Heat of the Moment (11 page)

I lather up my hair and then take extra time to condition it really well. Usually I just slap the conditioner in and then rinse it out, but not today. Today I make sure I comb it through every strand with my fingers so that it gets evenly distributed.

Then I rinse it all out and take my time blow-drying
until my hair is almost stick straight. When I'm done blow-drying, I plug in the straightener that either Aven or Quinn left in the bathroom and slide it down my hair, piece by piece. God, why don't I do this more often? My hair looks awesome when I do it this way.

When I'm done, I dress carefully for the day, putting on my bathing suit and then slinging my wrap over it. The wrap is gorgeous—it's cream-colored and flowy and shows just enough to be sexy without being over the top.

Once I'm dressed I take a really long time applying my makeup, even doing this smoky eye tutorial that I found on YouTube, like, a bazillion years ago but never really had the patience to try. When I'm done with my makeup, Derrick still hasn't texted me. So I take the extra time to do some contouring. I've always wanted to try contouring—it's when you use your blush to create shadows on your face so that your cheekbones really pop and make you look crazy skinny.

I don't have any blush, so I use bronzer instead. Wow. I kind of look like a model. I shake my head in disgust at the messages the media send us. Making everyone think that celebrities are so much prettier than us when all you need is a contouring brush, some YouTube videos, and a little time. And voilà!

But people think they can't look just as good. Well. You probably can't every single day. It takes forever to do all this. And now that I'm looking closer, my bronzer does look kind
of caked on. But whatever. It's Florida. Everyone here has a tan. And a lot of people here are wearing lots of makeup.

When in Rome, right?

I spritz perfume all over myself, then help myself to the makeup-setting spray that's sitting on the counter. I need it, especially if I'm going to be out in the sun all day.

I give myself a smile in the mirror, then head back out into the room. I'm not sure what exactly to do now, though. Should I text Derrick? I pace around a little bit, trying to keep my thoughts from straying to where they want to go. Which is to Beckett. And our kiss.

You weren't doing all those makeup tutorials because you wanted to look good for Derrick. You were doing them to keep your mind off Beckett. How his lips felt. How his hands pulled you close. How the stubble on his chin was ridiculously sexy, and how he tasted like oranges and sugar and danger
.

I start pacing faster. I need to get out of here before my mind explodes.

I decide to go to Derrick's room. Who cares if he's ready? I'm done playing games.

I clomp down the hall and into the elevator (I'm wearing my pink flip-flops, which for some reason have started hurting my feet—maybe I just need to break them in?), then take it down to Derrick's room.

I put on what I hope is my sexiest smile, then grab the door frame and lean against it, pulling the top of my
cover-up down so that my cleavage juts out just enough to be tempting.

Then I knock on the door.

Silence, then a bunch of rustling from inside the room.

The door flings open.

“Oh,” Beckett says, his lips turning up into that sexy grin of his. “Hello there. Back for more, are you?”

My eyes widen, and I immediately push my boobs back into the top of my bathing suit. Well. As much as I can. There's only so much you can do when your bathing suit is this inappropriate.

“Where's Derrick?” I demand. Crap. I really thought Beckett would still be out on the beach.

But part of you was hoping he'd be here
.

Lies, lies, lies! God, my brain is a real mess today. I wonder if I'm coming down with multiple personality disorder. Like, one of my personalities is totally normal and loves Derrick and is excited about this trip. My other personality is some kind of sex-crazed maniac who can't seem to keep her boobs inside her top and wants to kiss and cheat with every guy she sees.

Not every guy. Just Beckett
.

Ahhh!

“He's in the bathroom,” Beckett says. He's not wearing a shirt. Beckett. Is. Not. Wearing. A. Shirt. His body is ridiculously perfect. His biceps flex against the door, and his chest
is smooth and tan and defined. His flat stomach shows the perfect hint of a six-pack before narrowing to a V and disappearing into the navy-blue shorts he's wearing.

My other personality is ridiculously turned on at the sight of it.

“Oh.”

“Would you like to come in and wait?”

Yes. “No.”

“Should I send him back to your room then?”

“What's taking him so long?”

“I don't know.” He shrugs. Then he glances behind him and steps out into the hallway, shutting the door behind him. I take a step back, but he's still crazy close to me. So close I can feel the heat coming off his bare chest through the thin material of my cover-up.

I know I should take another step back, but his eyes are mesmerizing me. They're, like, holding me hostage right where I'm standing. Maybe he has superpowers. Like he's some kind of paranormal romance hero. What? It could happen. I'm sure Bella was totally surprised, too, and it probably didn't really kick in until she was giving birth to her vampire baby. If I have a vampire baby, I hope my other personality is in charge that day.

