Heat of the Moment (4 page)

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, just that sometimes you don't pay attention to what's going on.”

“Yeah,” I say. “And sometimes
you
pay
too
much attention to what's going on.”

She opens her mouth to say something, but then she must realize what I'm really talking about. Our fight. The way she told my secret, how she almost cost me my relationship with my mom, how she might be the reason I haven't talked to my dad in over two years

“Whatever,” Quinn says. She disappears into the bathroom again. When she emerges, she's wearing her bathing
suit and cover-up, along with the beaded flip-flops and a floppy brown hat. The hat looks ridiculous. But Quinn has fair skin (to go along with those gorgeous blue eyes), and she burns really easily.

“I like your hat,” I say, just to be a brat.

But Quinn either doesn't get the sarcasm or doesn't care. She starts taking her clothes out of her suitcase and refolding each piece carefully before placing them in the top dresser drawer.

“You're unpacking?” I ask.

“Yes, Lyla, I'm unpacking. It's what one does when they get to a place they're staying. Most people don't throw their things around like hooligans, even though I'm sure it's just so tempting.”

I want to tell her it's ridiculous to unpack your things at a hotel, that nobody does that, especially if they're only staying for a few days, but I'm not sure if it's true. Am I the weird one? Does everyone unpack their things at a hotel?

There's a beep as someone slides their key card into our room door. The handle slides down and Aven walks in. She looks around the room. I glare at her, wanting to show my displeasure over the fact that she made us roommates. But if she has any embarrassment about it, she doesn't show it. In fact, she doesn't even try to hide her happiness. Her cheeks are all rosy and her hair is a little tangled and her eyes are bright. Her skin looks flushed, like maybe she ran up the stairs to get here.

She sees that Quinn and I have each snagged a bed, and I brace myself for a fight. Well, if she pitches a fit about it, there's no way I'm going to take the cot. Aven should take it, as punishment for putting us all in this mess. Not that it would be a big deal for me to take the cot—I'll probably be spending most of my time with Derrick in his room, anyway. (Well, once we make up from our fight.) Now that I know I'm rooming with Aven and Quinn, there's no way I'm going to be able to have this room to myself. I'm not asking them for any favors.

We'll just have to use Derrick's room. It shouldn't be a problem, even though Beckett's here now. In fact, Beckett owes me for getting me in trouble with Derrick, so he'll probably be happy to let me and Derrick have the room to ourselves for a few hours. A few hours? Is that how long it will take?

Not the actual sex part. I mean, I know that won't take a few hours. Will it? That seems rather unpleasant. But you'd think we'd have dinner or something first, like out on the balcony. Ooh, maybe by candlelight! Derrick will order up some lobster or something from downstairs (is there even a restaurant downstairs?—I make a mental note to check), and it will be fresh from the ocean and we'll sit on the balcony and eat and smell the salty air.

He'll have ordered chocolate cake (my favorite) for dessert, but by the time we're done eating our main course,
there will be way too much anticipation, and I'll be all, “Let's just skip dessert, don't you think?” and then his eyes will get all bright the way they do when he's excited, and he'll take my hand and lead me into the bedroom and then—

“I guess I'm taking the cot,” Aven says, not sounding put-upon at all. She drops her things on the cot, then stands in front of us and twists her hands together. “I just want you guys to know that I'm really happy we're all rooming together.”

Quinn and I stare at her blankly.

“I think we could all benefit from spending some time together,” Aven goes on. “I know that our misunderstanding got out of hand, but with graduation coming up, I think it might really be time to move past it.”

I can't help but laugh. “That's what you think it was? A misunderstanding?” Yeah, if a misunderstanding is your two friends taking something you told them in confidence and then almost ruining your whole life when it turned out they couldn't keep their mouths shut.

“I know your feelings are still probably really hurt, Lyla,” Aven says, her tone getting serious. “But Quinn and I never meant to hurt you.”

“Don't speak for me,” Quinn says.

I glare at her. “So you did mean to hurt me?”

“Whatever,” Quinn says. “I don't want to do this. I don't even
care
about this. It takes up, like, this amount of space in
my mind.” She picks up her fingers and holds them about a centimeter apart, to show us just how little she thinks of it. And then, without saying anything else, she turns and walks out of the room. A second later, she peeks her head back in the door.

“Keep your hands off my stuff, Aven,” she says. “I know you like to borrow people's things.” She gives us this really big fake smile and then walks out.

Aven's lip quivers for a second, like maybe she's going to cry. “Lyla,” she says. “Can we just—”

I hold my hand up. “No,” I say. “Let's make this easy. I didn't want to forgive you then, and I still don't want to forgive you now. So save whatever dumb thing you're about to say.”

