Spring Tide (Coastal University Book 1)

Taylor is one of the sweetest, funniest people I’ve ever met. The two of us clicked right off the bat, like long-lost friends who both share an affinity for tacos, hot sauce, and teasing Luca until he’s red in the face.

Not to mention, we’re both women in STEM. There’s some sort of power in that, I think, a sort of kinship between two of the most important women in Luca’s life. Not that I’m conflating my own sense of self-worth.

Believe me, I know this is only a temporary relationship. A mutually beneficial agreement. I know I’m just providing a service or a simple swap of secrets, but I’d like to think we’re building a real friendship here.

Luca’s a cool person. And I enjoy being around him, even when he’s a little agitated and a lot flustered. It’s funny. And sweet. I initially thought he was just a shy person, that he might need some extra time to warm up, but I’m starting to understand him differently now.

Luca isn’t shy, necessarily. He’s just careful and private and sensitive. He clearly works himself to the bone, yet he opts to suffer in silence. When push comes to shove, Luca never pretends to be someone he’s not. Those are all qualities I admire, regardless of how outwardly standoffish he might seem.

I consider him a friend now, and I’m sure hoping it lasts past this little arrangement.This is from NôvelDrama.Org.

“I’m gonna take Harper back to my room,” Luca announces, pushing himself from the table. His hands fold in front of his waist, pressing together before dropping to his sides. “We’re, uh—we have plans to watch a movie tonight.”

“Well, don’t let me stop you.” Taylor chuckles softly, tilting back in her chair and rubbing both hands across her stomach. “Thanks again for the tacos, Happy.”

“Happy?” I ask, cheeks scrunching with a smile.

“Thought it was fitting.” She lifts a brow in her brother’s direction. “Harper—Happy, ’cause you’re just a little ball of joy. Not to mention, you clearly make my brother—”

“And that’s enough of that.” Luca clears his throat, fingers cautiously looping around my elbow. He meets my gaze. “You ready?”

“Of course,” I murmur. “Let’s go . . . watch that movie.” I lift up from the table myself, drifting around the back of Taylor’s chair. My fingers curl around her shoulders as I impart a quick, gentle squeeze. “It was great to meet you, Taylor. I’d love to do this again.”

Her head tilts back. “Please, bring me tacos anytime,” she says with a wiggle of her brows. “Nothing would make me happier.”

“You got it,” I promise.

Luca silently nods down the hallway, beckoning me to follow his lead. I trail behind him until we reach the last door on the left. Once we push inside, I carefully survey my surroundings.

It’s surprisingly bright inside his bedroom.

The walls are a soft, pale shade of blue. His bedspread is a crisp white, with two perfectly placed pillows at the head. He even has a bed frame with a full-on headboard; it’s a pretty, beachy mix of natural driftwood.

“Your room is very nice,” I say earnestly.

He shakes his head, the tips of his ears tinging pink as he shuts the door behind us. “The furniture came with the room,” he explains. “It’s a temporary rental arrangement, on lease from one of Taylor’s graduate professors. She’s on an extended sabbatical, so . . . yeah. That’s why my room’s this way.”

“Ah, I see.” My eyes drift around, honing in on the three-dimensional figurine displayed on his dresser. “And I suppose you don’t have a thing for seagulls, either?”

His gaze darts to the large plaster model. “That was also just . . . here.”

“How long have you lived here, exactly?”

He awkwardly wraps a hand around the back of his neck. “A little over a year.”

“You didn’t want to personalize your space at all?” I ask, giggling. “You know, stuff the seagull in a drawer or something?”

“It’s fine how it is, and this is just easier.” He crosses his arms in front of his chest. “We should get started, though. Should I . . . do you need me to be in my underwear again?”

I tap my chin, lips twisting in a coy smile. “That would be ideal.”

“Okay, well, Taylor’s still out there.” He wildly gestures toward his door. “And I don’t have a bathroom in my room. So I’ll need to get changed in here if you don’t mind.”

I raise a skeptical brow. “Do you mind?”

“At this point, does it really matter?”

“Of course. You should always be comfortable.” My nose wrinkles as I soak in his stiff posture. “I can still turn around while you take off your pants.”

He scratches at the back of his neck again, carefully flattening his weary expression. “No, it’s . . . we’re all good. This is a professional setting, as you say.”

I nod my agreement, plopping squarely on the edge of his mattress. My gaze drifts around the room until our eyes catch. I place my palms flat against my lap, fingers twitching as we maintain eye contact. I don’t know why, but it seems like it’d be wrong to look away now.

Luca said I didn’t have to, after all. In fact, he nearly insisted that I don’t. So, instead, I stare straight at him as he slowly undoes his belt buckle. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the steady rise and fall of his chest.

