All I Know Read online

  “Is a shot of Jack good with you?”

  I look over my shoulder to find Damien openly checking out my ass. Perhaps the faded cutoff jean shorts weren’t such a bad idea after all.

  “More than good. It‘s perfect.”

  “When did you get so cocky?” I tease, plopping onto the barstool.

  He shrugs and strokes his stubble. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

  True as the blue of the Gulf of Mexico.

  I pour us each two fingers of liquor, then slide one to him. It’s too distracting to face him full-on. So I sit facing forward, looking straight at a rickety old rack filled with bagged peanuts. How long have those been there? No one ever orders them. Ugh, there’s so much to do here.

  And now, the very welcome distraction of Damien. I turn my head to glance at him every few seconds. I probably look like I have a spasm in my neck.

  I flip my hair behind my shoulders and finally swivel to face him.

  “We have a lot of catching up to do. A lot to say to each other.” He holds his glass in the air, as do I. “Cheers.”

  “Cheers. Really? Like what?”

  He takes a long sip. Mine is smaller, because despite working in a bar, I don’t drink much at all because of my health issues. The liquid sends an inferno down my esophagus, and I stifle a cough.

  “Unfinished business.”

  Emotion prickles through me. Damien and I will always have unfinished business. I shake my head at the taste of the booze.

  “I owe you an apology, Kate.”

  I swallow, hoping the fiery feeling goes away soon. “Hunh? Why?”

  “Because of what happened in high school.”

  I roll my eyes and take another sip in hopes of gaining some liquid courage. Ugh. I was hoping for a night of flirtation or more. Not a rehash of the worst year of my life. “Jesus, Damien. You were suspended for three days because you stuck up for me. No apology necessary.”

  “I should’ve beat the shit out of every one of those little pricks.”

  I roll my eyes. “That’s stupid kid stuff. We kissed at a party senior year, some shitheads thought they saw us doing more, and I was labeled the island slut. So what?”

  “That reputation followed you until graduation.”

  My shoulders lift into a shrug. “Big fucking deal. It was what? Four months? We’re adults now.” I didn’t want to tell him that I’d been hesitant to return to Paradise Beach because of how I’d been bullied those final months of high school. It had shaken my confidence for years afterward, made me wary of trusting people.

  He mutters something about how it was a big deal.

  “It’s all in the past,” I repeat a little louder. “And what happened back then means nothing. I felt awful you got in trouble for kicking Eric Anderson’s ass our senior year.”

  “He deserved it. But then you pulled away from me.”

  “That’s not true,” I scowl. “I didn’t want you to get in more shit on my behalf. Had you gotten in one more fight, you wouldn’t have graduated.”

  There’s an uncomfortable pause. “I should’ve done more. You were the one who got the reputation for our kiss. I walked away unscathed. I never forgot that.”

  “That’s the way of the friggin’ world. That’s how it works for girls. Damien, you did a lot. You were kind. You didn’t tease. You weren’t a dick. You didn’t falsely brag that you’d screwed me at the party. You treated me like a human being, and you never stopped calling me your friend.” I didn’t have to mention that his reputation was left intact because he was a Hastings, one of the islands’ richest families. He knew it, I knew it. That’s how living in a small town works.

  He grunts and swirls the whiskey in his glass. “I’ve come to realize that men can do a lot better than,” he pauses, holding up two fingers and making a quote sign, “not being a dick.”

  I shoot him a kind smile and try not to get too sucked in to his soulful eyes.

  Even after everything I went through—being called a dumb whore by the popular girls, propositioned by the entire football team, shamed on Facebook—I couldn’t hold any of it against Damien. We’d never hooked up after that kiss. An invisible, impenetrable wall had gone up between us, especially after he tried to defend me in that fistfight the day after the party.

  Okay, I‘d erected that wall, in part to prevent him from getting into more fights over me. But also to protect my own heart. Even back then, I knew falling for Damien would end in heartbreak somehow.

