GAGE
Three Years Later
The Present

I should have stayed home.

When my friends first brought up this idea of barging in on the girls' vacation trip, I should have known to sit my ass down and come up with an excuse when asked about my availability. I should have laughed, and thanked them, but said no thanks.

But that's not what happened. Not at all.

For the first time in three years, I allowed myself to fully fantasize about something-someone-I knew would drive me to distraction, burn my skin with her laughter, and cause me to care in a way I didn't fucking want to.

Now here I am. Surrounded by people, warm sun, and the bluest Miami sky that I can't even enjoy because how the hell am I just to stand here while mere boys try to talk to her?

"You like reading?" the dumbass asks, scratching the back of his neck while staring down at her.

I'm thinking she'll snort at him, or at the very least roll her eyes at such a useless question, but instead, I have to watch her pull down her sunglasses and then smile at him in interest.

"Who's trying to know?" Her voice is a deep feminine melody, the voice you'd expect to hear on a mermaid. The one that lures men, not the sweet kind. It's not for the dumbass' benefit either.

"I think you're beautiful," the dumbass blurts out, skin glowing red like a tomato. Fucker can't even flirt properly.

She knows she's fucking beautiful, I wish I could yell at him.

She couldn't have possibly gone so many years being at the receiving end of pining glances and love declarations without knowing of her gut-wrenching beauty.

"That's sweet of you to say." She smiles at him, sitting up on her beach towel, now holding the book on her lap. "Thank you."

His eyes drift down to her glistening chest, watching with what I can only describe as wide-eyed hunger. "W-What's your name?"

Rochelle's usually more or less indifferent to most guys. Since high school, the girl's been more focused on keeping her grade point average high and getting a lacrosse scholarship to play in college than anything else.

"I'm Rochelle, what's your name?"

"I'm Aiden."

She smiles, not the sarcastic, distrustful smiles she usually throws my way, but one of her softer ones. "Nice to meet you."

Is it really nice to meet him, Rochelle? Is it?

I lean forward on the chaise I'm sitting on, watching the proceedings a couple of feet from me with narrowed eyes and what I'm hoping isn't too disgusted of a lip curl. I'm trying not to let the sight of them get to me, holding the frustration back, coaxing the rage to a simmering boil.

She'll ward him off soon enough. If not verbally, then with an indirect dismissal only she can dish out. The smile that lacks any real warmth, the distant look in her eyes, the humorless laugh. I should know, I've been at the receiving end of such dismissals for years.

"It's so great to meet you, too." Aiden is completely red now, a tomato on a crowded beach. What a pitiful sight. "I-I've actually been meaning to talk to you since I saw you, and was actually-"

No, no, no. That's enough.

I get up and walk toward them, my signature smirk in place. "What's up, party people?" My eyes are on Aiden's, and when he takes a double look at my sight, I almost let out a burst of maniacal laughter.

"Sampson? Gage Sampson?"

I extend my hand with a grin and he captures it with two hands, nodding and shaking profusely. His eyes are shining brightly, his previous shy redness transforming into the professional gleam of corporate America.

I didn't expect this amazing of a response. I hoped, of course, but my business-bro-detecting skills are not always accurate. Thank fuck I was right about Aiden. I would have had to resort to other measures of removal if not.

"Oh my gosh! This is so crazy, man-"

I pat his arm. "Let's talk more later, yeah? I think there's a new internship program you would like to know about." I not so subtly tell him to get away, and whether he knows why or not, he promptly nods and skedaddles.

"Wow, no I get no goodbye or anything?" Rochelle snorts good-naturedly, not even hurt because a girl like her never has to be offended by a man forgetting about her. There'll always be others.

And though she doesn't know, there will always be me.

"Gage." She looks up at me with what I hope is happiness but looks more like suspicious indifference. "Why does he know who you are?"

"You don't know?" I take a seat by her on the towel, ignoring my thumping heart at being near her. "I'm a world-renowned Hollywood star. I'm actually surprised by your ignorance. I mean, we went to high school together. We are friends . . ." I purposely emphasize the word, knowing what's coming.

"Yeah, first of all, we're not friends. We only have mutual friends." She looks back, probably searching for our aforementioned friends who are nowhere to be found. "And my guy, you are no one's renowned star. I saw you freshman year in the theater class play, Gage. You were the tree and still managed to suck."

