Spring Tide (Coastal University Book 1)

If my calculations are correct, Harper’s about thirty seconds away from walking into our room wearing nothing but a chintzy towel.

I know she didn’t bring a change of clothes with her into the bathroom. Her bright yellow duffle bag sits on the singular queen bed beside me—taunting me—reminding me that I’m alone with a girl in a hotel room. And that it’s not just any girl.

This is Harper, with her big, sweet smiles and her uncanny knack for bringing me comfort. She drove all the way up here to watch my game tonight, despite the fact that I ignored the shit out of her all week. It’s not that I didn’t want to see her or speak to her.

I’m just not used to having anyone to answer to.

“Luca,” her soft voice calls from across the room, a tiny crack opened in the doorway. “I forgot my stuff out there. Do you mind if I come out in just this towel? Or could you maybe pass me my bag?”

I clear my throat, running an unsteady hand across my forehead. “Just the towel is fine. I mean, no, I don’t mind.”

Her gentle footsteps patter into the room. She’s grinning, face flushed with heat from the shower, damp hair combed back behind bare shoulders. There are a few droplets of water gathered in the clefts of her collarbones. I attempt to divert my eyes from her body, subtly enough not to draw attention.

The feat is nearly impossible.

“I don’t bite,” she says softly, bouncing toward the spot beside me. She unzips her bag, rifles through the clothing, and yanks out a pair of pajamas. They’re tiny, blush pink, with a hint of lace. If she truly plans on wearing those in front of me, I think I might have an existential crisis.

“Right, I just . . . anyway.” I swallow back the lump that’s wedged its way into my throat. “I’m gonna hop in the shower now. I called Taylor to let her know I’d be staying the night.”

“Perfect. I’ll call room service and ask them to send up a few more pillows.”

I absentmindedly massage the back of my neck. “Could you ask for a cot, too?”

“A cot?”

“If they have one, just so that I don’t have to sleep on the floor. I don’t know that my body could take it after tonight’s game.”

“We can just share the bed, can’t we?”

The muscles along my spine pull tight. “You want to . . .”

“Sleep together?” She busies herself, laying out a few more items on the bed—some lotion, a hairbrush, and one pair of big fuzzy socks. I do my best to keep my eyes trained there. “I think it’d be fine. We’re friends, right? Plus, I can even set up a pillow wall between us if you want. A cot isn’t going to be comfortable for anyone.”

I contemplate my answer for a long moment, my frozen feet rooted to the spot. By some miracle, I effectively manage to spit out the words “yeah” and “okay” without choking on them in the process.

“So get your butt in the shower, and I’ll give them a call.”

Following a simple nod, I flip around, dragging one foot after another until I reach the threshold of the bathroom. Pausing in the doorway, I pat one hand against the frame and tilt my head back in her direction. “Thanks, Harper.”

She flashes me a warm smile. “You’re welcome.”

I attempt to clear my mind in the shower. My eyes flutter shut, my shoulders relax, and my brain melts into a puddle at my feet. The scalding water washes over my sore, aching muscles, pulling at the anxious threads that twist in my gut. It’s the first time I’ve been alone all day.

I’m not used to this. Generally, after an away game, I’d spend the next few hours decompressing by myself on the long drive home. Now, I have less than ten minutes to get my act fully together.

It takes a great deal of effort to force myself out of the shower. While struggling in silence, I towel off and throw on a soft cotton undershirt with a pair of gray sweats. When I re-enter our room, Harper’s bent halfway over the bed.

And it looks like I was right. That tiny pair of satin pajamas doesn’t leave much to the imagination. Her bare legs are long and lean, sculpted from years of lifeguarding on the beach. There’s a dusting of dark freckles spattered across her shoulder blades. Her skin is glowy—tanned and vibrant—from all the time she spends soaking up the sunshine.

My entire body buzzes at the sight of her.

“Hey, there.” She pats down a stack of pillows, her soft gaze sweeping toward mine. “They brought up some more pillows and towels for us, so I thought we could prop up your knee with them. I also went out to the ice machine in case that might be helpful. Plus, I got you a Snickers bar and some chips, just barbecue Lay’s. They didn’t have very many options in the snack machine, and I didn’t know how hungry you were.”

“Jesus, Harper,” I croak, unable to peel my gaze off of her. “Thank you.”

“Sure. I figured the team didn’t get to order any food due to the storm, and it’s a little too late for room service, so—”

“You really didn’t have to do all this.”

“It’s no big deal, really. I’m sure you’d do the same for me.” She stretches one arm out, passing the ice bag from her hand to mine. “Here.”

I tug at the thin collar of my T-shirt, regret swirling in the pit of my stomach. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”

“I was overwhelmed this week, and I didn’t know how to talk about it.” I lower myself onto the edge of the bed, patting the spot to my left. She joins me there, one knee bumping against mine as we settle in together. “I feel like I’m being pulled in a thousand different directions, and I’m fucking exhausted. I’m not used to someone else caring about me, but I shouldn’t have written you off the way I did.”

She gently tugs my hand onto her lap. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not. I’ll, uh . . . I’m gonna work on it.” I slide my thumb along the underside of her wrist. “I want to be a good friend.”