“Listen,” Beckett says, “I'm sorry. For what happened on the beach. It was stupid.”

“It was
ridiculously
stupid,” I say. I point my chin into
the air haughtily. “I have a boyfriend. So that was very inappropriate.”

He nods. “I don't . . . that's not something that I do a lot. You know, try to hook up with girls who have boyfriends.” Then he sighs and rubs his hands over his face. “Actually, that's not true. I do try to hook up with girls who have boyfriends a lot. But I shouldn't have done that to you.”

He's an ass. I won't forgive him. “That's disgusting,” I say. “You shouldn't try to hook up with girls who have boyfriends! Why would you do that?”

He blinks at me and looks surprised, like no one's ever asked him that before. His lashes are long and full. It doesn't seem fair that they would be wasted on a boy. Of course, all they do is serve to make him hotter. His face is so chiseled and manly that the lashes take away the edge. And they seem to fit with his gorgeous green eyes.

“I don't know,” he says. “I guess because of that whole thing I said before . . . you know, no expectations.”

“Wait a minute.” I shake my head in disgust. “You were trying to hook up with me because you thought I wouldn't have any expectations?” Wow. What did he think I was going to do, just go somewhere with him and let him make out with me and then never talk to me again? I mean, wow.

“No!” He looks shocked. “No, that's not why.”

“Liar!” This guy is seriously messed up. I wonder if he's some kind of psychopath. Or sociopath. Which is the one
that is all charming and good-looking and used to getting their way until they end up chopping you into a little pieces after months of playing with your head?

“I swear,” he says. “Lyla, I wouldn't have done that to you.”

“Why not?”

“Because I just wouldn't have.” His eyes bore into mine, and everything stops except the beating of my heart. “I kissed you because I wanted to. Not because I didn't want there to be expectations. In fact, I kind of want you to have expectations.” I can feel the hotel carpet sliding away. Everything is fading into oblivion. It's just me and Beckett, standing here.

And then I come crashing down to earth. “So you kissed me because you wanted to, but now you've decided you shouldn't have done it?” How does that make any sense? My head is starting to hurt.

He opens his mouth to say something, but I cut him off.

“Whatever,” I say. “I need to find my boyfriend.”

I push by Beckett into the bedroom and over to the bathroom. The door is closed, and I can hear the sound of the shower running. But I can also hear Derrick's voice. Which is weird. Why would Derrick be talking to someone in the shower?

I knock on the door. “Derrick!” I say, hoping my voice doesn't betray any of the chaos that's going on inside me.
“I'm here. I'm ready for breakfast and the beach!” I take a deep breath and try to calm myself. I sound like a crazy person.

“Lyla?” comes the reply. He sounds surprised. The door opens and he peeks out. “What are you doing here?”

“You were taking forever,” I say. “So I came to find you.” Then I remember I'm supposed to be seducing him tonight, so I quickly resume the pose I had when I first got here. Hand on the door frame, boobs pushed forward, smile on my face. I lick my lips in what I hope is a sexy way. “I'm ready.” I don't add
for the beach
this time.
I'm ready
sounds like I'm ready for anything. I'm hoping it will put all sorts of bad thoughts into his head.

“Okay.” He holds up his phone. “Just give me a second. I'm on the phone.”

“Who are you talking to?” My voice sounds strangled. Juliana! He must be talking to Juliana! The bitch probably called him as soon as she hung up with me. Has she told him yet? He doesn't seem mad. Or upset. And he hasn't beaten up Beckett.

A look of weirdness passes over Derrick's face, and then his forehead wrinkles up. “What's all over your face?”

“What do you mean?” My hands fly to my face. Did I accidentally get chocolate on it or something? I haven't had any chocolate. Oh my god. Maybe it's doughnut dust! There might be doughnut dust on my face! How am I going to
explain that? I peek into the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror.

Oh. It's not doughnut dust at all. It's all the contouring I did with my bronzer. Wow. I didn't realize how dark it was. It's a little . . . streaky, too.

“That's just my bronzer,” I say defensively.

“What happened to it?” Derrick asks. “It looks a little . . . messy.”

“Well, it's hard to get it perfect,” I say dismissively. “It will all even out once we're out in the sun.”

“Okay,” Derrick says, not really looking convinced. He leans in and gives me a kiss. He tastes like toothpaste and smells like soap. “You'll look hot with a tan.”

I flush with pleasure. “But, um, who are you talking to?”

