Spring Tide (Coastal University Book 1)

The pier is a slippery fucking disaster today. It’s as if the universe is hell-bent on destroying any last semblance of my recovery. The slick combination of sand, salt water, and rotting wood has officially taken its toll.

Suffice it to say, I’ve eaten shit twice already this afternoon.

Now, my knee is a throbbing, swollen knot inside my jeans. My hands are shaking from the pain. And my head, it’s a swirling vortex of frustrated energy. By the time I’m finished with my shift, I foresee a long night of suffering. Not to mention, tomorrow’s game is likely to be a shitshow.

I’m in desperate need of an emergency session with Harper. I don’t understand how she forces me to relax so easily—to fall asleep beneath the gentle, unyielding pressure of her fingertips. Believe it or not, it’s typically impossible for me to feel comfortable in someone else’s space.

With Harper, it’s like I don’t have a choice. I’m entranced by that sea of pillows and her soft, nimble hands. Plus, I appreciate the way she responds to my . . . attitude. Because apparently, that’s what I have. The feisty, ripe attitude of her deceased family pet.

“You look like shit, son,” Pawel calls out in his matter-of-fact tone. “Why don’t you head out early, and I can close up?”

My boss isn’t usually this perceptive, but it’s painfully obvious that I’m reeling. My brow is filled with sweat, my cheeks are burning with heat, and the bottom half of my jeans are fully drenched by the high tide.

Regardless, I ignore his offer. With one final shake of my head, I heave another box of equipment over my shoulder. This time, I make sure to brace myself on the rough polymer-coated pilings. Each one is spaced a few feet apart, so I grit my teeth and shuffle between them, careful not to lift up and slip on my ass again.

“I know you heard me, Luc.”

I carry on with my task, gathering a mixture of trash, old equipment, and tangled lines into their respective places.

“I’m not leaving early,” I mutter, wiping a stray bead of sweat from my eyelid. “I need the money.”

“I’m still paying you for the shift, boy.” Pawel shuffles behind me, clapping one hand on my shoulder and another on the crate. “But if you don’t leave, I’ll find a reason to dock your pay.”

“Bullshit.” My gaze drags over his weathered frame, with his frail hands, slumped posture, and graying tufts of hair. It’s no secret that the man is well past retirement age. “You need more rest than I do.”

“Do you forget that I’m a sailor?” He levels me with a harsh stare, his ocean-blue eyes swirling with tender resolve. “I’ve lived a thousand lifetimes, and I’ll live a thousand more. Plus, I’m not the one who’s injured.”

I wince, wildly unprepared to execute damage control. “But I-I’m not—”

“If you think I don’t see you, then you’re wrong.”

“Okay, it’s true,” I finally relent, puffing out a breath of panicked air. “I may be injured, but it’s more so just a temporary bruise. I’ll be fine, and I really need the hours, Pawel, so please don’t cut me out of the schedule because—”

“Calm down, boy.” He shrugs his windbreaker over his shoulders, flipping his hood at the first signs of rain. “No one’s cutting anyone out of anything. Get on home, and we’ll pretend this conversation never happened.”

I flinch as a lone raindrop lands on the bridge of my nose, a tiny wet splash flickering against my hot skin. “Don’t do me any favors.”

“I’m doin’ myself a favor,” he argues. “You’re no good to me if you’re out of commission.”

“Fine, I’ll leave.” I toss the damp equipment back into the crate, staring at the knotted pile of fishing line. “But I’m back Sunday morning, no excuses.”

“I’m tired of watching your mouth move,” he grumbles. “Get outta here.”

The rain gathers steam as I hobble away from the pier. Warm, fat droplets fall from the clouds, pooling in my hair and slipping down the sides of my face. My feet drag, knee twitching as I yank the door closed on my old Subaru. Right in time, too, as rainwater pelts down in heavy torrents against my windshield.

After a full day of late summer heat, this downpour is as predictable and cyclic as the tides. It’s hurricane season, after all, but it doesn’t mean I have to tolerate the interruption.

My head tilts back against the headrest, eyes squeezing shut as I take a deep breath. The rain has mixed and melded with the dry sand, filtering in through my nose with every tiny puff of air. It’s a syrupy, earthy scent that serves to piss me off.

Rainstorms always coincide with an atmospheric drop, meaning the soft tissues in my knee have begun to swell. It’s a surefire way to prolong my inextricable pain. And if I wasn’t certain before, now I know the universe is actively conspiring against me.

I allow sixty full seconds of self-pity before I dig my phone out.

“Luca!” Harper answers on the first ring, her voice a familiar chipper tone. “Hi, how are you?”

“Just fine,” I mutter, the phrase absentmindedly leaving my mouth. “Actually, I fell at work and tweaked my knee. I know we’re not supposed to meet again until next week, but I was wondering if I could come over tonight?”

“Oh, no,” she murmurs. “I’m sorry, Luca. I can’t have you over tonight.”

