Spring Tide (Coastal University Book 1)

As Eden rambles on beside me, a thin line of sweat breaks out across my brow. My fingers mindlessly drum against the side of my thigh. Tap, tap, tap. Every few beats, the nail on my index finger lightly pierces the skin. It’s not painful, but it’s there. A casual reminder to think positive thoughts.

Fletcher, that arrogant asshole, spilled the beans at practice. Eden’s words, not mine. He brought me up in front of Luca, and she attempted to save face. A shoddy attempt, based on Eden’s version of events, but it worked.This belongs to NôvelDrama.Org - ©.

Luca probably thinks I’m ridiculous and irrational, lying about dating him to all my friends. Like I’m some schoolgirl with an unrequited crush and he’s the sexy, brooding football player who barely has a clue who I am. He must think I’m desperate.

Unfortunately, I am. Or, I was. Desperate enough to incidentally spread this silly rumor, an untruth that involves a completely innocent party. Oh God, I’ve dragged Luca into my own personal melodrama, haven’t I?

It’s equal parts selfish and unfair.

It’s okay, though, because I can apologize the next time I see him. Luca’s bound to understand; he seems like a reasonable man. Practical. Logical. Perhaps he’s not even giving this a second thought. In fact, he still hasn’t reached out to me after two long days.

Maybe the whole thing has slipped his mind. Maybe everything will be just fine. And maybe, just maybe, this will all be swept away with the tide, caught in the undertow of Luca’s busy life.

There’s something about the ocean at high tide, when it hits directly following the sunrise. The sky glows a soft orange, waves creep up the shore, and the current crests against the rickety posts of my lifeguard stand.

It’s bliss. The sky is alive, and the ocean is full. The beachfront is empty, save a few early risers. It’s a time when I have complete and utter peace, both inside my head and out. My hands are calm. My mind is still. And my heart, it beats slowly and surely inside my chest.

Today, however, my eyes are drawn to the Boyer Inlet Pier. I can spot him from over a hundred yards away. Luca Reynolds, the boy who’s occupied my mind for days. He’s bending over, dipping at the knees, tossing rope off the edge of the pier and tying it down.

And I’m helplessly staring—stalking, really—when his gaze darts up to meet mine. Oh shit. I know he’s seen me now, but I can’t make out his expression from this distance. Is he confused? Angry? Surprised?

Maybe he’s indifferent to the situation. For me, it would be ideal. For him, it would be on brand.

With a phony spring in my step, I hop off my stand and stroll in his direction. I summon years’ worth of false confidence as I approach the pier. My eyes squeeze shut for a quick moment, shoulders retracted and grin perfectly placed.

“Luca, hey!” I call, a few feet from the edge now. “How’s it going?”

“Just fine,” he retorts impassively.

He’s still leaning over, tying off rope after rope as he grits his teeth. Tiny droplets of sweat have pooled on his forehead. Smudges of dirt and sand and grime cover his hands. He’s wearing his signature outfit, a black tee with a faded Boyer Pier logo and a pair of worn Levi’s.

It’s nearing eighty degrees on a Sunday morning. And Luca, hell, he looks completely strung out.

“Why are you here so early?” I murmur, confused. “Didn’t your team have an away game in Pittsburgh, like, fifteen hours ago?”

“We did. Then I drove home.” He ties off one last knot, wiping his damp palms along the front of his jeans.

“Wow, that must have sucked.” My cheeks tighten with an encouraging smile. “Congratulations, by the way. I heard the Ospreys killed it.”

“Thanks,” he mutters.

“You must be exhausted.”

“I am.” He’s full-on standing now—in all his six-foot-something glory—gaze undeniably boring into mine. “I’m also very confused.”

“About . . . ?”

“You know, Harper.” His voice is toneless. “Tell me why you lied.”

“Oh, that. Right.” I worry my teeth over my bottom lip. “Eden said you spoke with her and Fletcher. Listen, that, well . . . it’s not so much a lie, just more of a misunderstanding.”

“Seems like a bald-faced lie to me.” His stare is open, blatant, unwavering as our eyes meet. “You’ve somehow convinced your friends that we’re dating, yet you barely know a thing about me.”

“I know you,” I argue, fighting a hopeless grin. “You’re Luca Reynolds: linebacker, defensive captain, Boyer Pier employee. We’ve worked at Amber Isle together for years now. We go way back, pal.”

“Pal,” he mirrors, unamused. “Is that what you’d call your boyfriend?”

“I, um—”

“See, I really can’t figure this all out.” He’s shaking his head, palm meeting knuckles as he cracks one fist against the other. “I’ve spent the last few days drawing up my own hypotheses, but none of them seem to ring true. Tell me, Harper—what makes you so desperate?”

Panic rises in my throat. My mind starts to spin with useless untruths and half-baked apologies. But I’m not a seasoned liar, and I’m not the greatest at avoiding confrontation. So, in the end, I settle on unfiltered honesty.

“Well, see, the thing is . . . I have a crush.”