Fuck, I love when she cuts me down to size. It's so easy for her, as if the words are on the tip of her tongue at all times, ready to be unleashed.

I try to hold back the smile that wants to crash through. "No one talks about how difficult it is to be a tree, my sweet Elle. I had to do something to stand out."

"So wide-eyed panic and swaying from left to right was your answer?"

I nod slowly, watching as a drop of sweat drifts down her neck. "Exactly."

"Please, Gage. Don't pollute the air with your lies." She pushes up her sunglasses, hooking her hair back. "He knows you 'cause he's a business bro. Weren't you pictured with your father in the last Business World Today issue?"

I lean forward, the urge to do something irrational like placing my lips against hers making me heady. "Didn't know you keep up with my affairs, Elle. I'm very flattered, actually." I tap her adorable nose.

"I don't." She slaps my hand away. "Daniel was reading it when I was over at his place."

"Daniel, huh?" Mention of that fucker makes me want to eat sand. Or better yet, stuff that pompous fucker with all the sand on this beach until he knows not to talk to Elle anymore.

She eyes me with narrowed eyes and an intrigued smile. "What even is your problem with him?"

That you like him so damn much.

I guess saying that Rochelle's never shown any interest in guys is a lie I'd like to believe. Truth is, Daniel Weston is the only guy she's ever actively been, disgustingly might I add, interested in.

"He doesn't like me either, you know?" I grumble in annoyance.

"Yeah, but that's only because you're passive-aggressive or you downright ignore him every time you cross paths."

"Oh, so poor Daniel is hurt because I'm not busy kissing his ass like everyone else?" The fact that she knows how he feels about anything makes me want to claw my eyes out.

She stares at me for a bit in complete silence. "He and Jacob are kinda chill now, you know? You don't have to keep hating him."

Being Amara's boyfriend, Jacob has done all in his power short of walking through fire to make sure her brother finally accepts him into the fold. The guy is completely gone for his girl, though, so he's taken the challenge as a privilege.

"Trust me, I know. My dislike for Daniel is my own only."

She gives me a look, not believing me. "What other reason could you possibly have?"

I shrug, and she tilts her head at me. "Something to do with lacrosse?" she wonders at loud.

Daniel and I were on the same team last year and for the past three years, but now going to different schools, we've been on the same field as opponents instead of teammates. Still, the intense competition is not the reason for my dislike of the guy.

"No, Daniel doesn't take that shit seriously enough for that to be the problem," she comments lightly as if her casual knowledge of his feelings doesn't make me want to plot his murder. "And neither do you."

I freeze, taken aback by the fact that she knows that about me. Something warm and soft drifts through my insides, settling on the bottom of my stomach. It feels painful, uncomfortable, and perfect all at the same time.

Fuck, is this why men kill? Why they fight wars and go to the ends of the Earth in search of more? And why they give everything up just for the sake of their beloved?

Fucking hell, I knew I should have kept my ass at home. Because now I'm spewing poetry in my brain, and that would not be the case if I'd kept myself away from Rochelle like I've been doing for the past three years.

"Oh my gosh, don't tell me it's over a girl?" She looks disgusted by the idea, probably wondering which one of Daniel's harem of girls is the reason for our dislike.

If only she knew.

I don't say anything, and after shaking her head and mumbling something about how annoying I am, she pushes herself up.

I try, okay? Or at least, I tell myself to try. I tell my stubborn eyes to look away, to observe the water of the beach, the people walking around, and the kids making castles.

I promise I try to force myself to try. But my greedy eyes have been starved. Starved for her.

Her thighs are toned yet soft. I imagine sliding my hands up their length when she's annoyed at me, caressing them when she's sad, and massaging them after a particularly difficult match. I imagine them belonging to me.

Her belly is flat and strong. A brown so bright that it resembles glistening gold. I imagine pressing my hand down on the flesh, feeling the smooth heat of her body, kissing it gently until she pushes me away in annoyance. I imagine what it would be like to trace my name there, imagine if she would then belong to me.

She turns to pick up her book and fuck, her ass. Light brown stretch marks decorate the sides, peeking from underneath her blue bikini. I watch them as they draw maps on her body, as they point to the treasure that she is.