“Right, of course not.” A pit in my stomach hollows out. “It’s fucking Friday night, I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ll just—”

“No, silly, I just meant . . . could I come to your place instead?”

“What?”

“I promised Stella and Lai’Lani they could have the apartment to themselves. I was actually just headed out for a bite to eat.”

My shoulders relax, a sigh of relief filtering through my lips. “Oh, okay.”

“So, is that alright, then? I’ll come to yours?”

“I mean . . . uh,” I sputter, racking my brain. I have no clue how long it’s been since I last cleaned. I think my bed is made, and my laundry is done, at the very least. “Yeah, that’d be fine.”

“I’m just gonna grab some tacos on the way,” she says happily. “Would you like me to pick up some extra?”

The pit in my stomach groans at the thought, a sudden reminder that I haven’t eaten since this morning. “I, uh, I’m not hungry.”

“You just got off work, didn’t you? I’m sure you’re at least a little bit hungry. I’ll pick you up some chorizo and egg,” she rambles on. “Those are my favorite.”

“That’s really not nec—”

“You said you live with your sister, right? Does she like tacos? If she’s vegetarian, they have cactus and potato as an option. I could also just pick a big variety.”

“We’re good, Harper,” I protest, the grumble in my stomach growing louder. “We don’t need any tacos. Taylor’s probably out tonight, anyway.”

“If you say so.” Her tone is flippant, dismissively cheerful. “Text me the address, and I can be there in about thirty if that works?”

“It works.”

“See you soon!”

I speed home through the rainstorm, my twenty-year-old Outback sputtering and hydroplaning through the newly formed puddles. By the time I make it back, I only have about five minutes left to spare. Of course, Bentley comes crashing into the living room to greet me—no signs of his mother in sight.

My palm runs through his silky fur, scratching behind his ears. Content, he trots behind me, panting and slobbering as I rush around the house. My swollen joints continue to ache and groan. Ignoring the pain, I toss the trash out back, stuff a few dishes into the wash, and wipe down the dining table.

The kitchen is my top priority at the moment since Harper might need a clean spot to eat her tacos.

When the doorbell finally sounds, I take one last look around the empty house. I suppose it’s presentable enough for an outsider. There are no obvious messes or stains or discarded items lying around, but I wish I had a few more minutes to tidy up. If it wasn’t immediately obvious, I’m not used to having visitors.

I release one heavy breath before I pull open the front door. The sight of a half-drenched Harper greets me, her beachy waves dripping onto the doormat beneath her feet. She’s struggling to balance three paper bags in her arms. Her clothing is damp, small droplets of rain clinging to her exposed skin.

“Hey there, stranger.” Her voice is soft, pleasant despite the circumstances. Her cheeks tighten with a carefree grin. If I were to make an educated guess, I’d have to assume that this girl enjoys the rain.

“Come in,” I say.

As we step inside, I make a subtle move to reach for her bags. Unfortunately, Bentley comes bounding in behind me. His seventy-five-pound frame nearly knocks Harper off her feet as my hands instinctively move to steady her, fingers wrapped loosely around her upper arms. She sways and stumbles a bit, but we manage to effectively right ourselves before toppling over.

“Shit,” I swear under my breath. “He’s a little aggressive, but he means well.”

“It’s okay,” she says cheerfully.

Once she’s steady on her feet, I gather the bags into my arms. As she follows behind, I guide us toward the kitchen, corralling the dog to my side with a low whistle.

“What a beautiful baby,” Harper coos, softly stroking Bentley’s fur. “Luca, what’s the puppy’s name?”

“He’s full-grown, but his name’s Bentley.”

She tsks. “I’m pretty sure all dogs are puppies forever.”

I acknowledge the comment with a humorless snort.

Once I set her bags on the dining table, she steps forward to rifle through. First, she pulls out handfuls of hot-sauce containers. Then taco after endless taco. There are at least twenty greasy white pouches on the table now.

I cock one brow. “This seems like way too much food for one person.”

“It’s not for one person, you goof.” She crumples up the now-empty bags, spinning around in search of a trash can. “I brought you and Taylor some. I got lots of hot sauce, too. Do you like things spicy?”

“I told you this wasn’t necessary.”

“It’s all good, Luca.” She waves a dismissive hand. “I can’t just eat in front of you without offering anything. Besides, I wanted you to try this place. It’s one of my favorites.”

I can feel the warmth gathering in my cheeks. “Okay.”

“So, you’ll have some?”

“Since it’s here, yeah, I probably should.” I clear my throat, gathering the trash from her hands. “We don’t want it to go to waste.”

“Of course not.” She glances back at me, waiting patiently as I stuff the paper bags under the sink. “And your sister, is she around?”

“She might pop in later. I think she’s working on a project in the circuits lab.”

“Circuits?” Her brow quirks as she settles into a dining chair.

