with a leftover bottle of water from the night before, my current book, a big hat, sunglasses, and other beach essentials. I exited out the balcony door and picked my way down the path to the beach. The path consisted of ten stone steps and a hundred feet of the finest, softest sand I’d ever touched.

Once there I dropped my belongings, discarded my T-shirt, cotton shorts, and flip flops, and walked into the salt water. The water was crystal clear, the temperature cool and refreshing, and was nearly as calm as a lake. It felt like heaven.

For at least an hour I floated, swam, searched for shells, and just generally enjoyed the alone time with my thoughts in this beautiful place. When my fingers became prunes, I reluctantly abandoned the water for the shore.

I arranged one of the towels under the shade of a big palm tree and rolled the other towel into a pillow for my head. Then, I read my book, drying in the sea air, and lazing about like a lazy person. This was the kind of unscheduled relaxing I’d embraced since starting college.

I was maybe four pages into my novel when I heard the noise; it was a chant—faint then louder—of baritone voices. Lifting onto my elbows, I set my book to one side, holding my place with my thumb, and peered around for the origin.

Then I saw them. All nine of the boys—looking remarkably like men—out some distance from shore; far enough away I couldn’t quite make out individual faces, but close enough I could plainly see they were all shirtless. And it ought to be noted that they should always be shirtless. In fact, they should be disallowed from wearing shirts…ever.

They were rowing, their boat flying over the water. I strained my ears and realized they were counting backward from ten.

I followed their progress, marveling at how they moved so quickly and with seemingly so little effort in perfect unison. I wondered what that must be like, being part of something so perfect, so harmonious. It was…well, it was beautiful.

The closest I’d ever come to something like that was playing my music, losing myself on the piano, or jamming with my Sunday night bandmates. But we weren’t perfect. We were far from harmonious, however sometimes we’d have a good night where everything felt right and effortless, like we were flying on the music we’d created together.

Just as suddenly as the rowers appeared they were gone. The boat went around the edge of the cove and their chant grew fainter, farther away. I stared at the spot where they’d disappeared for a minute then reclined back on my towel, watching the horizon.

“Holy crap. That was something.”

I turned my head slightly and found Sam standing on the beach, her hands on her hips, and her attention focused on the bend of the cove. She was wearing an itsy bitsy bikini that showed how hard she worked on her tennis game.

“Hey, you there. Good-looking female,” I called to her. “Why are you up?”

“Because I bought this damn bikini last year and this is my first chance to wear it.” She sauntered over to where I reclined and spread out her towel. Her spot was somewhat in the sun, but I doubted she minded the opportunity to tan. I didn’t want to take the chance of blinding someone, so I liked my spot in the shade. With my paper-white complexion, the glare off my thighs would likely burn retinas.

She turned to me to say something else, but then the chanting became audible again. Sure enough, the boat came back into view. Eight muscled rowers sweeping the water with their oars, Lee at the stern facing Martin. Their arms and shoulders flexing, their stomachs and backs rippling. The movement of their bodies was as mesmerizing as it was arousing. This time they were close enough I could almost see their facial expressions, see the sweat rolling down their necks and chests.