“My mom.” Yes!! “Just give me a minute and I'll be done.”

Derrick looks over my shoulder and I turn, too. Beckett's sitting on the bed, watching our exchange. Derrick glares at him, then kisses me again. “I think maybe you should wait in the hall,” he says.

“Good idea.”

He closes the bathroom door.

I intentionally don't meet Beckett's gaze. I need to stop this craziness that's been going on. I need to get this vacation back on track, and there's no way I'm going to be able to do that if I have any contact with Beckett.

Snip. I pretend there's some kind of thin string that's
connecting me to Beckett and I've just snipped it. And the thing about a string is that you can't put it back together. Once it's severed, it's severed. There's no going back. It's just . . . done. So that's that.

I'm almost to the door when he comes up behind me.

“I changed my mind,” he says into my ear. His breath tickles, making the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand up and my skin feel like it's on fire. “I'm not sorry I kissed you. In fact, I want to do it again.”

He doesn't move, just stays there, waiting for me to make a decision. I can feel his lips just inches away from me. All I would have to do is turn around, just turn around slowly, and we would kiss. His lips would be back on mine, his hands would be back in my hair. My body is screaming for his touch, his kiss, his everything. But I can't do it. No matter how I feel physically, how could I kiss another guy with my boyfriend just a few feet away? That's a whole new level of horribleness.

So even though everything inside me is screaming in protest, I summon all my self-control, then open the door and step into the hall.

OKAY. I FEEL A LOT BETTER NOW
.

My heart is calming down, my body doesn't feel like it's all tense, and my stomach has stopped turning and rolling. In fact, I'm relaxed and tranquil. I'm stretched out on the world's longest and softest beach towel, my toes pointed to the ocean, the sun warming my body and turning me a beautiful bronze color. (Slowly, of course. I slathered myself with SPF 45 when we got here. Nothing hot about skin cancer. Or premature aging.)

Derrick is on the towel next to me, and we're listening to music from his phone. All around us, seagulls chirp and swoop, kids play, and people talk and laugh. A group of college kids are throwing a football around a little bit down the beach, just close enough to look scenic, but not close enough that there's a chance the ball is going to get away from them and bonk me in the head.

“This is nice,” I say. Who needs some meditation class? I'm so relaxed. I'm so relaxed that I'm almost falling asleep. I reach over and grab my big floppy hat and place it over my face.

“What?” Derrick asks.

“This is nice,” I say.

“It's so nice.” He reaches over and slides his finger up my arm. “Your skin feels good,” he murmurs.

“Your fingers feel good,” I try. It's a lie. His fingers don't feel that good. They feel kind of greasy from his sunblock. Or maybe it's sweat. Ewww. I know some people think sweat is sexy, like when you see sweaty bodies and stuff on TV, but to me, it's just gross.

Stop
, I tell myself.
You're being too hard on him
.

I prop myself up on my elbow and drag my hand through the powder-white sand. “What do you want to do tonight?” I ask.

“Well,” Derrick says, turning toward me. He's wearing dark sunglasses, and his hair is blowing in the breeze. “I was thinking we could get dinner. I found a really nice place right on the water. Then I was thinking ice cream at Big Olaf, then a nighttime walk on the beach.”

“Mmm,” I sigh. “Sounds perfect.”

“It will be.” His fingers return to my arm and slide back up, this time stopping in the crook of my elbow, where he starts moving them back and forth, back and forth.

“I can't wait,” I say.

He moves in closer to me. “Then we can go back to our room,” he says.

“Mine or yours?”

“Ours.” He smiles. “I got us a room at a different hotel. So no one will bother us.” His fingers start moving faster on my arm, like he's getting excited thinking about it. Why am I so focused on his fingers moving on my arm? I reach out and grab his hand in mine. Still sweaty. I force my thoughts away from the moisture.

“Wow,” I say. “That's so amazing.” I wonder how we're going to sneak out of our hotel without anyone noticing. But I guess we don't have to actually spend the night at this new hotel. We can just have sex there and then go back to our rooms. As far as I know they haven't been checking to make sure people are back at night, but maybe they have some way of knowing. Or maybe they're going to start tonight.

Derrick takes my hand and pulls it up to his lips, kissing each one of my fingers softly. Then he leans over and kisses me on the lips.

I've now kissed two boys in one day. I've never done anything like that in my life. In fact, until I met Derrick I could hardly imagine kissing one boy in one day, and now here I am running around kissing two! What is wrong with me? Am I losing my mind?