  “It’s fine. Let’s change the subject. What are you doing, for real? Military something?” I swivel my seat back and forth, trying to ignore his distractingly muscular body in that black T-shirt. Jesus, his biceps. If my best friend Lauren were here, she’d make some cheesy remark about sun’s out, guns out. Or something. Is that the phrase? I mull it over as I wonder if his arms are as rock solid as they look.

  “Like Tate told you, I’m a military contractor. Was hired on after I got out of the Marines. The good part is there’s generous leave so I can see my family.”

  “And the bad part?” I take a sip.

  “It’s security stuff, top-secret clearance.”

  “So dangerous assignments then?”

  He nods. My stomach constricts as I push aside thoughts of what danger means to a man like him. “Your folks must be thrilled you’re home for the holidays.”

  “Oh yeah. They are. Especially since Ma was diagnosed with some heart issues couple of months ago.”

  Our eyes lock.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Heart attack?”

  “No, but she was headed in that direction. She’s gonna be okay.” He frowns. “She has to be.”

  My shoulders sag. So many people with medical issues. Including me—but I’m not about to tell Damien my own physical problems. Not yet and probably not ever.

  “I’m really sorry. I always liked your mom. She’s okay, for sure?”

  He nods grimly. “She needs to eat better and exercise more.”

  “I hear you. I’ve been trying to get my mom to do that, too. I’ve been so busy with her schedule. The doctor’s appointments, the new diet, getting her to move around. But she’s stubborn. You probably overheard at the bar earlier. She recently had a mastectomy. Stage two breast cancer. She’s gonna be okay, though.” I press my lips together and nod.

  She has to be okay.

  “God, I’m sorry. Truly.” He slowly turns his glass on the bar a few times. “Getting old sucks. I didn’t think we’d have to deal with things like this until we were middle-aged. Makes you realize what’s important in life, right?”

  “Sure does.”

  The music seems suddenly too raucous for this heavy of a conversation, and I reach for the speaker remote to shut it off. Now it’s so quiet I can practically hear Damien breathing.

  Way to screw up tonight, Kate. Good job.

  “When did you get back?” I’ll fill the awkward silence with a lot of questions, I guess. It’s as if I’ve never talked with a guy before.

  “Two days ago. Found out this morning that you were back, too. I think it’s the first time we’ve both been on the island at the same time since graduation. Every time I come home, I ask around to see if you’re here. And you? Thought you’d settled in Chicago?” He finishes his whiskey, and I uncap the bottle and pour him another splash.

  “Sort of. I was actually getting ready to join my bestie in Europe when Mom got her diagnosis. My friend’s one of those Instagram influencers. The kind that takes gorgeous photos in bikinis.”

  He grins. “You’re putting photos of yourself in a bikini on Instagram? How did I not know this?”

  “No, she’s on Instagram. You won’t catch me dead in a bikini on social media.”

  “But you do wear bikinis still?” He licks his lips.

  I’m a goner. My cheeks flare with heat. “Pfft. Of course I do.”

  He chuckles. “So you were going to Europe with your friend…”

  “Yeah. I was planning to
be her assistant-marketer-Instagram husband, while doing some freelance graphic design work.”

  “Instagram husband?” His right eyebrow quirks up. “Guess I’m not familiar with that term.”

  I giggle, relieved that we’re talking about something less weighty than illness and my doomed career. “That’s the person who takes the photos of the Insta star. Usually it’s a guy. A husband. But my friend’s single, so we joke that I’m her Insta husband. I help her arrange the photos, the props, the lighting. She was hoping that I’d want to start my own account, too. But I’m pretty shy about that stuff.”

  He winces. “I don’t do any of that social media shit. I didn’t realize there was so much involved.”

  “So I’ve noticed. I tried to find you, but couldn’t.”

  He waves a big hand in the air. “Security reasons. Don’t take it personally. Wait, you tried to find me online?”

  I bat my eyelashes. “I confess. Yes.”

  That boyish grin of his makes my stomach flutter.