“You—I mean, fuck, I’m flattered.” His lips press together, eyes wide. “Really. I just—we aren’t—and I . . . we hardly know each other, Harper.”

“Oh my God. No, I’m so sorry. Not on you, Luca,” I hastily add. “I have a crush on this baseball player at our school. I just, I needed an excuse to swap teams, and it all spiraled out of control.”

For several long moments, he makes no sound at all. He’s silent, unmoving, astounded as his gaze drops. “So you are using me?”

“I am,” I confirm, hoping he can sense my regret. “And I’m so, so sorry that I dragged you into this.”

He immediately waves off my concern, brows pressed into a hard line. “No, it’s fine.”

“It is?”

“Sure it is,” he repeats. “You use me, then it’s only fair that I use you.”

“What do you mean?”

Our eyes lock again, and I’m nearly squirming. His chest slowly rises and falls with two deep breaths.

“I need you, Harper.”

“You—”

“I have a secret, a lie of my own,” he clarifies. “If you want me to keep yours, then I’m gonna need your help.”

“Wait, I told you it’s not really a lie. It’s more of a big misunderstanding. And despite how it all may seem, I don’t really enjoy misunderstandings.” I’m frantically shaking my head, pleading with him now. “So, it’s probably better if you just keep your secret.”

His nostrils flare, a muscle in his jaw tightening as he registers my words.

“Well, the thing is, you’re engaging in academic dishonesty. Now that you’ve gone and told me about it, I should probably report this to your department. Or, at the very least, I should warn the baseball team.”

“I haven’t even met with them yet.” My posture tenses. “Warn them how?”

“I don’t know, tell them some groupie is masquerading herself as an intern.” He clears his throat, gaze drifting to an unknown spot above my head. “She’s not really there to do her job; she just wants to flirt with the players.”

“I . . . you wouldn’t . . . seriously, Luca?”

“Like I said, I need you,” he echoes, no hint of apology or regret in his tone. “If you aren’t willing to trade a favor for a favor, then I’ll do what’s necessary.”

“You know, this is blackmail,” I tell him with an indignant huff. “It’s wrong.”

“So is lying to your professor.”

I stare back at him, long and hard, a wild mixture of disappointment and frustration warming my cheeks. “An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind.”

“Okay, Gandhi,” he mutters. “Here’s the deal—do you agree to keep my secret if I keep yours? I mean, it’d have to be completely secret. You can’t tell your friends, your parents, hell . . . keep it from your dog, even.”

“I don’t have a dog.”

“Not my point.” He clasps his hands together, forearms visibly straining from the pressure. “Just, Harper, do you agree?”

“Yeah, okay.” I finally let my shoulders drop, resigned to his thinly veiled threat. “I agree. Just tell me what’s going on, please.”

There’s a vein pulsing in his forehead now. “I’m injured.”

“How so?”

“I was tackled in our preseason game, and my left knee popped in on itself,” he explains, nervously wringing his hands together. “This was weeks ago now, and it’s still not fucking healed. I need you to evaluate me and treat the injury. Under the table. Coach can’t know about it, or he’ll keep me off the field.”

“Oh, Luca.” Sympathy melts an ounce of my residual anger. “Wait, this could be really dangerous. You should schedule an actual MRI to assess the severity.”

“I don’t need an MRI,” he argues. “I need you to just look at it, okay?”

“Okay, um, I suppose I can try,” I offer, gaze dipping down toward his left thigh. “Could you roll up your pant leg for me?”

“Jesus Christ, Harper.” His scoff echoes off the pier. “Not here, in front of the whole goddamn beach in broad daylight. What part of secret don’t you understand?”

“Wow, no need to fly off the handle.” I reel back, grimacing at his harsh tone. “When and where do you want to do this, then?”

“I don’t know.” His sigh is heavy. “Somewhere private, your place or mine. After work tonight?”

“Okay, and what am I supposed to tell my roommate? I can’t just hide you in my bedroom and sneak you out in the middle of the night.”

“We’ll just tell her the same old lie,” he insists. “That you and I are together, dating. It’s the most believable excuse. And if you came to mine, my sister would go for it.”

“You live with your sister?”

“I do.” There’s an uneasy crease between his eyes. “So, what do you think? Tonight?”

“Yeah, give me your number, and I’ll text you my address.”

“Great.” He rattles off his number, patting his back pocket as I shoot off a text. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work that needs to be done.”

“I’ll see you tonight, okay?” I offer him a kind smile, my attempt at a peace offering. “Seven o’clock?”

“Okay.”

“And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for my part in all this,” I tell him earnestly, self-consciously shifting on the balls of my feet. “I didn’t mean to drag you into my business.”

His nod is silent, final, lips pressed into a flat line. There’s no apology from his end, no sense of remorse or shame for the ensuing blackmail. I don’t know what I expected from him, but it certainly wasn’t this.

Luca Reynolds is in desperate need of my help. Luca Reynolds is my fake boyfriend. And I—we—have a big, ugly secret on our hands.