My phone buzzes in the sand next to me, and I turn over
and grab it. My face feels all hot, and I don't want Derrick to notice anything's wrong.

Oh. It's my mom.

Wanting to know how everything is going.

I text her back, letting her know that everything's fine. I add a big smiley face to the end of my text, then hit send. The reply comes immediately.
Great! Have fun, be careful, see you soon!

For once I'm grateful my mom isn't the type to ask a ton of questions and get all involved in my life. Usually I'm annoyed by the fact that she doesn't seem to show that much interest. But now I'm glad she's not one of those mothers who's overly invested, the kind of mother who ends up knowing your friends and acting like a BFF and wearing all your clothes. I think of me and my mom going out to buy inappropriate bathing suits with each other and almost laugh out loud.

“What's so funny?” Derrick asks.

“Oh, nothing,” I say. “Just thinking about . . . nothing.” Something tells me thinking about his girlfriend going bathing-suit shopping with her mom isn't going to get him all worked up.

“Tell me more about tonight,” I say.

“Well. We're going to have champagne.”

“Mmmm.”

“And chocolate.”

“Yum.”

“And strawberries and rose petals.”

“Yay!” See? This is going to be amazing. I imagine a super-nice hotel room, one of those posh ones that seems like it shouldn't even be on the beach because you're just going to mess it up with all the sand you're bound to bring in. Rose petals will line the carpet (or maybe it will have dark bamboo flooring—I saw dark bamboo flooring in a movie once and it seemed very nice), and there will be champagne chilling in a bucket.

Derrick will kiss me soft and slow. He'll tell me he loves me (he's said it before—not a lot, but some guys just aren't that great at expressing their feelings all the time, which is fine with me), and then he'll start undressing me, nice and slow. Our bodies will—

“Oh, and I got us one of those Jacuzzi rooms.”

“What?”

“You know, those rooms that have Jacuzzis in them? They call it cuddle and bubble or something?”

“Cuddle and bubble?”

“Yeah, you fill up the Jacuzzi with lots of bubbles and then you cuddle.” He looks very pleased with himself. “It's supposed to be very sexy.”

“It sounds it,” I lie. I'm not sure if that actually does sound very sexy. I mean, it seems like if they call it cuddle and bubble, you're supposed to have sex in the Jacuzzi. Like,
they make it known that's what's supposed to happen. The thought of losing my virginity in a hot tub where tons of other couples have done it doesn't sound that sexy. And how are you supposed to use a condom when you're in the water? I'm pretty sure condoms aren't waterproof. They never really mentioned that in health class. Probably our health teacher, Mr. Williams, had never heard of cuddle and bubble. That sounds like something that just got invented. Or maybe they only have cuddle and bubble in Florida.

“It's going to be great,” Derrick says. His eyes sparkle. “I'm really excited about it.”

His phone vibrates on the towel next to him, ruining the mood. He reaches over, glances at it, then sends the call to voice mail.

“Who was that?” I ask. Juliana! It's got to be Juliana! Didn't she say she was going to be on the beach? I look around for her wildly—she could be lurking anywhere.

“No one.” He shrugs. “Just my mom. But I'm with you now. I don't want any distractions.”

“Weren't you just on the phone with your mom?” I try not to sound suspicious, but let's face it, it sounds kind of shady. It has to be Juliana. Although . . . if she was calling him, why would he lie about it? Is it because she's in love with him, like Beckett said? Are those two having a secret affair? Is Juliana—

“Hiii!” a voice trills. Juliana appears, seemingly out of
nowhere, and plops down in the sand next to us. I'm annoyed she's crashing but also a little bit relieved to see her. If that was her on the phone, then she wouldn't be here just now, would she? So then who was it on the phone? Was it another girl?

I look at Derrick suspiciously. Damn Beckett for putting this idea in my head.

“What's up?” Derrick asks.

“Nada.” Juliana is wearing a very inappropriate bathing suit. Like, even more inappropriate than mine. Her top is white, and you can pretty much see through it. “You guys should come farther down the beach,” she says. “We're building a sand castle.”

“Isn't that what, like, five-year-olds do?” I ask before I can stop myself. I know it's probably not the best idea to antagonize her when I'm counting on her to keep my secret, but it comes out before I can stop myself. Why is she bothering us?

“More like three-year-olds,” she says, giving me a smile. “But you know, when you're on the beach, you should really try to stay busy.” She gives me a knowing grin.

I gulp. I literally gulp. Like I'm in a cartoon or something.

“That's true,” I say.