  He studies me for a beat. “And so you came home for your mom, instead of being Insta famous. Then you ended up running the bar and designing birthday invites for the waitress and probably taking in a stray kitten or two.” He says it as a statement.

  “Hey! I haven’t taken in a kitten.” I pause. “I am putting out food for a couple of the neighborhood strays, though.”

  He beams. “See? That’s so like Kate Cooper. Always caring for others and not herself.”

  “Come on.” I smirk.

  “It’s true. You always had this innate ability for nurturing. Like when you made those kindness cards in tenth grade.”

  I roll my eyes. I can’t believe he remembers the cards I’d designed with insipid inspirational sayings. That was back when I believed in crap like that. “That was a class design project.”

  “I’ve never forgotten those. They were beautiful, and it was the first time I’d seen your artistic talent. It was after that school bomb threat, and the graphics teacher assigned us to do something positive. Most kids did a basic graphic in Photoshop and changed their Facebook profile photos. You took the time to illustrate the cards and print them and everything. They were great.”

  “Yeah, and everyone made fun of me. Then they scrawled profanities on the cards and stuck them in my locker. We went to school with some mean little shits.”

  He makes a face. “Anyway, let’s not talk about the past. When did you get back?”

  “Returned a month ago, right before Mom had her surgery. Now I’m basically running the tiki hut. Dunno what the future holds.”

  “Do any of us?”

  “Hell, no.” We clink glasses, and I take a sip. “That’s something we can drink to.”

  As I swallow the brown liquid, my eyes sweep over the bar’s tired and familiar décor. It’s best described as mid-century-modern beach kitsch. There are hula girl statues and framed, black and white photos of Elvis in Florida. On one wall, patrons have tacked up drunken crayon drawings of Pete, the island’s famous alligator. In the summer, the dry palm fronds on the roof make the most soothing rustling noise in the wind.

  “Imagine. Me, running Lime and Salt, Paradise Beach’s most famous watering hole. Who would’ve thought?” I wave a hand around the bar.

  He chuckles. God, I love the way he laughs. Rich and easy. “There are worse things in life, Kate.”

  “I guess so,” I murmur. “It hasn’t all been bad. It’s nice to get away from city life, especially this time of year. Y’know, running on the beach at dawn, watching the sunset every night. They’ve started up a cool drum circle on Thursdays and a yoga class on North Beach on the weekends. My mom’s new neighbor owns a paddleboard place, and I’m going out with her soon. Paradise has changed since we were in high school. It’s not as snotty. It’s been cathartic, returning home. I have a different impression of the place as an adult.”

  He studies my face, and it feels intensely intimate. “You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself that it’s not so bad.”

  I tilt my head. “You always knew me a little too well.”

  He extends a hand and rests his index finger on my bare knee. One finger. That’s all it takes for my insides to liquefy.

  “Maybe I didn’t take the time to get know you well enough. Maybe that’s why I came here tonight. Didn’t want to miss yet another chance.”

  My heart’s pounding about a million miles a minute. I place my index finger over his, pressing his finger into my leg. In my mind, there’s a big, flashing yes sign.

  He licks his lips, and I almost moan out loud. It’s been more than a year since I’ve been with a guy, although I can’t quite recall the details about my last hookup now that I’m in Damien’s presence. The thought of pressing my mouth to his throat, his stubble, his strong hands, makes me dizzy with desire. Hooking up, having raw and intense sex—it would take the edge off.

  “Want to take a walk on the beach?” My voice sounds a little too breathy, like I’ve sprinted a few hundred yards.

  Right now, all I want is to get out of this place that smells like beer and cigarette smoke. And to make out with my teenage crush in hopes of erasing my past.

  A kiss to start over. Maybe that’s what the universe has in mind.

  Three

  Damien

  The curve of her hips.

  Why is that one graceful body part enough to make me wanna grunt out loud like a Neanderthal, pick her up, throw her over my shoulder, and carry her to the nearest cave?