Before he pushes his pants over his hips, his eyes narrow. “Harper, can you not just stare directly into my eyes while I do this?”

“Sorry, I didn’t know where to look,” I squeak out, quickly diverting my gaze to the floor. “I thought if I obviously looked away, then that would also be weird. You said you didn’t need me to turn around this time, so I wanted to respect that. But then we just made eye contact instead and—”

“It’s fine,” he grumbles, cutting me off. In the last fifteen seconds, he’s managed to remove his jeans, fold them, and place them in a neat little pile on top of his dresser. “See, pants are already off. We’re good.”

“Great,” I chirp, patting the spot beside me on his bed. “Perfect! Saddle up, then!”

He coughs, choking back a sudden lump in his throat. “Saddle . . . up?”

“I meant, uh, get on the bed?” I try again, cheeks flushing as I shake my head. “Yeah, I don’t even know where that came from. This is what happens when I do something awkward.”

His eyes meet mine, one brow raised as he soaks in my embarrassment. The corner of his lip twitches once, twice, before he breaks into hearty laughter. It’s a sudden, unexpected sound—a loud, happy melody that echoes around the room.

“Okay, okay! We have work to do,” I huff, feigning a pout. “Are you done?”

“Sure thing.” He clears his throat, expression suddenly serious as he adds, “Giddy up, partner.”

I groan, swatting him on the shoulder with a pillow. “Who knew you had jokes?”

“Only when they’re at your expense.”

I roll my eyes, stifling a secret smile as he shuffles onto his bed beside me. As he lies back, carefully settling against the mattress, I put my healing hands to work.

It’s Saturday night, meaning it’s almost time for my pseudo-date with Nate.

There are four of us crowded around the bathroom mirror, touching up our makeup and combing through our curls. I somehow roped my two best friends into joining me tonight. Naturally, Stella convinced her girlfriend to tag along, too.

Now, the two of them have their arms wrapped around one another. Lai’Lani leans in to press a soft kiss against Stella’s cheek, leaving a faint outline of plum lipstick. Stella snaps a quick selfie and then swipes at her face with a tissue.

“Look at you two being so cute,” I gush.

“That we are. But you know who’s even cuter?” Stella singsongs, nudging me on the shoulder. “You and Reynolds.”

“Me and Luca?” I ask, confusion coloring my tone. “I thought you all wanted me to go for Nate tonight?”

“We did. I mean, we do.” She lets out a soft laugh, eyeing Eden in the mirror. “We want you to go for whoever you want, of course. We just think you and Ötzi are super cute together. She makes him blush, you guys.”

Eden tries to hide her smirk, but I catch sight of it out of the corner of my eye. “You have something to add?”

Her smirk melts into a teasing grin. “Well, he does get really flustered when I bring up your name.”

“Probably because he thought I was lying about him.” I shrug, careful to keep my tone impartial. “And now that we’re . . . doing whatever we’re doing, he doesn’t know how to act around you.”

“I think there’s more to it, though,” Eden urges, adding the final row of bright purple clips to her hair. “I think he really likes you. Although he is easily flustered, like the other week when he caught Fletcher and me—”

“Fletcher and you, what?” I cut in, eager to be let in on the secret.

Eden’s head tilts back, a heavy sigh floating from her lips. “Grant kissed me.”

“What?”

Eden’s eyes squeeze shut, nose wrinkling as she continues. “We were arguing about our schedule in the athletic training room, and he just . . . I don’t know, somehow backed me against the lockers, and we kissed.”

“Did he force you?” Lai’Lani butts in, a gentle undertone to her words.

“No, no it wasn’t . . . I was definitely giving him signals,” Eden wearily admits.

“Signals? Or consent?” Lai’Lani clarifies, lips pressed into a tight line.

“He knew I wanted him to,” Eden argues. “I, um, I was staring at his lips, and then I leaned forward. Plus, I kind of kissed him back.”

“Wow,” I breathe out. “Do you want to get back together?”

While I don’t know the exact details of their breakup, I know that it was quite nasty. There was lots of arguing, drunkenness, and lingering toxicity until it finally fizzled out before the summer.

Eden snorts, hands absentmindedly smoothing down the pleat in her trousers. “No, he’s still a huge dick.”

“He is a huge dick, or he has a huge dick?” Stella asks, waggling her brows.

“Both, unfortunately,” Eden mutters in return.

The rest of us break into a fit of laughter, Eden rolling her eyes as I clutch Stella’s arm. Then, naturally, we spend a few minutes discussing relative dick sizes. When the topic inevitably circles back to Luca, I expertly avoid the subject by calling us an Uber.

