Free Rebounding by Shanna Clayton Page A

probably hurt less than it would if I were sober.
    “I’m implementing Rule Number 5,” Max shouts. “No deranged levels of insanity.”
    Saltwater stings my eyes, or else I would roll them. “Oh, please. I’m just trying to have fun.”
    “It’s storming, kid, or are you really that oblivious?”
    I wipe my eyes and stand up, sucking in a small breath as I do. Even my ex, who trained rigorously almost everyday, didn’t have a body as toned and built as Max’s. I shouldn’t stare, but I can’t help it.
    He points toward the sky like he’s speaking to a toddler. “Does it look like swimming weather to you?”
    “I don’t feel any rain,” I argue back.
    As if on cue, a deafening crack of thunder booms all around us, lightning splitting the dark sky. Rain mists over the beach, millions of tiny raindrops hitting the surface of the ocean all at once.
    Max and I look at each other, almost daring the other one to speak. The whole thing was too perfectly timed.
    I laugh first, unable to help it. The tension leaves his face, and he begins to laugh with me. The sound of his laughter is infectious, making the entire situation even funnier.
    Holding my stomach, I sit back down on the sand. Max sits beside me, facing the ocean. We probably look like idiots, sitting here in the rain, but I don’t feel like moving. This is exactly where I want to be. “It’s nice to see you smiling again,” he says, surprising me.
    “It’s nice to see you smiling at all,” I tease him. “I wasn’t sure you were capable.”
    I suddenly feel dizzy, and I lay down, not caring if I get sand in my hair.
    “You okay?” Max asks, peering over me.
    “I will be,” I say, feeling the effects of the wine hit me harder. That I will be speaks volumes inside my head. I hope it’s true, in more ways than the one I meant.
    We stay like that for what feels like hours, with me lying on the sand and Max staring down at me. His dark eyes are magnetic, I realize. They have an almost uncanny ability to hold my gaze whenever he looks at me. And his face is perfect. The shape of his strong jawline, the warmth of his dark brown eyes, the straight lines of his nose…his perfectly carved lips.
    Without thinking about what I’m doing, I reach around his neck and pull those lips to mine. An involuntary tremor runs through me. There’s a voice in the back of my mind telling me this isn’t a good idea, but I ignore it.
    His mouth is warm, lush, and tastes like saltwater and mint. He doesn’t immediately back away either. Instead, he grips my waist, and I hear a soft groan escape the back of his throat. It’s a good thing I’m not standing, because my knees feel weak.
    So this is what it feels like to kiss someone else.
    For a brief second I compare it to Miles’s kisses, hating the intruding thought. I hate that I’m comparing it, but my ex is the only guy I’ve ever done this with. At first, I think the way the two of them kiss is similar. Then with one small delve of Max’s tongue, all thoughts of Miles fade away.
    He’s warm everywhere. He presses against me, and I feel like there’s more of a chance of drowning in him than in the ocean. I tremble and shudder beneath Max, wanting to get closer to him, wanting to feel him everywhere. I lean into him, and in that moment, he shoves me back to the ground.
    “We can’t,” he says, breathless.
    “Why not?”
    Then it hits me. The girl in the lingerie. The one who spilled her purse out in the hall. I thought she was just a hookup, but I may have been wrong. “You have a girlfriend.”
    He shakes his head, trying to catch his breath. “I don’t do relationships.”
    No girlfriend. Okay. I’m much better equipped to deal with that. I’d never let myself become a homewrecker after experiencing the other side of it. I don’t blame him for not wanting a relationship either. In my limited experience, I’ve learned that they pretty much suck the life out of you.
    Still. If he’s not with