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“We're not negotiating,” I say, but I smile curiously. “What conditions?”

“You can't let him touch you. Not a kiss, not a hug, nothing.”

“Easy. The thought makes me want to vomit.”

Jordan's smirk is a perfect crescent moon. His eyes burn on me, searching mine as he talks while the ocean foam begins to tickle our feet from the tidal shifts. “I can't believe I waited so long to speak to you.”

“You waited?”

He hesitates, giving my hand a squeeze. “I've seen you around town.”

I think back to how he was dubious about my revealing outfit I wore to surprise Dezmond. Jordan had said something about never seeing me wear anything like it before.I guess he was aware of my existence before he bought those roses.

He says, “I rarely go anywhere beyond my house, the places on the beach where I jog. But I saw you at the parade two years ago, when your father won the lottery.”

I go rigid through to my bone marrow. “You did.”

“You were on that big red and gold float. You looked miserable.”

“That's what you remember?” I ask, laughing nervously. “Guess I made an impression.”

“You're not hearing me, Lorikeet. All the people were throwing confetti, cheering, clapping. Your parents were all smiles. Everyone was ecstatic … but not you. How could I not notice that?”

“Oh.”

“What made you so unhappy that day? I'd think most people would love winning that much money. I'd expect you to feel …”

I tug my hands from his. “Lucky? Yeah, that's what everyone said. They were calling from the second he went to turn the ticket in, even before the parade. Friends, strangers, they didn't wait to knock on our door and gush about how lucky we were.”

He's frowning to the point it pulls his jaw lower. “I see. They weren't actually happy for your family, I'm guessing.”

“You nailed it,” I snort. I turn, walk a few steps into the soft, soggy sand. The ocean tickles my ankles, the chill of it refreshing. “It didn't stop. All I wanted to do was hide under my bed, leave town … but Dad insisted we accept the invite to be in the parade. There was no talking him out of it. I tried, and he got so mad he just—” I grimace as I relive the violent memory. Jordan stares at me, judging me, so I turn fully away to hide my expression. “Anyway,” I say, making myself sound nonchalant, “That's why I was miserable that day. Now you know.”

“Look at me.”

Ignoring him, I take another step into the water. His hand closes on my shoulder from behind; I try to brush it off, but he whirls me around. I'm strong, but he's stronger. In this moment I don't want to fight. I'm burned out. I have been for days. Weeks. Months. Just a constant wearing away of my flesh and bone from one mistake to the next. Lucky? No. I was never lucky.

“I said look at me,” he growls.

With great effort I do. “What now?” I ask. “Will you kiss me to make me feel better? Try and make me forget all the bad things that I went through?”

“I'll do all of that and more,” he insists. His palms circle my elbows, steadying me as a wavecrashes against my hip. Ocean spray glistens on his chest, his temples, his hair. “I'll do anything you want, Lorikeet. You only have to ask me. Why won't you just ask?” He brushes my bottom lip, tracing the groove there. I shiver at the touch. “What sacrifice must I make to get you to believe in me? I promise, if the words come from your mouth, I'll do it.”

I stare him down, waiting for him to shy away. “Anything I ask, you'll do it?”

“Yes,” he promises.

Yes, yes, yes.

It repeats in my head like an echo trapped in a glass. I almost believe him. I'm on the verge of it, wishing Jordan would become my savior with just a word. But wishes aren't real. None of mine have ever come true.

Angling my face, I caress his lips with mine. “Ocean salt,” I chuckle.

Another wave slams against our bodies. It knocks me off balance, but not Jordan. He's unmovable as he pulls me to his chest, refusing to end our kiss. “You're right,” he says, smiling sultrily, “very salty. I like it. But I like you more.”

We kiss through a third wave, a fourth, until we're both soaked and laughing on our way back to shore. My toes connect with something in the fluffy sand. Squatting low, I dig around, then hold up the sea glass for him to see. “This is why I came here all the time. You can find beautiful sea glass.”

“Let me see,” he says, holding out his palm.