Apparently, I become Shakespeare when I'm around this girl. Amazing.

"Where are you going?" Thankfully, I don't sound as thirsty as I feel.

She turns around to look at me, her braids swinging in the air. "To see what the girls want to do. You've managed to both bore and annoy me, Gage."

Man, I love when she says my name. It sounds perfect coming from her lips. "Your dear girls are somewhere kissing their men." And you should be kissing me, I almost add. "I'm sure they'll be no fun."

She's holding her book against her chest, giving me an unimpressed look. "Yeah well, I'm sure they'll be willing to detach their mouths from their men for one second to spend some time with me given that this was supposed to be a girls' trip."

"Spend time with me," is what leaves my mouth when she keeps collecting her stuff. With a wince, I realize just how desperate that sounded.

"What?" She keeps throwing her things inside her beach bag, only sparing me the quickest glance.

I get up, swiping her towel from the floor. "Amara and Jacob are somewhere confessing their undying love for each other, Jaya and Fin are too busy lost in their own bubble, and Sera and Aristide are . . ." I scratch the back of my head.

This makes her laugh, and she finally stops packing up to consider me. Did I ever notice just how deep her eyes go? I know that makes no sense, but it's hard to explain. It's like so much knowledge and life is stored in them. Like they can see everything from the end to the beginning.

I wonder then, why doesn't she see me?

"They're too busy trying to hide from us the fact that they're fucking?" she proposes, eyebrows raised in question.

"I didn't know how to put it without being so crude, but yes."

She laughs, and I've heard her laugh before, but always from afar. Always making sure that I'm distracted enough so that I can't focus on it. I almost ask her to do it again and record her this time. Just so I can have the sound for future use.

"You think we can spend time together without one of us killing the other?"

"Oh, c'mon, Elle. We can get along just fine."

She points at me. "See? That already is grounds for me to kick your ass. It's Rochelle or Ro. No one calls me Elle."

I grin. "Precisely."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I know that no one calls you Elle." It's the only thing of yours that is just mine. "I like it better that way." I shrug it off like it's no big deal as I fold her towel.

She's quiet for a second, then she's shaking her head. "You're so weird, Gage."

"A weirdo who you're gonna have the best day with."

"Is that so?"

"I hear the skepticism in your voice," I say as I place the folded towel inside her bag, "but that's okay. I live to prove you wrong."

"Mm." She picks up the bag, and I ease it from her hand before she can place it on her shoulder. "Oh . . . thanks."

I hate that she's watching me suspiciously as if she has no idea what to do with me. Indeed, we haven't always been the closest of friends, which has been my purposeful doing, but it seems that she doesn't know whether to trust me.

The few times we've been in the same space, I've made it a point to be jokingly antagonizing, but I never assumed that my behaviors would really make an impact on the way that she would see me.

Fin, Jacob, and Evan know me well enough to understand that my goofiness is mostly just a smokescreen, just a better disposition than the dullness and indifference that I often feel. Thankfully, they don't point my shit out.

Truth be told, I couldn't be as perpetually brooding as Jacob-I would drive my parents to ask too many questions and to meddle with my life. The Sampson family is beloved by the press, I can't be the bad apple in the perfect bunch.

"So where are we going?" she asks me as we walk the path toward the hotel, her sunglasses back on her eyes while she looks up at me.

"Let's go drop your bag and change."

"Then?" She sounds almost . . . excited. I guess she's been bored with her friends all busy.

I'm not sure where everyone is, but I followed her to the beach after I couldn't possibly wonder any harder about what color bikini she was wearing and how she'd look like toasting in the sun.

"Then," I begin, flicking my gaze down the length of her. She's not short for a girl, but she's shorter than her friends, short enough to only reach the top of my shoulders, "I'll take you to my favorite Miami spot. You'll cry at their food. Then you'll beg me to marry you and have your children because they too deserve a father as kind as me."

Yeah, you wish, you fucker.

She huffs out a laugh, shaking her head at me. "Oh, you deluded, poor fool. For one, I'm the pickiest eater alive, so good luck to you. And baby, I don't cry."

Baby. She called me baby.

The pool at the bottom of my stomach fizzles, way past boiling point, it's about to explode. I only hope that when it does, Rochelle can run fast enough.

Because if I catch her, I'm keeping her.