Her eyes fill with tears, but she shakes them off. “Forget it,” Aven says bitterly. “Just forget it. I was stupid to think that maybe you'd changed even a little bit.”

“
Me?
” I say. “I'm the one who has to change?”

“You don't get it, Lyla. You really don't. In fact, you're just as selfish as you used to be.” Then she turns and walks out the door, slamming it behind her.

I sit there for a second, stunned. How did this happen? This morning everything seemed so . . . I don't know,
possible
. I was going on a senior trip to sunny Florida to lose my virginity to my boyfriend who loved me. Now I'm in a big fight with said boyfriend and stuck in a hotel room by
myself. A room I have to share with my two ex–best friends. It's ridiculous.

I pick up my phone and think about calling Juliana. But I'm really not in the mood to hang out with her, especially not after the comment she made on the plane. But if I don't hang out with Juliana, then who am I supposed to hang out with? After Aven and Quinn and I stopped being friends, it was hard to make new ones. It wasn't like I could just insert myself into someone else's group. They'd all built memories and stories and private jokes and connections. I started dating Derrick pretty soon after my fight with Aven and Quinn, and then I was spending so much time with him I guess I never really had to worry about replacing them.

I pick up my phone just to double-check that Derrick hasn't texted or called. No texts. No missed calls. Should I text him? Or call him? Or maybe I should just go and see him. What was his room number again? I think he said 145.

Of course, that would be presumptuous, since he basically told me to leave him alone. Unless I wore my inappropriate bathing suit. That might cause him to decide he was done thinking about things with us, that he'd had enough time to ruminate over my lies. I pull my bathing suit out of my bag and lay it out on the bed.

Beckett will be there,
a little voice in my head whispers.

So what? I don't care if Beckett sees me in my bikini. I mean, I was planning on wearing it in front of all those
strangers on the beach. Beckett's probably not even in his room, anyway. Derrick probably punched him as soon as he got there. He was probably like, “You need to stay away from my girlfriend, Beckett!” and even though Beckett has no interest in me, like, whatsoever, that won't stop Derrick from knocking him out.

The thought of two guys fighting over me is kind of exciting. I know violence is never really the answer, but—

There's a knock on the door, and I spring off the bed.

Derrick!

I smooth my hair down and then arrange it over my shoulders so that it falls perfectly around my face.

I throw the door open.

But it's not Derrick.

It's Beckett.

“Hey, Pink,” he says, and leans against the door frame. “What's good?”

I WILL NOT LOOK AT HIS BICEPS, I WILL NOT
look at his biceps, I will not look at his biceps. I keep repeating this to myself, like a mantra. Because the way Beckett is standing, with his arm against the door frame, is making his biceps look all kinds of muscular and delicious.

Okay. Deep breaths. I need to get him out of here as soon as possible. Yes, he did me a favor by bringing me to the airport this morning, but he also really screwed things up by sending me that note. Who does something like that?

“What do you want?” I ask, making sure to keep my voice clipped.

He shrugs. “To make sure you got your stuff okay.” He pushes by me and into the room. “Nice room,” he says, looking around.

“I'm sure it's the same as yours.” I don't shut the door, because I don't want him to get the idea that he can just
stay here, like,
lingering
. He needs to leave. What if Derrick comes by? That would be disastrous. I poke my head into the hallway and make sure no one saw him come in. Phew. Coast clear.

“No, it's different.” Beckett crosses the room and walks right out onto the balcony. “Nice view,” I hear him say.

If he thinks I'm going to follow him out there, he's mistaken. He's like a dog—if you reward him when he's acting up, he'll think he can get away with it. A few seconds go by, then half a minute, then a minute, then two. What is he
doing
out there?

“Well,” I say real loud. “Thanks for checking on me, but I'm kind of on my way out.”

“What?” he calls. “I can't hear you from out here.”

I take a deep breath in through my nose and out through my mouth. It's a trick I learned in a yoga class I took last year. It was a phys ed elective, which was kind of a joke. It's impossible to feel relaxed and Zen when you're sitting in the disgusting-smelling gym with boys playing basketball on the other side of the divider.

“I said I'm on my way out,” I call. “So I'll have to see you later.” It's a lie, of course. I don't plan on seeing him later. Why would I want to see him later? Do I want to see him later? God, this trip is really not off to a good start.

“But you're seeing me now,” he calls back. He sounds legitimately confused.

Well. Whatever. I'm not going out there. He can just sit there on the balcony as far as I'm concerned. Forever and ever. I'm not going to be following him around like some kind of sick puppy. I'm sure that's what he's used to, from all the stupid girls he's dated. He's probably convinced I'm going to come running out after him. Ha! Well, he definitely has another thing coming.

“So I noticed you have an inappropriate bathing suit laid out on your bed,” he calls. “Are you planning on wearing that anytime soon?”

