Page 64 of Anti-Hero (Kensingtons: The Next Generation #2)

“It’s dangerous. You shouldn’t risk it, especially alone.” Shaggy glances around, like he’s hoping I’ll have a friend magically show up.

I have friends. I have lots of friends. But not one of them would do this, which is why I’m here solo. Gia’s idea of swimming is floating in a heated pool with a frozen margarita in hand.

Today isn’t very hot, and the sinking sun isn’t warming anything. The waning daylight adds a sense of urgency. Soon, this will be dangerous.

“I’ll be fine,” I say confidently.

“Idiotic, is what you are.”

My gaze snaps to Cap, like it’s been hoping for a reason to. I refuse to admit, even to myself, that’s probably the case. “You’re kind of an asshole.”

“You can drop the kind of ,” he tells me, unsmiling and completely serious.

“Where did you jump from?” I ask, glancing pointedly at his wet trunks.

“The edge,” he drawls.

I look at Shaggy. “See? He just did it, and he’s fine. Aside from the asshole thing, of course.”

“I’ve been bluffing since I was ten. How many times have you jumped off a cliff, princess?”

I scowl at Cap. I wasn’t talking to him . “None of your business, asshole.”

“That means none,” one of the other guys says unhelpfully.

“She’s a rich brat,” the girl comments. “They’ll send out the Coast Guard if she gets into trouble. Not our problem.”

“Nice, Cammie,” Shaggy tells her, shaking his head.

“What? If—” Cammie glances at me. “What’s your name?”

“Wren Kensington,” I state icily. For some reason, my eyes dart to Cap as I say it.

The furrow in his forehead deepens as a few of his friends mutter to each other, recognizing my last name.

My family’s well known in the Hamptons—well known everywhere. And they would send a search party after me. Probably several.

But I’m not incapable. Or idiotic . I wouldn’t be doing this if I wasn’t sure I could.

Deciding I’ve humored Shaggy’s genuine concern and the others’ mocking for long enough, I spin and stride toward the opening. No one follows or calls after me, which is a relief.

The rock’s surface is fairly flat, the few grooved indentations easy to step around. It extends about twenty feet before I reach the edge.

I stand there, staring down at the churning water. Fifteen feet looks like fifty from here.

But I never intended to look, then turn back, and it’s absolutely not an option now. The one upside to running into that crowd is, I know this is the right spot and that someone—two someones—jumped successfully today.

I glance left, at the beach that I’ll need to swim toward, mentally plotting my route to safety.

“You’re stubborn.”

The gruff statement startles me—something you don’t want to happen while standing near the edge of a cliff. An unattractive squeak sneaks out as I hop closer to solid ground and away from the approaching fall.

“You good?” Still husky, but there’s a softer note to his tone as he stops beside me.

“Yes. To both.”

I’m not sure, because he’s looking at the horizon ahead, but I think Cap rolls his eyes at my answer.

“You going again?” I ask.

“No. I’m supervising.”

It takes a second for his meaning to sink in. Once it does …

“Like fuck you are,” I growl.

He looks mildly amused by my annoyance. “Kitten’s got claws.”

I cross my arms and glower. “First princess , now kitten ? Are you president of the Stupid Nickname Club, Cap ?”

He rubs a palm along his jaw. I have a sneaking suspicion it might be to cover a smile, and I’m aggravated by how badly I wish I could see it.

“You can stop saying it like that,” he tells me.

“Like what?” I sass.

“Like it’s the dumbest word you’ve ever heard. And it has nothing to do with bottles. It’s short for Captain. I like boats.”

“You like boats,” I repeat.

“Uh-huh.”

He’s glancing down at the water, scrutinizing the choppy surface closely. Supervising , I guess, although I have no clue what he thinks he’ll be able to do once I jump. Control the current with his mind?

“What’s your real name?” I ask.

“Sawyer. How well can you swim?”

“ Really well.”

He looks at me then, lifting an eyebrow with obvious skepticism.

I hold his gaze. “I’m not modest, but I’m not a liar either. I also hate failing at things. I’m only doing this because I want to—and I’m certain I can. So, you can go .”

Sawyer’s chin jerks toward the clearing. “Boys are worried you’ll drown.”

Not the snide brunette, I note.

“And you’re not?”

“Birds can fly. Right, Wren ?”

I snort, attempting to ignore the silly flip that appeared when he said my name like a lilting taunt. Whenever I get home tonight, I know I’m going to lie in bed and replay the sound on repeat.

“What are you, some kind of ornithologist?”

“At least insult me with words I understand.”

I tilt my head as I study him. “You get underestimated a lot?”

There’s a brief flash of … something before his expression shutters back to neutrality. Enough of a reaction to tell me I hit a nerve.

“You’re stalling,” he states flatly.

“You’re deflecting,” I retort. “Or do you not know what that means either?”

“I see it happen all the time,” Sawyer continues like I said nothing.

“Tourists looking for a little thrill, sick of sitting around while their staff does all the work. They take a boat out during a storm or drive too fast, and we wind up having to risk our own necks or the cops get a ‘donation’ to look the other way.” He shakes his head, jaw clenched. “Fucking idiots.”

“Sounds like you have some issues,” I inform him.

“Just a short fuse for people with a lot of money,” he replies.

“I have a lot of money.”

“I know,” he says, dark and sardonic.

I spin and poke the center of his chest with one finger. It’s solid muscle. Sawyer doesn’t shift back a single inch.

“That doesn’t mean you know a damn thing about me.”

“You jumping or not, Wren?”

I like the way he frames it, like it’s my choice.

I love the way he says my name. Softer, missing the sharp, mocking edge from before. I’m unsteady again, and the vertigo has nothing to do with uneven footing or surprise.

I reach for the silver chain around Sawyer’s neck to anchor myself, using it to yank his head down closer to my height. Still, I have to rise up on my tippy-toes to reach his mouth.

My lips collide with a pair that is warm and soft. I run my tongue along the length of his lower lip, inhaling his startled exhale. Smile proudly because my initial impression of Sawyer is, he’s not someone who gets caught off guard often or easily.

“In case I’m about to die,” I explain, releasing his chain and patting his hot, firm chest.

Then I turn, run, and jump off the edge.

The plummeting fall from the bluff lasts just long enough for me to second-guess my decision.

Cool water closes around my head as I sink beneath the surface of the sea.

I savor the silence and darkness and weightlessness for a few seconds, then kick hard to the surface to inhale a deep breath.

Shout my success at the pastel sky overhead, the exalted sound getting lost in the whipping wind and splashing surf.

Another head breaks through the waves, about ten feet away, startling me. I blink rapidly at Sawyer as my limbs churn to keep me afloat, my eyes stinging with saltiness.

He jumped in after me .

I don’t know how I should feel about that, if it was a nonvote of confidence in my abilities, but I know how I do feel about it. Warmth spreads through my chest and into my extremities, chasing the ocean’s chill away as I tread water.

“Try to keep up,” Sawyer calls out, already starting toward shore with swift, precise strokes.

I jumped. I plummeted. I landed.

But watching him swim away is the strangest feeling.

Like I just started falling.