Spring Tide (Coastal University Book 1)

My hair is still damp from the ocean. The lingering salt water seeps into the headrest behind me, soaks through the bottom of my dress, and pools onto Luca’s faded leather seats. I’d normally be worried about the possibility of a stain on his interior, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“Seriously, Harper, don’t worry about it.” His right arm slings around the passenger seat, one corner of his mouth lifting in a reassuring smile. He glances behind us, shifts into reverse, and steadily pulls out of the beach parking lot.

My shoulders slump. “I feel bad since I made you go for a swim when you weren’t expecting it. I didn’t even think about towels or anything.”

“First of all, you didn’t make me do anything. And second, I’ve had this car since before I had my learner’s permit. I seriously could not care less about a bit of sand and salt water. Trust me.”

“That long?” Luca must have owned this car for six or seven years at this point. I find it admirable, considering I’ve gone through at least three vehicles since the summer I turned sixteen. Four, if you count my short stint with a Vespa last year. “Was it a gift from your parents?”

“Definitely not.” He gives me a disbelieving snort. “I saved up for it from the moment I turned twelve, just working odd jobs around the neighborhood.”

I’ve always known Luca was a hard worker, but the fact that he started earning a wage that young is impressive. When I was twelve years old, I barely had the drive to run my own lemonade stand.

“That’s cool. Subarus are great starter cars, according to my dad anyway.”

He keeps one hand on the steering wheel, patting his dash with the other. “Yeah, I’m sure I’ll hold on to her until she dies on me. I’m not looking forward to that.”

“Do you have a dream car, then? Something you want to buy when you go pro?”

An odd expression tilts his features. “Nah, I haven’t really thought about it.”

“What about something else? Something you want to spend your first paychecks on?”

We pull up to a stoplight, and his gaze cuts in my direction. He lifts one brow, the corner of his mouth ticking into an amused smile. “You seem really confident that I’ll be drafted.”

“Oh, without a doubt,” I say sincerely, reaching for his hand across the center console. “I know you will be.”

A grin splits his face. “I hadn’t really thought about it too much, either, to be honest. But I guess a bigger house for my parents. I’d probably pay off Taylor’s graduate loans and maybe college for Elio.”

“That’s your younger brother, right? He’s eighteen?”

We round another corner into town, only a few miles away from his neighborhood now. The roads are mostly empty, and the sky is dark, but the steady glow of the streetlights splashes against his side profile.

His features are the perfect mixture of soft and masculine—with his sharp jaw, the wide bridge of his nose, and the puffiness to his full lips, Luca is undeniably attractive, especially when he talks about his family.

“In a couple of months, he will be.” There’s a bitter undertone to his words, a flash of irritation setting his jaw. “He’s supposed to be submitting college applications right now, but I’m sure he’ll make up some excuse for not doing them.”

I change course, pressing a soft squeeze to his hand. “And your younger siblings?”

“Yeah, maybe I’ll start college funds for them, too. And pay for more therapy for Giorgie.”

Ah, there it is. Another sliver of information about Luca’s life outside of Coastal. I know it’s not easy for him to confide in others—he admitted that last night—but I’m glad he’s starting to open up to me now.

“Therapy?”

“Yeah, she’s, uh . . . she’s got a lot of sensory issues, communication differences, that sort of thing. That’s actually why I’ve been picking up extra shifts lately. I want to help my parents out where I can.”

I lift our linked hands to my mouth, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “You’re a good brother, Luca.”

His cheeks tinge the slightest shade of pink. Clearing his throat, he squares his shoulders and says, “I mean, it’s what you do for family.”

“Yeah, but still.”

“What about you? You’ve never mentioned siblings or anything.”

I settle into my seat, tipping my head back against the headrest. “I’m an only child, so it was just me and my parents growing up.”

“When was the last time you saw them?”

“Oh, it’s been a few months or so. I think Dad has plans to visit in a couple of weeks, but we’ll probably just grab dinner or something quick.”

“And your mom?”

“Probably not until spring, actually. She’s galivanting around Europe with her boyfriend for the next few months.”

“Wow, that must be nice.”

“Yeah, she’s been sending lots of pictures, and it looks amazing.”

“So your parents are . . .”

“Not together, obviously. It’s only been a few years since they divorced.” Or energetically split, as they like to call it.

I think it all happened, oh, about forty-five minutes after I left for Coastal. My parents called me separately, the week after I settled in, to share the news. They were obviously waiting until the exact moment I flew the coop, not that I minded.

“That sucks, Harper. I’m sorry.”

He makes one last turn, steering us down the road toward his and Taylor’s home.

“No, don’t be. I was actually happy for them when it happened. I never thought they were a very good couple. Plus, now they’re living their best non-married lives without each other. Dating lots of different people and traveling. It’s great.”

“Wow, I can’t imagine my parents ever doing something like that.” His eyes widen at the thought. “I can’t even picture them leaving our tiny little hometown.”

“Yeah, but it sounds like you have this big, happy family. I love both my parents, but they were never like that. I’m sure it must be pretty fulfilling.”

“They’re definitely happy, so far as I can tell.”

“And your siblings, are they happy?”

“I think so.” He cautiously flips his turn single with his only free hand. “Elio’s pretty much always whining about something and getting into trouble, but that’s expected from a kid his age.”

We pull into the empty driveway, headlights flashing through the front windows of their home. I catch a quick glimpse of Bentley before Luca slowly drops my hand and cuts the engine.

“Do you think I could meet them someday?”

“You’d want to?” He flicks a mirthful glance in my direction. “They’re kind of a lot.”

“Of course I would.”

