Мэг Кэбот - Pants on Fire

If I didn’t have to go to the bathroom all the time from all the Diet Coke I kept consuming.

“Notthat one,” Sidney said, noticing the direction of my gaze. “Thatone, coming out of the water right now. The one with the freestyle board. Theredheaded one.”

My head swiveled around so fast I heard the bones in the back of my neck crack.

It couldn’t be. Itcouldn’t.

Because the guy coming out of the water was over six feet tall — almost a foot taller than Tommy had been, the last time I’d seen him — with a golden tan. The guy coming out of the water was also totally cut. Not in a muscle-bound meathead kind of way, like some of those guys I’d seen over in the weight room at the Y, but with a lean, athletic body, nicely defined biceps, and a set of abs that would have made an actual six-pack jealous.

Whereas Tommy Sullivan, when I had last seen him, had had a sunken chest, skin as white as milk (where it wasn’t covered in freckles), hair the color of a new copper penny, and arms as skinny as toothpicks.

Well, okay, I might be exaggerating alittle. Still, he hadn’t exactly been anything much to look at.

Not like this vision before us, who was shaking water out of his slightly overlong reddish-brown hair as he leaned over to lay down his board (revealing, as he did so, the fact that beneath his baggy swim trunks — so weighted down with water that they had sunk somewhat dangerously low on his hips — lurked what appeared to be an exceptionally well-formed gluteus maximus).

Sidney, who seemed no more capable of tearing her gaze away from this example of a god in human form than I was, said, “I think I’ve died and gone to Hottie Heaven.”

“Dude, you’ve got a boyfriend,” I reminded her automatically.

“Dude, so do you,” she reminded me back, failing to mention — because she didn’t know — that actually, I’ve gottwo boyfriends.

But it was really hard to remember either of them when Windsurf Boy straightened up from setting down his board, turned around, and began to stride toward the clubhouse…and us.

Sidney’s hand shot out to seize my wrist in a grip that hurt — mostly because she was digging her French manicure into me.

“Dude, he’s coming this way,” she breathed.

As if I couldn’t see that for myself. Windsurf Boy was moving across the sand directly toward us…not quite the most direct path to the clubhouse. I was glad the lenses of my Ray-Bans were polarized, so I was able to take in the fine details that might otherwise have been impossible to see, considering the glare from the water…the golden hair coating his legs…the sliver of matching hair snaking up that lean, flat belly from the waistband of his swim trunks…the square jaw and wide, slightly smiling mouth…the laughing amber eyes, squinting in the strong sunlight, because his sunglasses were dangling from a cord around his neck….

Wait.Amber eyes?

“Hi, Katie,” Tommy Sullivan said to me in a deep voice.

Then he went right on past us, climbing the steps to the clubhouse deck and disappearing through the double doors into the cool, air-conditioned lobby.

Sidney turned her incredulous gaze toward me the minute the double doors eased shut behind him.

“Wait a minute,” she said, whipping off her own sunglasses to stare at me. “Youknow that guy? Whois he? I’ve never seen him before. I’d rememberthat.”

But I couldn’t reply. Because I was totally frozen.

Tommy Sullivan. Tommy Sullivan was back in town. Tommy Sullivan was back in town and had said hi to me.

Tommy Sullivan was back in town, had said hi to me, and washot.

No. No. This did not compute.

Suddenly, I was on my feet. I couldn’t lie there a second more. I was freaking, basically.

“Katie?” Sidney shaded her eyes with one hand and peered up at me. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said automatically.

Except that I was lying (so what else was new?). I wasn’t fine. I was far from fine. I needed to get out of there. I needed to get out. I needed to…I didn’t know what I needed. I turned toward the steps to the clubhouse deck, then realized that was totally the wrong place to go. That’s where Tommy had just gone!

And I didn’t want to run into Tommy.

So I turned around again, and headed toward the water.

“Katie?” Sidney called after me. “Where are you going? You’re not going in thewater, are you?”

I didn’t answer her. Icouldn’t answer her. I started walking to the water, past the kids building sand castles — one of whom went, “Hey!” indignantly when I accidentally caused one of his turrets to fall down.

I didn’t apologize. I kept walking, past the toddlers playing with their grandmothers at the edge of the water, past the older kids in the knee-high shallows, past the even more daring kids who were paddling around in water up to my thighs, or floating around on inner tubes.

Behind me, I heard Sidney call, “Katie!”

But I kept walking, until the water was up to my waist, and then finally my ribs, and then the soft sandy bottom disappeared beneath my feet, and I took a deep breath and squeezed my eyes shut and let myself sink.

It was quiet under the water. Quiet and cold. I thought about staying down there, where Tommy Sullivan would never, ever find me.

But then I remembered thee. coli, and it occurred to me that some of it could have floated up to the private beach. Just because the yacht club keeps the tourists off its beach doesn’t mean it can keep their poo out of its water.

So I swam to shore really fast and staggered back to my towel, dripping and cold.

But at least I had driven the image of the new and improved Tommy Sullivan from my brain. Instead, all I could think about were infectious diseases.

Which, believe me, was preferable.

“What was allthat about?” Sidney asked me when I collapsed, panting from my swim, onto my towel.

“I just got hot,” was my lame excuse.

“God, I guess,” Sidney said. “I thought you hated going in the water. I thought it made you sick to be in it.”

“Just on it,” I said. “Seasick.”

“But you have that other thing, that thing about germs—”

“I’m sure it will be okay today,” I lied. “It looks clear.”

“Oh. So who was that guy, anyway?”

“Um, that guy?” Bacillus. That’s whate. coli is. A form of bacillus. That’s what I needed to concentrate on. Bacillus. Not Tommy Sullivan. And the fact that he’s back. And hot. So hot. “Oh, that was the guy Liam was talking about last night.”

Which, I thought, impressed with myself, wasn’t even a lie.

“The one he knows from football camp?”

“Uh-huh.” Well, okay.That was a lie.

“Mmmm,” Sidney said appreciatively. “Remind me to enroll in football camp sometime.”

And that was it. That was the end of the conversation. Especially since Tommy didn’t come back. I lay there — after hitting the outdoor shower for about twenty minutes, because, um, bacillus — waiting, tense with anxiety, frantically wondering what I would say if he came back, and tried to talk to me….

But he seemed to be gone.

Maybe, I told myself, that hadn’t been Tommy after all. Maybe it had been some guy I’d waited on at the restaurant, or something. Maybe he’d justlooked like Tommy Sullivan. Or how Tommy Sullivan would look if he turned hot.

Maybe it was just a coincidence, Liam having met a guy named Tommy Sullivan last night, and me seeing a guy who looked like he could have been an older, hot Tommy Sullivan today.

Only…if he wasn’t Tommy Sullivan, how had he known my name?

And what about those amber eyes?

Seth and Dave came in from the water soon after that, and we clambered onto the deck for Cokes. No sign of Tommy Sullivan. Or the Guy Who Could Be Tommy Sullivan if Tommy Sullivan Had Turned Hot.