Get You Back : Part Two: Reunion Read online

  He groaned and scratched his stomach. I watched his muscles ripple with fascinated hunger. "You had to find work at a juice bar. Couldn't you have held out for a steakhouse?"

  "Oh my God, you're a grumpy morning person, aren't you?"

  "I'm not a grumpy morning person, why the hell would you say that?"

  I laughed at him. "Just a crazy guess. You're going to hate me for this, but I love mornings. It was always the only time of day I had to myself." I snapped my mouth shut, realizing I'd just spoken of the past. But that was a harmless piece of information and I couldn't imagine it leading to anything awkward.

  "I remember," Rye surprised me by saying. "When I got up for my morning run, I used to see you out in the sunroom bent over a book or writing in your journal."

  "You saw me? I used to watch you jog down the driveway. I think I made about a hundred sketches of you."

  "Is that right?" he drawled. "And here I thought you were doing some serious studying."

  "I was. I was studying your ass." I slapped him lightly on his naked rear end.

  "Oh no, you didn't just do that." He rounded on me, prowling after me while I scampered toward the bathroom.

  "I'm just trying to speed things up. We have places to be, you know."

  "I know exactly where I want to be."

  Apparently that was buried deep inside my body while he pinned me against the wall.

  It was noon before we finally made it out of my bungalow and into the restaurant, which was just a big open-air platform with a makeshift tin roof. We sat on pillows instead of chairs, around a low table. I laughed at the awkward way Rye folded up his long limbs to fit under the table.

  "You're not in Texas anymore, Dorothy," I teased him.

  "Keep mocking, mean girl. I'll get my revenge where it counts." He menaced me with a villainous sneer over the edge of his menu.

  I shivered. That word—revenge—wasn't exactly a simple one for us.

  If Rye really wanted revenge, he'd make me fall so deeply in love with him that I'd never recover. And then he'd disappear.

  Just as Bliss had done to his father.

  I shook off that horrible thought. Rye didn't operate the way Bliss did. He couldn't. He wasn't built that way.

  We ordered massaman curry, since it was already lunchtime. Over bites of pineapple and potato, I asked him more about Elijah and Annabelle. He told me how they all lived together in a loft in Houston and helped out around a ranch, among other things.

  "Are either of them married?"

  "Hell no."

  I lifted my eyebrows at his emphatic response.

  "You probably know that my mother died in a plane crash when I was seven. None of us remember her very well. The only marriage we remember was … well, the one that shall not be named. You know how that one ended."

  I bit my lip. I'd set down the rules about what we could talk about, and I needed to stick to them. No discussion of Ian and Bliss. "Okay, moving on."

  Awkward silence fell between us. Damn, this “not talking about the past” wasn't going to be easy. I cleared my throat, tried to think of a neutral topic. Nothing came to mind. Nada.

  Rye took a long swallow of his black coffee. "Lauren, I remember something you said about Bliss once. You said she never talks about the past. I have to wonder … is that what we're doing here? Are we following Bliss Bakewell's example?"

  I put down my fork, having suddenly lost my appetite. Oh my God, was Rye right? Was I repeating her craziness? And for what—to protect her? Protect myself? Did I have to become her in order to do that?

  I fixed my gaze on the shoes piled on a piece of carpet at the entrance, my thoughts whirling. My flip-flops were there, as well as Rye's bigger pair of Keens. Beyond the entrance, which was nothing more than two carved wooden posts, lay the beach. When you stepped out of the restaurant, you touched sand. Keep going and you'd reach the Andaman Sea. Today, the waves were mild ripples, glinting cheerfully in the midday sun. What would it be like to splash around in the Andaman Sea with a partner, a lover? Someone whose company I preferred above all others?

  What would it be like to be free and easy with each other, to play in the water like the honeymooning couples who came here?

  If I really wanted to connect with Rye, I'd have to reveal something. I couldn't stay completely mysterious, or our relationship would be false. I was sick and tired of falseness.

  "Bliss didn't look at marriage romantically."

