Chapter 17: Spilled Confessions
The Pacific stretched out, a vast sheet of hammered silver under the midday sun, and the breeze carried the salty tang of kelp and expensive sunscreen. Sammy pushed a piece of arugula around her plate, the crisp greens suddenly unappealing as Lindi leaned across the teak table, her eyes sharp behind oversized sunglasses.
“Okay, spill,” Lindi said, pointing a fork at her. “You’ve had your usual constipated face for a decade, but today? Today it’s gone. You look… loose.” Shantel grinned, swirling her iced tea.
“She’s got the glow of somebody who got laid.” Shani said, quieter, just watched Sammy’s hand tighten around her water glass.
“She’s right,” Cora agreed softly.
“I haven’t been acting weird,” Sammy mumbled, but the lie wilted in the salt air. Lindi’s grin widened, shark-like.
“Bullshit. You’ve been floating around since the gala with this secret smile,” she insisted, leaning closer. “It’s physically painful watching you not jump his bones.”
Sammy flinched, the phrase ‘jump his bones’ sending a visceral jolt through her. It was too close, a brutal simplification of the silent, watching hunger that had kept her up for nights.
Shani nodded, sipping her drink. “Usually, you get that constipated, overthinking look when Rebel comes up,” she said bluntly.
“Fine,” she said, the word escaping like a surrender. “After the gala, he kissed me.” The admission hung in the sea air, stark and simple. She deliberately left it there, a single fact floating in the vast space between truth and everything unsaid.
She didn’t mention the whispered confessions in the dark, or the gift that watched from her closet. The table erupted. Lindi slammed her hands down, a triumphant shout swallowed by the wind.
“I knew it!”
Cora’s observant eyes softened with warmth, while Shani grinned, raising her glass in a silent toast. They were ecstatic, leaning in with a barrage of questions she deflected with a shaky smile.
“But that’s it?” Lindi pressed, her voice slicing through the celebration. “A kiss? You’ve been pining since nineteen and he just… pecked you?”
“It wasn’t a peck,” Sammy said, heat flooding her cheeks. Shani nodded slowly, a knowing look in her eyes.
“Of course it wasn’t,” Shani said. “We all knew he had a thing for you.” She took a sip of her drink. “The way he looked at you. It was like undressing you with his eyes sometimes.”
Cora remained quiet, watching Sammy’s nervous fingers pick at the hem of the tablecloth.
“So?” Lindi demanded, ignoring everything else. “Details. How was the kiss? What was it like?”
Sammy blushed so deeply she felt the burn in her ears, but a giddy, reckless warmth spread through her chest.
“It was the best thing that has ever happened to me,” she admitted, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. She leaned in, the girls mirroring her, drawn into the orbit of her secret. “He didn’t just kiss me. He cradled my face.”
She described the rough texture of his palms against her jaw, the deliberate slowness of his approach.
“He tasted like whiskey and mint,” she whispered, “and he kissed me like he was proving a point.” Her words came faster now, painting the stillness of the dark pool, the way her knees had buckled. “It wasn’t sweet. It was a ravenous.”
A full-body shiver rocked her then, unrelated to the ocean breeze. She fell silent, the truth of it hanging in the air between them, raw and a little terrifying. Lindi’s triumphant grin was immense.
Lindi’s triumphant grin was immense. “I want the whole damn squeal!” She crowed, clapping her hands once. “We are so proud of you.”
Cora and Shani echoed the sentiment, their faces alight with genuine joy that made Sammy’s stomach twist. Her crush finally wasn’t a crush anymore. It was real. She got her man. The words felt like a poorly fitted costume, itchy and unconvincing against the reality of hidden screens and stolen moments.
“Now,” Lindi said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial purr as she pointed a spear of grilled asparagus at Sammy. “You need to fuck him.” Shani nodded vigorously, fanning herself with her napkin.
“God, yes,” Shani sighed. “Sam you need to get laid.”
Sammy’s mouth went dry. The salt air suddenly felt too thick to breathe.
Shani leaned in, her brow furrowing. “Have you even seen him shirtless yet?” The question hung in the air, a perfect trap. Sammy’s mind filled instantly with the grey-scale steam, the water sluicing down the hard planes of his back, the deliberate, almost lonely way he’d moved under the spray.
“No,” she lied, the word automatic and brittle.
But the ghost of that private feed flickered behind her eyes. She had seen more than just him shirtless. It was not enough. The memory was a craving that lived under her skin, a dull, persistent ache. It would never be enough.
“For god’s sake,” Cora laughed, a sharp, warning sound that broke the sudden tension. “Stop prodding her like she’s livestock. Let the woman breathe.” She reached over, giving Sammy’s hand a quick, grounding squeeze. “Let it happen naturally.”
