He tilted his head, making the tattoo along his neck flex and ripple. “No bullshit?”

My chest tightened in a way I knew had nothing to do with the workout I’d just had. “No bullshit.”

He moved closer, until only a couple of feet separated us, until I could imagine crossing the distance and finding out how a saltwater kiss tasted. He took a deep breath, like he was trying to decide how much to say. “I like being around you. I can’t explain it any better than that.”

As much as I wanted to analyze that comment, decipher what he meant, the immediate fear that slid into my peaceful afternoon stole the show. “Don’t play games with me, Paxton.”

“No games,” he promised. “Just my…friendship. Nine months is a long time not to get to know someone.”

That pause meant nothing, right? That pause is everything.

“Right.” I silenced the joyful thirteen-year-old girl who was dancing around in my stomach with the reminder that Zoe had come out of his room a few days ago. “I’d like to be friends,” I admitted. But no further. No deeper. No chance for him to rip through my scars.

Then he led me back to our ride, helping me up the ladder onto the smaller ski boat. As we headed toward the dock, he gave me that smile again—the one that felt like it was only for me—and those damn butterflies were back. Why did he have to have such different sides to him?

Wilder I could shut out. He was a pompous, reckless ass who would no doubt get me hurt in more ways than one.

But Paxton? Yeah. I was defenseless against him, and that was even more dangerous.

Chapter Six

Leah

At Sea

I glanced at the door as Dr. Westwick droned on about the principals of inertia. Physics had to be the most frustrating class I’d ever taken, and honestly, I didn’t care when the ball I’d rolled would stop rolling.

Unless that rolling ball would explain to me where the hell Paxton was.

We’d been at sea four straight days, and he had already missed two of our World Lit classes, one of World Religion, and now all of our Physics. How the hell was I supposed to keep his grades up if he didn’t come to class?

My eyes drifted to the window, where the waves of the Atlantic were currently affecting the pitch of my stomach.

“Make sure you turn in your answers via eCampus by midnight tomorrow, and look over the guide for the quiz on Monday. Don’t slack off just because you have a couple days in Barcelona,” Dr. Westwick warned, ending our class.

I gathered my things to leave, shoving my binder into my bag a little harder than necessary.

“Miss Baxter?” Dr. Westwick called from the podium.

I plastered a tight-lipped smile onto my face before turning to him. “Dr. Westwick?”

His fingers trailed down a list I couldn’t see. “You’re Mr. Wilder’s tutor, aren’t you?”

Shit. “I am.”

He pushed his square-rimmed glasses up his nose. “Well, if you could persuade him to attend, that might help his participation grade a little. Tell him that watching from his room isn’t quite the same.”

I’m going to kill him. Dead. Then I’ll throw the body overboard where no one will find it. “I’ll tell him, Professor.”

He nodded his thanks, and I took off to my room—our room. Sharing with Penna was actually pretty enjoyable. She wasn’t around much, and when she was, she respected my space but was still easy to talk to.

“That asshole!” I shouted as I slammed our door behind me, throwing my bag into the hall closet.

“Who?” Penna called from the living room, where I found her painting her toenails. Her perfect legs stretched out in front of her, all tan and smooth, and I tried to ignore the stab of sheer envy that lanced through my heart. You are grateful for the life you’ve been given. These scars are a beautiful reminder of your second chance. The second chance he would have wanted you to have. I repeated the mantra in my head until the pain faded into a sense of peace. Dr. Scott would have been proud. Because that only took two years of therapy.

But even with therapy and two years, there were moments when everything hurt like hell, where the pain was still so rough that it scraped my soul until it bled. Those were the scars only I saw, the ones I picked at every once in a while so I didn’t forget him.

“Leah, who’s the asshole?” Penna repeated, jarring me.

“Oh.” I shook my head and collapsed into the armchair. “Paxton.”

“Well, that’s not the first time I’ve heard that word associated with his name,” she said. “What did he do?”

“He’s skipping classes. I’m about to do some experiments with inertia and my fist to his freaking face.”

She snorted. “Pax hasn’t ever been one to do what he’s supposed to. That’s why he has you.” She lifted the brush as the ship pitched slightly. “This is impossible in these waves.”

“Well, I guess I’m failing that one.”

She lifted the construction-cone orange polish and raised her eyebrows. “Want to do yours?”

I shook my head. Toes, I could handle, but if something slipped… “No, thank you. I may as well go kick Zoe out of his bed or whatever. He’s blown off all of today, but I’ll be damned if he misses anything tomorrow.”

“Zoe isn’t sleeping with him. She hasn’t in the last six months or so. It doesn’t stop her from trying, but that ship sailed a while ago, and Paxton isn’t one to climb the same mountain twice, if you know what I mean.” She closed up the polish.