  I watch Kate stretch for the plastic flaps on the exterior of the tiki hut. She stands on her tiptoes, and her shirt rides up. I’m mesmerized by that sliver of exposed skin between her tank top and her shorts.

  How has she gotten even more beautiful over the last ten years?

  “Let me help with that,” I offer, easily reaching up to grasp the plastic. I untie and unfurl it. The whole thing seems dubious from a security standpoint, but this is Paradise Beach, where the biggest crime is someone biking home while drunk.

  What’s she doing, kneeling at my feet? My heart kicks into high gear at the possibilities. “Um…Kate?”

  She glances up with that big-eyed, innocent expression that makes everything in my body harden. Oh, she’s securing the plastic to the ground with a lock. I exhale the breath I didn’t even know I’d been holding, and she stands.

  “I should get a hook or something to pull that thing down because I’m so short. It’s the same struggle every night.”

  I want to tell her that I’ll help her every night that I’m here. That she’s here. That we’re here together. But I don’t, because I don’t want to scare her.

  Kate has a way of turning me mute. Trouble is, I can’t afford to be silent tonight. I can’t screw this up because it might be my one chance with her.

  My only chance with her.

  “Prolly a good idea,” I say in a gruff tone. All night I’ve been staring at her. Every time I force myself to look away, I’m drawn in by another detail.

  The soft waves of her light brown hair. Her giant blue eyes. That pouty mouth of hers.

  It always seems turned up into a soft smile.

  That tiny, curvy body. I want to crush her against me. Could I do it without breaking her? She’s so little.

  The whole package makes me nearly blind with desire. No one’s ever given me an electric, kinetic jolt like Kate. Back in high school she was my dream girl. A dream I never wanted to wake up from.

  And now she’s my dream woman. I don’t need months or years to figure that out—the past couple of hours have told me everything I need to know. She’s still the sweet, hilarious, caring person I’ve always adored. And yet, something in her has changed. Maybe she’s matured, or maybe it’s the gravity of caring for a sick parent.

  Every time I look at her, I feel pure, high voltage electricity running through my veins and want to protect her from whatever’s troubling her. Can I possibly keep my hands to myself while we walk on the beach
? Jesus Christ. Every muscle in my body tenses.

  “Do ya mind if we stop at the car? I want to put this inside.” I gesture to the lot with the jacket in my hand.

  “Sure. Oh! You have your dad’s, ah, what’s it called? Wow! Oh my God! Look!”

  “The Mercury.” We walk toward the 1955 vintage beach wagon, and she makes little noises of excitement that leave me grinning. Her body brushes closer mine, and on instinct, I gently rest my hand on the small of her back.

  Kate’s wearing blue converse sneakers. She practically skips to the car, the sound of her shoes crunching the crushed shells of the parking lot. The lot is across the street from the beach, and the smell of salt air mixes with Kate’s perfume. It’s like olfactory Viagra for a guy who’s spent the last year in a desert.

  “Yeah, but it has a different name, doesn’t it? You told me once.”

  “Woody. It’s a Mercury Woody.”

  We reach the old car, and she walks around the front, slowly. Her eyes are huge.

  “Wow. I love mid-century modern design. It’s so cool, right out of the fifties. Like something Elvis would drive to the beach, with six girls in bikinis all packed in.”

  “It definitely has that vibe.”

  “When did your dad finish the renovation? He did an incredible job. It took him all those years, but he finally did it.”

  “He waited for me to get home, to put the finishing touches on. So, he finished yesterday. We finished yesterday.” I follow behind her. It’s achingly adorable that she’s so interested in a car. She peers at the aqua blue paint.

  “It’s like the perfect beach machine. Incredible.” She bends to inspect the two-tone wood panels on the door, and I force myself to look away from her heart-shaped ass in those jean shorts.

  She straightens with a grin on her face. “I remember in high school you would’ve killed to drive this. You were so mad that your dad didn’t let you drive it while he worked on it.”