“Naturally, smaturally,” Lindi scoffed, but she eased back in her chair. Sammy grasped Cora’s lifeline, pulling a shaky breath into her lungs. The sun felt too bright, too exposing. Her phone, silent in the pocket of her linen shorts, felt like a block of ice against her thigh. He could be watching this. The thought didn’t frighten her. It electrified her.
It electrified her. Her phone buzzed against her thigh, a sharp, insistent vibration. She pulled it out, the screen glowing in the shade of the patio umbrella.
A single new message topped the screen.
REBEL: Miss your voice.
Below it, the notifications list told a different story. Five missed texts. Twelve missed calls. All from Caleb. The preview of the last text read:
Where are you?
Call me.
A cold knot tightened in her stomach, dulling the sun’s warmth.
“Who’s that?” Lindi chirped, trying to peek. Sammy angled the screen away, her thumb hovering over Rebel’s name.
“Just Caleb,” she muttered, dismissing the cascade of red alerts with a swipe. She wouldn’t answer him. He’d demand an address, send a car, reel her back into the gilded cage of the mansion.
She typed a reply to Rebel, her fingers moving before her doubt could catch up.
SAMMY: Yours or mine?
She sent it, the words a live wire thrown back at him.
“Ugh, your brother is such a watchdog,” Lindi groaned, stealing an olive from Sammy’s plate. “You’re twenty-five, not fifteen.”
“He just worries,” Sammy said automatically, but her eyes were locked on her phone, waiting for the three dots to appear. The sea breeze suddenly felt chilly.
Her screen stayed blank. No dots. No immediate answer. The silence stretched, punctured only by Shani’s laughter at something Cora said.
Then, it buzzed once, a short, clean pulse.
REBEL: Yours, little ghost.
Another buzz, immediate.
REBEL: Caleb’s looking for you.
Her blood went cold, then hot. He was monitoring her brother’s calls, too. Of course he was. Another message appeared beneath it.
REBEL: Want to ditch the inquisition?
REBEL: I’m on the bike.
The memory hit her like a physical force: the night outside the club, the world a neon blur, her arms locked around his waist on the black and green Kawasaki Ninja H2R. The sudden, decelerating lurch as he’d brake-checked her, the delicious, shocking slam of her body against his back, the way her hips had molded perfectly against him. The raw, laughing freedom of it.
Her thumbs moved fast, certainty burning through her.
SAMMY: Fuck yes. Yes. Come get me.
She looked up from the glowing screen, the ocean suddenly a backdrop to a much more urgent drama.
“Change of plans,” she announced, her voice brighter, edged with a wild energy she hadn’t felt in years. “Rebel’s on his way. He’s taking me for a ride.”
Lindi’s jaw dropped, then split into a wide, wicked grin. “Get the fuck out of this house right now,” she commanded, shooing her with both hands.
“Go, go, go!” Shani echoed, clapping.
Cora just smiled, a knowing look in her eyes. “Details,” she said firmly. “Every single one. Text us when you’re home.”
Sammy was already standing, the wrought-iron chair scraping loudly against the patio stones. “I will,” she promised, grabbing her bag. The wind caught her hair as she turned toward the house, her heart hammering a frantic, joyful rhythm against her ribs.
The wind caught her hair as she turned toward the house, her heart hammering a frantic, joyful rhythm against her ribs. She took the polished interior stairs two at a time, her sandals slapping against the cool stone. The massive front door groaned as she pulled it open, and the bright coastal light flooded the foyer, making her squint.
Rebel arrived really fast; she wonders how close he was. She made him out front, his black Kawasaki a sleek insect of matte metal and sharp angles parked askew on the crushed shell driveway. His helmet was off, hooked on the handlebar, and he was smiling at her, a real one that crinkled the skin around his sharp eyes.
“Took you long enough,” he called, his voice cutting through the salt breeze.
She didn’t answer, just crossed the driveway, the shells crunching loudly under her feet. He handed him his spare helmet.She took it, his fingers brushing hers.
“Get on,” he said, the command soft but leaving no room for anything else. She swung a leg over the bike, the leather seat hot against her thighs through her thin shorts
Before she could settle, his hands were on her hips. He grabbed her legs and pulled her flush against him, her back meeting the solid wall of his chest. The sudden, intimate contact stole her breath.
“Hold on, little ghost.” he said, revved the engine, a raw, snarling sound that vibrated up through her bones. She wrapped her arms back around his waist, fingers digging into the worn fabric of his jacket.
“I am,” she whispered into his back, her words lost in the engine's growl. He leaned into the turn, and the world became a blur of blue sky, green hedge, and the roaring promise of speed.