“So you guys wanna come?” Her tone sounds . . . vaguely threatening. Almost like if we don't go, she's going to do
something. I realize that this is my life now—if I don't tell Derrick, Juliana will always have something to hold over me. Why did she have to be on the beach at the exact moment I was with Beckett? Shouldn't she have been in her room, sleeping it off? I decide to stay quiet and let Derrick turn her down.

But to my surprise, he stands up and starts gathering his stuff. “Sure,” he says.

“Sure!” I echo brightly.

Ten minutes later we're settled in farther down the beach, and my mood has completely soured. This part of the beach is way too busy—it's right near the bathrooms and the food and all the vacationers.

Two guys from our class, Maddox Hanson and Bentley Green, are throwing a football around, and it keeps whizzing over my head. It's only a matter of time before they break someone's nose. Maybe mine.

Juliana stands up and starts running in between the two of them, making herself a monkey in the middle without even being asked. She laughs and twirls and jumps at the football, looking like a total asshole. Of course all the guys on the beach love it, because her boobs are bouncing around in her completely inappropriate bathing suit.

I shade my eyes from the sun and glance over at Derrick, who's watching Juliana as she bounces.

“Why don't you take a picture, it'll last longer,” I grumble before I can stop myself. It's a totally immature thing to say, not to mention the last time I heard someone say it I was probably, like, seven.

“What?” Derrick asks, looking surprised.

“Nothing.”

“No, what did you say?”

“Nothing.”

“Fine.”

There's a little bit of an edge to his voice that I've never heard before. Usually Derrick is totally cool and relaxed. Although I
was
just being kind of a brat. But still. He shouldn't have been drooling over Juliana. I know it's, like, part of a guy's hormones to do things like that, but you'd think he'd at least try to hide it. Maybe this doesn't have anything to do with Juliana at all. Maybe it has something to do with Beckett.

“Hey,” I say. “Are you still mad at me about yesterday? I know we didn't get to really talk about what happened.”

His face instantly softens. “No, I'm not mad at you.”

“Are you sure? I mean, I know it was probably upsetting to find out Beckett gave me a ride.”
And for me to lie to you,
I think but don't say. Why bring more attention to that?

“Whatever.” Derrick shrugs. “I understand you had no choice but to come with Beckett. And it was really silly of me
to assume that something was going on between you guys.”

“Really?” I ask automatically. “Why?” Oops.

“I don't know. Beckett is just so . . .” He puts his hands up in the air, like there are no words to describe Beckett. “He dated Katie Wells, you know that, right?”

“So?”

“So that's the kind of girl he goes for.”

“Pretty?”

“Yeah. I mean, no! I mean, yes, Katie's pretty. Ah, not as pretty as you, of course.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “You mean I'm not good-looking enough for Beckett.”

“No.” Derrick shakes his head emphatically. “I just mean that Beckett goes for silly girls. The kind of girls who only have two things on their minds—boys and clothes.”

But before I probe him further, a shadow falls over my towel. I squint up into the sunlight. I can make out a dark figure against the backdrop of the sun.

Beckett
.

My heart leaps into my throat.

But then the figure talks.

“What the hell were you thinking?” It's a girl's voice. A familiar girl's voice. Definitely not Beckett.

I shift on my towel so that the sun isn't blocking my view anymore. It's Quinn. And she doesn't look happy.

“Oh, hi, Quinn,” I say pleasantly.

“Don't ‘oh, hi, Quinn' me,” she says. “What the hell were you doing this morning?”

“This morning?” Derrick frowns. “What were you doing this morning?”

“Nothing,” I say. Oh god, oh god, oh god. Here I was, thinking I was going to get away with kissing another boy, and now Quinn is here to blow the whole thing wide open! This whole time I was worried about Juliana, when I forgot that Quinn saw me with Beckett, too. It serves me right. It's my karma. I'm a horrible person, and this is what happens to horrible people. They get their comeuppance.

Quinn narrows her eyes at me, then says, “Can I talk to you alone?”

Derrick puffs out his chest. “Anything you can say to Lyla, you can say to me.”

Well. Not
anything
.

“No,” Quinn says, shaking her head emphatically. “I need to talk to her alone.”

“Sure,” I say, hoping I don't sound too eager. I grab my cover-up before following Quinn across the sand.

When we're a few feet away from Derrick, Quinn stops and turns to me like she's ready to talk. I look over my shoulder nervously. Derrick's lying on his towel, drumming his fingers against his stomach to the beat of his music. We should be far enough away that he can't hear us, but I can't be totally sure.

“Wanna go to the snack bar?” I ask Quinn. “I could use a soda.”