I run out onto the balcony.

“What?”

He's leaning over the side, inhaling the fresh air. A palm tree rustles in the breeze, sending the smell of sand and beach and ocean through the humid air. I cannot believe I am in this beautiful place and this is what I'm dealing with.

“Look,” he says, turning around. “I'm not judging you or anything. I just think that if you're using that bathing suit to get attention from guys, you're going to attract the wrong kind of guys.”

“I don't need to attract attention from guys,” I say. “I have a boyfriend.”

“And you have to use a skimpy bathing suit to get his attention?”

“No!”

He frowns. “Then you
do
want to get attention from other guys?”

“No!” I take a second to gather my thoughts. “I'm wearing the bathing suit for me.”

“For you?”

“Yeah, you know, to feel good about myself.” It's a canned answer, obviously. There's no way I would wear a bathing suit like that just to feel good about myself. No one feels good about themselves in a bathing suit like that, unless you're a bikini model. You're too worried about sucking in your stomach and how your thighs look.

“You have to wear a bathing suit like that to feel good about yourself?”

“Look,” I say, annoyed now. “My swimwear is really none of your business.”

He nods seriously. “Fair enough.”

“Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to be somewhere.”

“Where?”

“I was just about to call my friend Juliana,” I say. “She's having a party tonight, and I have to get the details from her.”

“Forget the party,” Beckett says, shaking his head. “Come hang out with me instead.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” I say. “I'm not going anywhere with you.”

“Why not?” He seems confused.

“Because.” I cross my arms over my chest and look at him. “You're creepy.”

“I'm
creepy
?”

“Yes.” I tick off the reasons on my fingers. “One, you drive a motorcycle. Two, you showed up at my room unannounced. And three, you have a preoccupation with my swimwear.” I take in another yoga breath. “Not to mention that talking to you is like talking to a three-year-old.”

“Yeah, well, talking to you is like talking to a forty-year-old. You need to loosen up.” But he doesn't sound mad. Or exasperated. Or anything. He just sounds kind of . . . amused. And he's looking at me with this little smirk on his face, like he has a secret about me.

I think about how he saw my inappropriate bathing suit. Then I think about how he asked me if I was going to be wearing it soon. Goose bumps break out on my arms, and I take in another long, slow, deep breath. “I think you should go.” But my voice doesn't sound like I mean it.

“I think you should come with me,” he says, with that same maddening grin on his face. Then he shakes his head. “Actually, no. I
know
you're going to come with me.”

“Oh, yeah? And why is that?” God, he is so cocky.

“Because,” he says, and shrugs his beautifully sculpted shoulders. “I know where Derrick is.”

“Derrick's in his room.”

“No, he isn't. He left with Lincoln Shrute.”

“Where did they go?” A slightly panicked feeling begins rising in my chest.

“Come with me,” Beckett says, “and I'll show you.”

“You're lying. Derrick wouldn't have left without me.” He wouldn't have. Derrick doesn't do things like that. He doesn't just . . . leave. Not without calling or texting to let me know. He just . . . he's not a normal boyfriend. He's
nice
.

He said he wanted space
.

Beckett shrugs. “You don't have to believe me. But if I leave, and you're wrong, you might miss the rest of the day with him. Are you really going to take that chance?”

I take in a deep breath.

Before graduation, I will . . . learn to trust
.

That stupid email. Why the hell am I thinking about it now? I
don't
trust Beckett. And besides, that email definitely wasn't talking about learning to trust shady guys who I've never had any history with. Was it? I'm beginning to get really confused. I think the humidity might be starting to get to me.

“Fine,” I say, grabbing my purse from the nightstand. “I'm coming with you. But you're taking me right to Derrick. No funny business.”

Beckett looks at me like I'm an insane person. “I don't believe in funny business,” he says.

It's a lie, of course.

But what can I do?

I shake my head and follow him out of my room.

Before we get to the elevator, I send Derrick a text.

Where r u?

Trust or not, you have to make sure you cover all your bases.

Outside the hotel, the cobblestone walk is done in shades of orange and pink, giving it kind of a tropical feel. It's so pretty, and not something you'd ever see back in the Northeast, where gray and beige seem to be the colors of choice when it comes to architecture.

As soon as my feet hit the first step, my phone's ringing. My mom.

I'm tempted to send it to voice mail, but if I don't answer it, my mom might freak out. She's the type who does that kind of thing—can't get in touch with me for one minute and then does something totally off the rails, like calls the school to find out exactly where I am. You'd think it would mean she's overly involved in my life, but it's actually the opposite—my mom is out to lunch half the time, so when she can't get in touch with me, it snaps her back to reality and she immediately thinks she's lost me somewhere.

“Who's that?” Beckett asks, all nosy.

