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Chapter Four

Vivienne

A t dinner, Brooke introduces me to her friends; Maxwell, a senior at Creole public and the best friend of her ex-boyfriend. He’s handsome, tall and lanky, with curly dark hair and stunning hazelnut eyes. While yes, he is hunky, he’s also boisterous and loud, and not my type.

Next to him is Alexander, also a senior at Creole public.

He’s the first boy I’ve met with long hair, which is tied up in a bun on the top of his head, a few messy strands hanging down.

Fair skin, blonde hair, blue eyes–Alexander looks like he could be my brother in some ways, and therefore, there is zero attraction.

On the other side of me sits Fabian, short but muscular–probably the most muscular boy I’ve ever met. He has a long term girlfriend, which he announces the minute we meet.

On his side is a handsome boy named Reed, one whose eyes are a kaleidoscope of blues, framed in round tortoise shell glasses, whose dark hair sits in a messy but also somewhat neat coif.

He’s slightly sullen, and very quiet, and his broad shoulders speak to the body of a man, but, according to Brooke, he’s older, in his first year of college.

Reed attended Dulce Academy, the school which I have been enrolled in, but graduated last year.

Reed makes my stomach flutter, and through dinner, I catch him eyeing me more than a few times. And unlike the other three guys at the table, Reed doesn’t look at the top of my corset dress where my breasts bubble up in abundance, or at my gold cross getting pinched in my ample cleavage.

I catch him looking at my face, my eyes, studying the gold waves of hair that float over my shoulders. And every time I catch him, he doesn’t hurry to look away. His ocean eyes hold mine, and I’m the one break first.

Brooke splits the bill a few ways and we all chip in, with Maxwell suggesting we stop by the corner market on the way down to the beach.

“We’ll get some beers and maybe even a bottle.

” He elbows Alexander as we filter out of Arcane's, the two of them ahead of Brooke and me, with Fabian and Reed behind us.

Alexander nods. “Yes, definitely a bottle.”

I tip my head toward Brooke, trying to keep my voice low. “I don’t really drink.”

Brooke links her arm through mine. “You don’t have to. But that’s kind of what the bonfire is about. Having some drinks and dreaming what the year will be like, wondering where it will take us. The booze just adds a fuzzy layer of fun.”

I’ve had a flute of champagne once, and a sip of a Bloody Mary.

But beyond that, I’ve never pushed to explore alcohol or teenage drinking.

It’s not because it’s illegal–I’m not that much of a goody two shoes–it’s just that back at Dover, my friends weren’t into that scene.

We were more of the girls who rented Mean Girls and box dyed each other’s hair on a Friday night.

I glance over my shoulder at Reed, whose eyes are already on mine. My stomach flutters, and desire throbs between my legs.

“Yeah,” I say to Brooke, “that sounds fun. I’ll try it.”

She beams. “That’s the spirit!”

The four boys go into the liquor store, and I peer back to make sure they aren’t looking and can’t hear me before facing Brooke. “How do they buy alcohol if they’re underage?”

She smirks. “Reed has a fake ID.”

I nod, heat creeping up my cheeks at the mention of his name. Brooke slaps my shoulder, tossing her hair over her shoulder. There are only traces of purple on her lips, most of the color worn from eating. “You like Reed.”

“What?” I balk, rearing back a bit with an audible psh. “I don’t.”

She levels her eyes on me. “Vivienne Marie Lane,” she deadpans, “yes you do.”

I erupt in laughter. “My name is not Vivienne Marie Lane.”

She giggles, too. “I know. But I don’t know your full name but this was a full name moment because you totally want Reed.” She leans in, lowering her voice. “You want Reed to pop your cherry,” she taunts playfully.

At just the mention, though it’s conversation, teasing and definitely not erotic, my groin pulses.

When I glance inside the store and catch a glimpse of Reed, my breasts ache and my nipples harden.

I swallow my mouth full of saliva and turn back to Brooke.

I lied to dad and Maribel, but I’m not going to lie to Brooke.

“He’s so hot, and I think he keeps looking at me. Have you seen him looking at me or am I totally just completely self-involved and delusional?”

Brooke looks at Reed then back to me. “He totally wants you. I’ve never seen Reed look at anyone the way he’s been looking at you.”

“Maybe I’ll sit by him at the bonfire,” I say, testing the idea on Brooke because I don’t know if I’m on base or not.

She nods. “Yes, sit by him, have a drink, enjoy the sunset and… just see what happens.”

I smile. “I’m glad we met. I mean I know we’ve only been friends for a few hours but honestly, thank you. Moving senior year sucks, but you’re helping.”

Brooke wraps me in a hug. “I can already tell we’re gonna be besties, even if we go to different schools.”

The boys filter out of the store, a plastic bag hanging from one of Reed’s hands, an eighteen pack of beer dangling from the other.

“Bonfire time,” Brooke beams.

Around eight, I text my dad and Maribel that we’re at Brooke’s place, she’s showing me her shoe collection and we’re listening to music. Dad doesn’t reply, but Maribel tells me to have fun, and that it’s Friday night, and there’s no rush to get home .

Guilt eats at me when I stare at the text message.

So many lies in one day after so many years without any.