  I knew how cold that sounded. What if the things I revealed made Rye despise me? I'd just have to trust him. I drew in a deep breath and went on.

  "The best way to put it is that she looked at marriage as a business opportunity. Marriage was an investment of her time and energy. She expected to earn something from that. Personally, I thought there must be easier ways to provide for yourself. I remember one time I asked her why she couldn't get a job as a receptionist, which was what our neighbor did. That way we could stay in one place and not have to bring another man into our lives."

  "What did she say?"

  "She slapped me. That was her standard response to anything I said that cast doubt on her lifestyle."

  Six months ago, I wouldn't have been able to say that out loud. I really was coming out from under Bliss's boot.

  Rye's jaw muscle was flexing. "I never saw her slap you at our house."

  "No, she didn't do it much there. I wasn't questioning her then. When she married your father, I thought she'd finally chosen a good path."

  I saw the questions churning through him, burning to be asked. All his suspicions about Bliss and his father and his family's finances … he probably still had those.

  I put a hand on his forearm, where the tendons felt like steel. "Listen, Rye. When it comes to what happened with Ian, there are things I know, things I suspect, and things I was afraid to ask about. I can tell you what I know. But I'm not sure it will answer all your questions."

  He wrapped his big hand around my wrist, manacling it in a way that managed to be both firm and gentle. "Right now, I only care about one thing. And I need you to answer it." He rubbed his thumb along the skin of my inner wrist, where my pulse was now jumping. "Did she abuse you?"

  The way he put it—abuse me—revolted me. My relationship with Bliss was so complicated, so strange, and yes, that word might apply. But I’d never thought of it that way. Shame washed through me and I turned my head away from him. "You wouldn’t understand."

  His warm hand moved to the back of my head, gently shifting me so I couldn't avoid his gaze. He watched me with a kind of rock-solid concern that held no pity, no judgment. "I don't understand everything, that's for sure. But I know she isn't your real mother."

  I froze.

  Bliss must have told him that. I never had, and no one else knew. But why? My mind raced with the possibilities, not settling on one in particular. Trying to outguess Bliss was like trying to play chess with a supercomputer.

  Rye kept talking in a low voice, his forehead just millimeters from mine. "And I know she wants you to be like her. She raised you that way, trained you. But you're nothing like her, and that drives her crazy. You're a good person with a conscience. Someone who is able to care about other people. Someone who can love."

  His silver gaze seemed to encompass me, seeing everything and accepting it all. But how could he, when he didn't know it all?

  "Are you so sure about that?"

  "Fuck yes."

  I laughed. Trust Rye to break a tense moment with profanity.

  "Listen, Lauren. I lived with you both, remember? I know what a psycho Bliss is. Do you remember what happened the first time they brought all us kids together, after she and Pop decided to get married?"

  The memory swam to the surface, kind of like a dead body in a river. "We had dinner at your house and then we played games. Pictionary."

  "Right. And we mixed up the families, so I was on the same team as Bliss and Elijah, and you were with my dad and Annabelle."

  "I r
emember that you guys won."

  "Yes. There was a reason we won, even though we sucked. Every time you got up to draw, you'd look at Bliss first. All she had to do was raise her eyebrow or narrow her eyes and you'd get really nervous. Your pictures looked like something a little kid would draw. I thought maybe you just sucked at drawing, but later on I caught a look at your sketchpad. You'd drawn a dragon with scales and wings and claws. It was amazing, so precise and detailed. I couldn't believe it was by the same person."

  "You can't psychoanalyze me based on Pictionary."

  He grinned. "Sure I can. When you were drawing by yourself, with no one watching, you created something incredible. When Bliss was involved, your only purpose was to make her happy. She wanted to win, because she always wants to win. But she didn't want it to be obvious, because she's underhanded."

  "I'm competitive, too," I pointed out. "I believe my lifetime record against you in Ping-Pong is twenty games to nineteen."

  "Yes, but if we'd been playing doubles and Bliss was on my team? You wouldn't have won a single game."