His shoulders relax, the slightest smile tipping the corners of his mouth. “Then, yeah. I’ll take you home whenever we can make time.”

My heart swells. “Good.”

“So.”

“So . . .”

He nods toward his front patio. “Would you want to come inside? Maybe shower off and watch a movie or something?”

“I’d love to.”

There’s a pile of Luca’s clothing waiting for me on the countertop—a crisp white T-shirt adorned with the Boyer Pier logo and a set of gray sweatpants. He’s down the hall, finishing up his shower, while I peer at myself in Taylor’s bathroom mirror.

I look beyond tired. My eyes are bloodshot from our late-night swim. My face is scrubbed clean, devoid of every last drop of tinted sunscreen. I’m worn-out from the eventful weekend, recovering from some mild emotional whiplash, but so happy at the same time.

As I gaze at my reflection, I take a moment to pinch some warmth back into my cheeks. I swipe the wet, tangled strands of hair from my eyes, pulling them back behind my shoulders.

I don’t think I’ve ever looked so rough on a date before, but I can’t bring myself to care.

“Everything okay in there?” Luca asks, his deep voice carrying through the wooden barrier. “You have what you need?”

“Your clothes are falling off of me, but I’m good.” I attempt to re-cinch the drawstring on his sweats for the third time, shaking my head as they slip from my hips. “You said Taylor’s out for the rest of the night, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I’m just gonna go without the pants, then.”

I wriggle out of his sweatpants, scoop up my damp clothing, and toss the used towel over one shoulder. When I finally pull open the door, Luca’s eyes go wide.

“Hey,” he says evenly, his heady gaze scraping down the length of me.

“Hey.” I glance down to my partially bare legs. It’s not like the sight is obscene or anything, considering his T-shirt drapes at least halfway down my thighs. Besides, I spent the last few hours wearing nothing but a tiny string bikini. “Hope this is okay? I couldn’t get the pants to fit without falling right off.”

“It’s good.” His words are thick, rough with tension before he clears his throat. “I mean . . . you’re good.”

“So, what do you want to watch?”

He swallows, throat visibly bobbing. “What?”

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“Oh, right.” He shakes his head to clear the fog, gesturing for me to exit the restroom behind him. “Yeah, anything. We can watch something in the living room or . . .”

I lift a brow. “Or?”

“Or I could set up the laptop in my bedroom?”

“Let’s do your room.”

With a soft smile, he takes my hand and guides me down the hall. His thumb nudges against the back of my hand, two soft little taps, before he drops it and starts to fidget around his room. While he preps his laptop, I slide underneath the covers.

His mattress is comfortable, his room is tidy, and his sheets are crisp and clean. There are more than enough pillows for us to use, which I prop into place while he slides in beside me.

“You want to pick?” he asks, one arm looping around my shoulders, laptop braced on his thighs.

I nestle against him, shifting so the sides of our bodies are flush. “Surprise me.”

He scrolls through the homepage of Netflix for a few moments, stopping to click on some late-nineties thriller starring Matt Damon. I don’t care what the movie is, honestly. I’m just here to snuggle.

As the film progresses, I slowly tangle our legs together. My head rests gently against his warm chest, and his heartbeat nearly lulls me to sleep. I manage to keep my eyes open, if only to sneak in a kiss or two.

We’re about halfway through the second act when Luca’s palm brushes against my hip. At first, I think it might be a simple accident, but then his fingertips press into my skin, dancing toward my inner thigh. His borrowed T-shirt rides up, exposing me, and my breath hitches in my throat.

“Luca, I’m not—”

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” He pulls back sharply, as if burned by a lick of fire. “Was that too forward?”

“No, no.” I slide his palm back into its rightful place. “I just know you asked to take things slow, so I wanted to warn you that I’m not actually, um, wearing any panties at the moment.”

His nostrils flare. “Oh.”

“It’s just, I wore a bikini under my dress earlier. It was wet, and your shirt was long enough, so I—”

“Harper, you don’t need to explain yourself.” His chuckle is soft, fingers tightening against me. “You were just trying to be comfortable.”

“Right.”

“Besides, there’s been something on my mind since last night.”

“Yeah?”

He uses his free hand to pause the movie, voice dipping low. “I know we talked about slowing down, figuring this out together, but I’ve still been thinking . . . about what you might like.”

“What do you mean?”

“What you like . . . or, I guess, what makes you feel good.”

My brows furrow. “Oh, like in bed?”

“Yes, Harper.” His eyes pinch shut, one hand rubbing his temple. “In bed.”

A bubble of surprise fizzles low in my stomach. “Oh, well, I could always tell you if you want.”

“Maybe you could show me?”

“Hm?”

His eyes meet mine for a few beats, chest rising unsteadily. It’s clear that he’s nervous, but he seems determined to plunge forward anyway.

“Harper, I’m asking if I can go down on you, because it’s pretty much all I’ve been thinking about since you first asked me to kiss you. And now you’re sitting here, in my bed, wearing nothing beneath my work shirt.”

“Yes, yes.” I scramble to sit up in the bed, already writhing against him. “Then let’s do that. Right now?”

“Right now.” He chuckles again, fingers playfully tugging at the hemline of my T-shirt. “And maybe, in the spirit of our honesty pact, you could show me exactly what you do and don’t like.”

“Yes, I can definitely do that.” I move to kiss him, shoving my fingers into his hair. It’s still slightly damp from the shower, but the strands feel soft and perfect against my hands. When he attempts to maneuver us onto the edge of the bed, I stop him, my rational brain making a brief appearance. “Wait, what about your knee? You probably shouldn’t—”

“Oh, fuck my knee.”