“No one.” My hand hovers over the button. Should I answer or not answer? I don't want Beckett to hear me on
the phone with my mom. First, because I'm going to have to lie, and second, because it's just . . . I don't know, weird to have a guy hear you talking on the phone to your parents.

I sigh and answer. “Oh, hi, Mom!” I say happily. I quickly run down in my head the list of things she might ask about, and then try to answer all her questions before she can ask them. “The flight was great, I got here no problem, everything's good!” My voice sounds slightly frantic.

“Oh, good,” she says. “I'm so glad. So the late-bus thing worked out then?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Hi, Lyla's mom!” Beckett yells.

“Who's that?” my mom asks.

I ignore her. “So, ah, our class is about to take a trip down to the ocean. You know, to study some wildlife. The marine kind.”

“Oh, that sounds nice,” she says.

“It is.”

“Come on, Lyla!” Beckett yells. “We better get going, the marine wildlife isn't going to wait. It has places to be.”

“Who is that?” my mom asks again. “Is that Derrick?”

“Um, no, that's . . . that's just my lab partner. For our marine wildlife project. Anyway, I should get going. Call me later, okay?” I trust that she won't call me later, since she'll be back to focusing on herself probably as soon as we hang up.

“Marine wildlife?” Beckett asks, amused.

“Yeah,” I say, daring him to ask me more. “I had to say something to get her off the phone.”

“Hey, I'm not judging.” He holds his hands up, like he couldn't care less what I tell my mom, even though he so was judging. “Even if you are shady.”

I gape at him. “I'm not shady!”

“You kind of are.”

“How am I shady?”

“You lied to your mom about there being a late bus. You got onto my motorcycle when you don't even know me. And you just told your mom about some bullshit marine wildlife project.” He ticks the reasons off on his fingers. “Oh! And you packed an inappropriate bathing suit.”

“Those things don't make me shady,” I say. “They make me cool.”

He grins. “Touché.”

But before I can reply, I see something down the street that makes me stop.

Juliana. She's holding a plastic grocery bag and talking loudly into her cell phone. I freeze. Oh, god. The last thing I need is for Juliana to see me with Beckett. She's definitely not going to keep it a secret from Derrick. She has a big mouth.

I watch as she stops on the sidewalk and sort of shades her eyes from the glare of the sun. I can't tell if she sees me, or if she's looking at something else.

“Shit,” I swear. I grab Beckett's arm and pull him into a souvenir shop.

“What the hell are you doing?” he yells as I drag him to the back of the store.

“Shh!” I hiss. “She might see us.”

“Who might see us?”

“Just . . . this girl.”

I crouch down behind a rack of sundresses and give him an expectant look.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

I yank at his arm until he finally sighs and crouches down next to me. “Why are we doing this again?” he asks.

“My friend Juliana,” I say. “She was out there on the street. And if she sees me with you, there's going to be trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?” he asks. He looks doubtful, like the kind of thing I'd think is trouble is really going to be nothing.

“She's friends with Derrick.”

“So?”

“So
she'll tell him we were hanging out.”

He shakes his head. “It's really sad that you and Derrick have such a non-trusting relationship.”

“Well, when you sent me that note on the plane, it kind of made it sound like something was going on between us.”

He rolls his eyes, like the idea is preposterous, and I try not to feel offended. “Look, is this really necessary?” he asks.
“I mean, look at yourself. You're hiding in the back of a store behind some nightgowns.”

“They aren't nightgowns,” I correct. “They're sundresses.” I reach out and finger one. The material is soft and slides through my fingers. They're so pretty. I wonder if Beckett would mind if we stopped to buy one on the way out. “And if you knew Juliana, you would understand.”

“What do you mean?”

“She's always in his business.”

“Oh,” he says knowingly. “She's in love with him.”

“No, she's not in love with him,” I say, shaking my head at how wrong he has it.

“A girl who's so worried about what you're doing? Who's friends with Derrick? She's definitely in love with him.”

I ignore him and pop my head up over the sundresses and glance around the store: a family with a few kids, a middle-aged couple sifting through a bin of seashells, and a shirtless man with a huge belly looking at the beach chairs.

“There's no one here,” I say, relieved. “She probably just—”

Juliana steps into my line of sight. She's off the phone now and looking around the store suspiciously, her eyes flitting over the rows of beachwear.

Beckett pops his head up next to me and starts looking around.

“Get down!” I screech. “Get down right now!”

For once, he listens. I watch as Juliana starts wandering
up and down the aisles, looking around. Crap. She obviously saw me come in here. She keeps walking, getting closer and closer to where we are. No way can I have her catch me crouched down here with Beckett. It makes me look way too guilty. I stand up quickly and pretend to be looking through the sundresses.