  I drank down the last of my iced tea, the mention of Bliss making me anxious all over again. A sense of dread tugged at me, like the teeth of a shark grazing against my skin. Bliss. Always Bliss. I wished I never had to think of her again. Why couldn't I have fallen for a man who didn't know me from the past? Someone with whom I could start fresh, a brand-new person?

  Too late. I'd fallen hard for Rye, who commanded my complete attention. If you had asked me how many other people were in the restaurant, I couldn't have said. Was it raining or sunny? I couldn't drag my gaze from him long enough to check. There was no one else for me besides Rye.

  The server arrived to clear away our dishes. I seized the opportunity to change the focus of our conversation. "I'm calling the shots, remember? Enough of the past, let's go have some fun. What first? Ocean or jungle?"

  He didn't miss a beat. "Which involves less clothing?"

  I laughed. "That would be the ocean, since you don't want to set foot in the jungle without complete coverage."

  "Ocean it is. Any chance we can get rid of the clothes altogether?"

  "Count on it, cowboy."

  The rest of the day was pretty much my definition of pure bliss. The real kind, not the complicated-fake-mother kind. We went back to the bungalow and stuffed a backpack full of beach clothes and sunscreen, books and water canteens. Rye carried it as we walked the winding path along the shoreline. I pointed out my favorite things about the landscape. The tumbled rocks and caves perfect for exploring, and the spots where you could jump off into hidden pools. The light reflecting off the faceted surface of the waves. The coconut palms waving their fringed heads together as if they were gossiping.

  I'd spent so much time here alone. Showing it off let me experience it all over again, and I loved that.

  We passed the Oasis, but he refused to go inside. "They'll make me drink hemp or something," he grumbled. "I'm a cowboy. I drink longnecks and coffee, and the occasional shot of Jack Daniel’s."

  "Stick in the mud."

  "Yeah, well, I'd rather drink mud than some of the sludge I saw people downing."

  "Don't you want to be healthier?"

  "Don't I look healthy?"

  He looked delicious. The breeze kept molding his black t-shirt to his torso, delineating every muscle in his washboard abs. He moved with so much confidence and authority that every girl we passed checked him out. So many flirty smiles came his way that I started glaring at them from twenty yards away.

  He just laughed at me and took my hand.

  And then I spotted Gunther coming toward us. "Juicy-girl," he hailed me. He dropped a kiss on my cheek, which made Rye scowl. His turn to be jealous; I enjoyed that a little too much.

  "Rye, this is Gunther, otherwise known as Mango. He works at the juice bar with me."

  Gunther flashed a sunny grin. He wore black Thai fisherman's pants, a shark-tooth necklace and very little else. "How is it said, no work and all play?"

  "All work and no play," I corrected. “I’ve been teaching Gunther some American slang,” I explained to Rye.

  "Groovy," he said with a grin. "That one's coming back strong these days."

  "Groovy," Gunther repeated in his earnest way. "Danke."

  "Where are you off to, Gunther?"

  He held up a woven bag containing a bongo drum. "Drum circle. We practice for the Full Moon Party. You will both come?"

  I glanced at Rye, whose hand curved around my waist. His possessiveness gave me a secret thrill. "Maybe. Rye's more of a country music type. Cowboys, you know how they are."

  Gunther brightened. "You are a real cowboy?" he asked eagerly.

  "Absolutely not. You don't see a hat, do you?" Rye deadpanned.

  Since Gunther didn't really get wisecracks, he just looked confused. "Later, gators," he said, putting his hands together in a Thai salute. He continued on his way down the path.

  Rye and I kept going. I got the feeling that Rye had all kinds of opinions about Mango, but all he said was, "Interesting coworker."

  I bit back a smile. He was cuter than ever when he was jealous.

  We came around the point that formed one end of the long, curving white-sand beach. I paused to let Rye soak in the spectacle of Haad Yuan, which was basically a free-wheeling circus as much as a beach. Along with the usual sunbathers and beach mats, I spotted games of Hacky Sack and fire spinners practicing their moves. A juggler was tossing pins high into the air. A girl in a bikini cruised across the beach on her hands.