I grab a few plates from the cupboards, joining Harper at the table. “She’s a master’s student in electrical engineering.”

“That’s kinda badass.”

“Yeah, it is.” One corner of my mouth turns up. “Taylor, uh, she works really hard.”

Harper gathers a few tacos onto her plate, carefully unwrapping them one by one. She drenches them in hot sauce before she says, “Must run in the Reynolds family.”

“Yeah, maybe.” I clear my throat, unwrapping a few tacos for myself. “Speaking of—if Taylor comes home soon, what do you want me to tell her?”

“Hm?” she mumbles on a mouthful.

“Your friend Eden, she originally called me your boyfriend.” I nearly stutter over the word. “But I know that’s not what you’ve been telling your roommate, so I’d like to make things clear. My sister and I are straightforward people. Should I tell her we’re together?”

Her chewing is slow, deliberate as she ponders my question. “You, um, you could tell her we’re just seeing each other for now. Nothing serious.”

“Okay.” I finally stuff a taco into my mouth, quickly discovering that it’s pure fucking heaven.

“Actually, about that. I wanted to run something by you.”

“Go ahead,” I mutter, moving on to my second taco.

Damn. This delicious combination of meat and hot sauce is killing me slowly. In a good way, if that’s possible.

“That guy I had a crush on . . . ya know, the baseball player?”

I take a moment to pause my incessant chewing. “What about him?”

“Well, he kind of asked me out. Or, he asked me on like a group hangout at a bar, but it was definitely flirty,” she rambles, avoiding my gaze. “And I’m planning to go.”

“You don’t need to run that by me, Harper.”

“It’s just . . . if people really think we’re together, then it wouldn’t be great for me to be seen in public with Nate. So we’ll just have to make sure everyone knows we’re taking it slow, right? That we’re totally free to see other people?”

Now, that gets my attention. “Are we talking about Nate Gunderson?”

“Aw, shit.” She slaps both palms over her face, shaking her head. “I said his actual name, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

She drags her hands down her face, stretching her heated cheeks. “Um, well . . . yeah, it’s him.”

“Interesting,” I say plainly, devouring my third taco in a matter of seconds.

She perks up. “Interesting how?”

I swallow. “Doesn’t seem like he’d be your type.”

“And you know him that well?” she asks, eyes narrowed in suspicion.Contentt bel0ngs to N0ve/lDrâ/ma.O(r)g!

“I think I do.”

No, I know I do. From the few interactions we’ve had, I know for certain that Nate’s a conceited little prick. And Harper? The girl is . . . pure as gold. There’s not an arrogant bone in her body.

“And you know me that well?”

I shrug, swiping my greasy hands on a napkin. “I’m starting to.”

“Then you should know that I don’t have a type.” She blinks down at her mountain of food, absentmindedly picking at a piece of egg.

“Everyone has a type,” I snort.

“I don’t.” She rips off a small corner of tortilla, dipping it in hot sauce before popping it in her mouth. “I like so many different types of boys, honestly. And the occasional girl. I’m really not picky when it comes to love.”

“Hm,” I murmur, flipping through the small white bags in search of one labeled “C.” That’s the chorizo and egg, I’m fairly certain. My new favorite.

“Hm?” She tosses her hands up. “That’s it? Are you saying you don’t believe me?”

“No further comment.”

“Okay, wise one.” She leans back in her seat, folding both arms across her chest. “If everyone has a type, then what’s yours?”

“Oh, it, uh, it doesn’t really matter.”

“Of course it does.” She gives me a teasing glare. “I want to know, so it matters.”

My throat constricts. “Well, it’s not really . . . it’s more so a feeling.”

“Okay, now you really have to tell me.”

“Fine,” I groan, pushing my plate away, wincing as it scrapes against the table. “My type is just someone who’s content with—”

“Luc!” I’m cut off by the sound of my sister’s high-pitched yell. “You in there?”

“It’s me,” I call back, breathing a sigh of relief. “In the dining room.”

I flash Harper an apologetic smile. She playfully rolls her eyes, palms pressed against the edge of the table. Her heels are shaking, tapping off the leg of the chair while she waits.

As Taylor’s footsteps grow closer, I scrub a nervous hand through my hair. When she finally enters the room, her eyes go wide, darting between Harper and me. “Who do we have here, little brother?”

“Taylor, this is Harper.” I gesture across the table. “My, uh . . . we’ve been seeing each other for a few weeks now. Harper, this is my sister, Taylor.”

Harper pushes out of her seat, scrambling to embrace my sister in a hug. “It’s so great to meet you.” She pulls back, gaze darting to the table. “Do you like tacos? I brought a bunch from this great place down the street.”

“I love tacos.” Taylor flashes me an impressed grin, wide-eyed and giddy as she settles in beside me. “Did you bring any hot sauce, by chance?”

“Loads of it,” Harper says.

“Just my kind of girl.”