“You already are.” She shifts her hips and tosses her arms around me, face burrowed into my chest. A deep breath fills my lungs. I press my nose against her hair and soak up the faint scent of her peach shampoo. Before I can stop myself, my lips form a quiet kiss against her crown.

She pulls back. “Shoot, now I’m the one that’s sorry.”

“What?” I ask, a breathless sound.

“I know you’re not a very touchy-feely person.” There’s a crease in her brow, a sheepish half-smile pulling at her lips. “I keep forcing you into hugs tonight.”

“I don’t mind hugs from you.”

“You don’t? I just figured, I mean, sometimes I’ve seen you flinch when people touch you.”

“It’s not so much the touching itself but who’s doing it and in what way.”

Her head tilts. “What do you mean?”

“It’s different when it’s someone I want touching me. Uh, I mean, if I’m close with the person, then I don’t mind it. I just like to know it’s coming, and it has to be the right type of pressure.”

“Pressure?”

“Yeah, just a firm touch.” I press two unsteady palms against my lap, praying that the perspiration doesn’t leave a mark. “Nothing too light or unexpected—that’s when I feel like crawling out of my own skin.”

“So it’s a sensory thing?”

“It is.”

“I think I know what you mean, then.” She offers a reassuring smile. “I used to get that same yucky feeling from stepping on sand. It’s like my feet were on fire.”

“But you practically live on the sand.”

“I guess my body adapted to it somehow.”

“Right. That’s good.”

She shifts course, pushing herself up from the bed. “So hugs from me are okay?”

“Yes.” I join her with a slight wince, the pressure and swelling from tonight’s game finally catching up with me.

“Good to know.” Her gaze cuts to my knee. “How are you feeling now? Are you tired, sore, strung out?”

“I think a little bit of everything.”

“Would you like a massage or just sleep?”

Although the former sounds most appealing, I might not be able to handle her hands on my body right now—pushing, prodding, kneading at my weaknesses. “Sleep might be best.”

She agrees, lifting the covers to slide herself into bed. I cross to the other side and shuffle in beside her, careful to keep a neat foot of distance between us. My left leg is propped up on the stack of pillows she created.

It’s all a bit awkward, but I try not to dwell on it.

Following an exchange of whispered good-nights, we simultaneously dim our bedside lamps. At first, the silence feels so loud. My breathing is erratic, my chest is heavy, and every tiny shift of her body sends a shock wave through my spine.

Five grueling minutes pass. Then, there’s a bright flash of lightning, followed by the crack of heavy thunder. Our window illuminates, the sound of steady rain returns, and my body starts to settle.

“Luca?”

“Yes?”

“I’m glad you stayed tonight.”

My voice sounds foreign to my ears, hoarse and unpracticed as I sputter a response. “Me too.”

“You played a great game. It was fun to watch you in your element.”

“Thank you.”

She’s quiet for a few long moments, then, “Luca?”

“Yes, Harper.”

“I don’t know if I can fall asleep in this storm.”

I reposition onto my right side, kicking out the pillows as I prop myself on one elbow. “I gathered that.”

“Sorry to keep you up.” She shifts onto her side as well. It’s nearly pitch-black in the room now, but I can still see the faint outline of her facial features—the gentle slope of her nose, the curved bow of her lips. It’s difficult to make out her freckles in this light, but I can surely imagine them.

“It’s fine,” I whisper. “I don’t think I can fall asleep, either.”

“Maybe we should play a game, then.”

“What kind of game?”Exclusive content © by Nô(v)el/Dr/ama.Org.

“How about two truths and a lie?”

“You start.”

“Okay.” She nibbles on her bottom lip as she contemplates a response. “I’m majoring in sports medicine. I’ve always loved the beach. And earlier, when I felt your lips press against my hair, I wish you would’ve just kissed me for real.”

My mind is a buzzing mess of static. My heart, a pounding arrhythmia inside my ears. “You used to hate sand.”

“I did.”

“So the beach . . .”

“I used to hate that, too.” Her hand reaches for mine under the covers. “You know you could still kiss me now . . . if you wanted to.”

Desire burns a hot coil inside my gut. “I probably shouldn’t.”

“Why?”

My thoughts are racing, but my mind is blank. It’s difficult to conjure up a reasonable excuse. All I know is that I’m Luca and she’s Harper and we don’t fit together, despite what I may be feeling right now.

“There are . . . so many reasons.”

“Is it because you don’t want to?”

“I didn’t say that.”

I want to. Of course I fucking want to.

“Luca, when was the last time you did something just because you wanted to?”

“I can’t even remember how long it’s been.”

“Then take a chance.” She presses her thumb against my palm, rubbing small circles directly against the center. “Right now. Kiss me just because you want to. Forget all the silly reasons why you think you shouldn’t.”

I release her hand, snaking my own behind her head. She shifts a half breath closer, and my fingers tangle into the damp curls at the nape of her neck.

“I don’t want to keep begging you, but I might just be willing to.”

“You don’t need to beg me,” I murmur. “Not now, not ever.”

I release one last unsteady breath, shaking all remaining shreds of doubt from my brain. Then, slowly, with the smell of peaches filling the room and the sound of rain pelting against the window, I press my lips to hers.