  Little food shacks lined the border between beach and jungle. They sold every kind of curry, noodle bowls, limeade, spicy nuts, mango lassi—an international mix of cuisine catering to the rootless wanderlust crowd. Travelers wanted their samosas, their mango lassis. They wanted their Vietnamese coffee and soba noodle soup. The effect was a beyond-borders feel set to a techno beat.

  It felt like a place out of time, out of reality. Where no one was living their normal lives. Everyone was escaping something, or searching for something.

  Including me and Rye.

  Who was escaping and who was searching? Or were we each doing a little bit of both?

  7

  Rye

  For the next few days, I pushed everything aside except keeping my promise to Lauren. I gave her whatever she wanted. I let her call all the shots. And I didn't mention Bliss's message again.

  We cuddled on the beach. We joined a game of Frisbee between some Spanish college students on break and some Aussies traveling for their gap year. I soaked in the general live-for-the-moment attitude. I chatted with a massage artist from Japan, a yoga instructor from Norway, a retired corporate raider from Manhattan.

  But even though I didn't deliver Bliss's information, I couldn't completely forget it. Her words kept running in the background of my mind … criminally psychotic … precautions.

  And I found myself watching Lauren at odd moments … and wondering. How would she handle the news about her real mother? Was she as fragile as Bliss implied? Would she hate the messenger … and was that Bliss's intention?

  Luckily, I had Lauren's laughs, her smiles, her joy to distract me from those dark thoughts.

  We napped on the beach, running into the water when the sun got to be too much. In the ocean, we swam together like a couple of dolphins. We tangled our legs together and floated on our backs. We swam far past the other bathers. I hugged her to me and snuck my hand into her bikini bottoms. I fingered her until she came right there in the sun-warmed tropical ocean. The splashing waves showered us with diamonds, bits of sunlight captured in water. I felt as if the world was blessing us.

  Afterwards, she floated on her back, her head resting on my shoulder, her sleek, tanned curves glistening, so relaxed she stopped censoring her every word.

  "Do you have any idea how much I used to fantasize about you, Rye McAllister?" she murmured.

  "Is that right, you naughty girl?"

  "Oh yes. I used
to ogle your butt in those gym shorts you used to wear. I loved the way they hung down on your hips. Every morning I'd watch you set off on your run. And when you came back, you'd always strip your shirt off in the driveway to wipe off the sweat before you went inside. I'd stare at your chest and your belly. These muscles here." She reached underwater to feel my lower belly. "I was fascinated."

  "But I used to run for an hour. You watched when I left and came back?"

  "I waited," she said simply. "It was my little morning routine. Then you'd take a shower and by the time you came out, it was time for breakfast. Didn't you ever wonder why I was always a little late for breakfast? I used to wait until I heard your shower running, then run upstairs and throw on my school clothes. Brush my hair, my teeth, hide my sketchbook, and run back down in time for breakfast."

  "I had no idea," I admitted. "I thought of you as a kid."

  "Believe me, I know. I was a kid. A kid with a secret infatuation."

  "You don't have to hide it anymore." I nuzzled her hair. "Let your infatuation go wild. Ogle to your heart's content."

  "Oh, I am. You're even more magnificent now. It's a good thing you weren't this ripped back then. I probably would have fainted when you pulled off your t-shirt."

  Right then, I blessed every second I'd spent wielding a pitchfork or chopping wood at the ranch. If it pleased Lauren, it was worth it.

  We floated together on waves tipped gold by the sun as she made little dabbles in the water with her hands. "Can I ask you a dangerous question, Rye?"

  I went tense, my good mood threatened. For a moment, I thought she was about to ask about Bliss's message. Delivering it might ruin everything, and I wasn't ready. But whatever question she wanted to ask, I had to answer. She was calling the shots. "Shoot."

  "How many women were you with during the last six months? Since Washington?"

  Relief. Talking about sex was easy compared to the other option.

  "Define 'with,'" I teased.

  She stuck out her tongue in a sassy way. "I define it as your cock in someone's pussy."