A breeze rolls in off the water, tossing strands of hair across my eyes.

I burrow my feet deeper in the sand despite its coolness, because I like the way it feels.

The bonfire heat laps at my calves, and radiates over my face.

“Bad conversation?” The two words rumble through me, and I look up to see Reed in the low-slung seat next to me, the flames dancing in his glasses. He takes them off, stuffing them in the breast pocket of his faded t-shirt.

My stomach clenches at his proximity. He is one of those guys that you could call beautiful.

He could be a model, or a movie star. Muscled arms, sharp jaw, golden hair–he’s absolutely the most handsome, beautiful man I’ve ever met.

It’s hard to believe he’s only twenty with such a disciplined, built physique.

The pulsing between my thighs intensifies as he moves his chair flush against mine.

Our knees brush, and arousal blooms at my seam.

I’m shamelessly horny, and with two beers in me, I’m also very buzzed.

I shove my phone away, focusing only on Reed.

“I lied to my dad. I told him I was going to Brooke’s but I came here instead.”

Boldly, Reed reaches over, peeling a piece of my hair from my lips, where it was stuck in gloss.

His blue eyes trace the cupid’s bow on my upper lip before finally lifting to meet my gaze.

“I get it,” he says, his voice raw, the soft crushing waves in the distance a beautiful contrast to his roughness.

“Yeah?” I ask, ignoring the dull laughter from the other side of the bonfire. “You lie about where you are tonight?”

His full lips pull into a small but intoxicating grin. “I’ve been lying about where I’ve been all weekend,” he says. “But see? I’m not stealing cars or selling drugs. And neither are you.”

“Nope,” I say, taking the vodka bottle that Brooke passes me, her focus on Alexander.

With my eyes on Reed’s, I take a drink, and pass it to him.

He takes a drink, too, and our eyes idle together with an intensity I know isn’t in my head.

He passes the bottle to Fabian, then says, “sometimes, parents are better off with a lie than the truth, because the reality they create in their heads can be scary.”

At that comment, I smirk, because if I told my dad I was going to a bonfire on the beach with a bunch of people I’d never met until today, he’d freak out. He’d warn me about sex trafficking, drowning, and god only knows what else.

But I've had my feet in the sand for the last hour, and no one around this circle has so much as said a single curse word.

“You’re probably right about that. I still feel bad.”

He swallows, and I hate myself for it, but I watch the thick knot in his throat bob as he does. His hand grips the armrest on my little chair, his pinky grazing my thigh. “Do you feel bad because you’re a good girl?”

Good girl . I’ve read it before. Heard it in movies, too. I never understood it, the allure, the appeal, the arousal. But Reed asking me if I’m a good girl changes everything.

I nod. “I am.”

His tongue sweeps over his bottom lip. “How good?”

Everyone chats around the fire, and when I glance around, I see none of them are even looking at us. I face Reed, my heart palpitating at the way he intensely focuses on me.

“Good,” I breathe. “Honor classes. Straight A’s. ”

He reaches past my chair to the end of my gingham dress, tracing the hemline with his thumb and forefinger. “How else are you good?”

My face tingles and I’m more aware of my cleavage than ever before. I want Reed to look. I want him to look at my chest and desire me, and I want his hand to slip under my dress and touch me.

But we’re with friends. None of that will happen here. I pluck my beer from the sand and take a drink. He watches me, and I’m pretty sure he makes a noise, one that stays in his chest but a deep rumble of desire nonetheless.

“This is my first time drinking,” I admit. “Like, really drinking more than a sip or champagne with my dad.”

“Hmm,” he acknowledges my response with a rumble, finishing his own beer. “How else?”

I chew the inside of my cheek, my clit throbbing with need. I’m so going to rub one out in Maribel’s guest room tonight. God, I am so horny it’s almost pathetic.

“I don’t know… I guess, that’s all.” I finish my beer. “I worked at a non-profit, you know, for my college applications.”

Suddenly Reed rises, outstretching his hand to me. “Do you want to take a walk on the beach, and go see the alcove?” He outstretches his arm, pointing off into the distance where a cluster of rocks lead to a small alcove off the shore. “It’s a bad girl thing to do, since the alcove is roped off.”

He looks at the group, and Brooke catches my eyes. She winks, returning her focus to Fabian and Alex. Sliding my hand in Reed’s, we drift away from the bonfire, toward the edge of the water, letting the warm ocean kiss our feet as we walk.

“We’re holding hands,” I say, feeling stupid the moment I say it.

“Do good girls not hold hands?” he asks, smiling down at me, the edge of his glasses poking up from his shirt.

“I never have but I like it.”

He stops us in the sand, the ocean pooling around our ankles as the tide rolls in. “Never held hands?”

I shake my head. “Nope. Never had a boyfriend.”

The beers burn in my veins, unlocking my reservations, setting free my fears. With the sound of laughter far off, I lift our joined hands and place his palm over my breast, my chest heaving. “Never been touched at all.”

He’s a stranger.

I have to go home soon.

Sex on the beach is probably painful.

We could get caught.

This is a public beach.

This is a bad idea.

Those are all the things that float through my mind right before I say, “touch me. And please, let me touch you.”