It’s not long before we arrive at the Triangle Lounge. The four of us girls shuffle inside together, hands clasped in a tight chain as we weave through the crowd. This bar has a nightclub-type vibe, with glowing lights and dancing and off-the-wall music.

Thankfully, it doesn’t take too long to spot Nate’s perfect head of curls. Perhaps it’s because he’s surrounded by a group of tall, muscular baseball players. Or maybe it’s because he’s in the midst of laughter, head thrown back as his shoulders shake.

When he spots me, I swear something in his eyes lights up. “Harper!” he shouts, waving me over.

Once I slide in next to him, it takes a few minutes to get our introductions out of the way. Fortunately, I’ve already met most of the baseball players myself, but Nate does his due diligence by introducing them to my friends. Once we’ve all made the initial obligatory small talk, my friends break off to grab drinks at the bar.

And his friends, well, they all seem to slowly disappear.

“Can I get you a drink?” he asks, gaze drifting down to my empty hands.

“Good idea.” I flash him a grateful smile. “I’ll come with you.”

Without warning, he cups his palm around mine, deftly navigating us through the crowd. The pads of his fingers are rough, but the feeling of his hand is warm and gentle and comforting. Before I realize it, we’re standing at the end of the bar together. He orders us a few beers on tap, letting my hand slip from his as he reaches for his wallet.

He passes me a pint, guiding us to a nearby cocktail table. “You look great tonight.”

“Thank you.” I take a sip from my glass, stifling a wince as I do. The beer has a sour, tangy taste that sizzles on the tip of my tongue. It’s not that I don’t like it, necessarily. It’s just not something I would’ve typically ordered myself. “Sorry that it’s not my uniform again.”

“It’s all good.” He chuckles, tipping back his own beer. “You look hot in anything.”

“Oh, thanks. You, uh, you too.”

I blush. He laughs. And then he asks me about my friends: where we live, how we met, and what we usually like to do on the weekends. He tells me that he lives at the baseball house and that he absolutely loves it. He says he doesn’t know what he’ll do when they all graduate, cracking jokes about the profound lack of communal living in the major leagues.

And by the time he’s done, we’ve both managed to finish every last sip of our beers.

“You want a refill?” he asks, tapping my empty glass.

I muster up a single ounce of courage, glancing toward my friends on the dance floor. “Actually, would you maybe want to dance?”

“I’d love to.”

This time, I’m the one that takes his hand, fingers weaving together as we slide into the middle of the room. My arms slowly snake around his neck, his hands settling somewhere between my ass and my waist. Our hips slot together. As I press against him, that self-assured smile slips from his lips.

There’s an unmistakable heat behind his eyes now. It doesn’t take long for his grip to tighten around me. The rough pads of his thumbs caress a small sliver of exposed skin, stroking me. “You know, I’ve thought about touching you since that first time I saw you on the beach.”

“How come you never approached me?” I murmur, tangling my fingers into the soft curls at the nape of his neck.

“You’re sweet, Harps. Soft,” he adds, gripping my hips. “I’m usually not.”

I press even closer. “Mm, you’re not . . . you’re not into being sweet?”

His head dips, the corner of his lips tugging into a smirk. “No, but I can be.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” One hand moves from my hip, trailing up the side of my body until he’s caressing my jaw. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”

“Okay,” I whisper, neck tilted back as he gazes down at me.

He leans forward, and his lips press against mine, soft and sweet at first. The man is true to his word. But then his fingers tightly grip my hips, pressing us together as he caresses my tongue with his. He’s sucking, kneading, pulling me in.

I can undoubtedly feel the bulge in his jeans throbbing through my skirt.

The feeling is . . . nice. More than nice, I guess, considering there’s a slow, steady fluttering in the pit of my stomach. I’m definitely turned on. And I’d like to hook up with him tonight, especially since it’s been a hot minute for me. Or two.

But after we inevitably come up for air, I make an excuse to rejoin our crowd of friends.

Nate and I spend the rest of the night innocently flirting and drinking and decidedly not making out again. He does kiss me once more, a quick peck, before the four of us girls stuff ourselves into another Uber.

I probably would’ve invited him back to my place, but I have an early morning shift at Amber Isle.

Plus, that wasn’t even a real date, not that you need to wait for an actual date to hook up with someone. I don’t subscribe to the antiquated “third date” rule or anything. When it comes to consenting adults, we should be free to jump each other’s bones whenever the feeling strikes.

I guess, for some reason or another, tonight simply wasn’t our night. But maybe next weekend will be. Nate invited me out again, so I suppose you could consider our first pseudo-date a real success.

By the time my head hits the pillow, my phone lights up with an Instagram notification. It’s a follower request from @nategundy. I gleefully hit Accept and follow him right back.

Yeah, I’d say tonight was a definite success.