My breath whooshes out. “That’s one mess behind me.”
As his cab pulls away, I drag my pack to the stand. A breeze blows past my shoulders. I extricate my jean jacket from my pack and put it on. Since no active planning was involved with this trip, it’s a good thing the weather’s similar to home. But instead of cold and snow in my future, New Zealand will only get warmer. And I will act normal. I am now Nina—non–disaster magnet, ordinary, average girl.
Three
Sam
For the first half of the cab ride, I stare out the window, but all I keep seeing is red hair, pink lips, and those green eyes. That first fall she took was almost funny. It was all I could do not to snort in her face. But the second one? Jesus. A blind man could see the curves going on below her skirt, and my eyes are twenty-twenty. It was a dick move, but I couldn’t resist grabbing her when that chick passed us in the aisle. And the way she dragged her eyes up my body? Sexy as hell.
Then…that fall.
If it didn’t smell like shit in the airplane bathroom, I would’ve jacked off then and there.
She lied at the taxi stand—“family friend,” my ass. She kept touching her skirt, blushing like crazy, likely freaking about her lack of underwear. It would’ve been adorable if her eyes didn’t keep doing that thing where they zoned out while locked on my body. It’s been too long since a girl has looked at me like that. Actually, I’m not sure a girl has ever looked at me quite like that. I wanted to pin her to the wall and bang her six ways from Sunday. Too bad she didn’t get in the cab. Nina would’ve been exactly what I need, my first step to finding the old Sam. But there’ll be plenty of other girls on this trip.
The taxi pulls up to a white house on a quiet street, the orange sign above the wraparound porch reading Lambert’s Lodge. It’s the first place listed in my guidebook, and the driver said it’s pretty cool. Two girls are huddled on a bench drinking wine. They watch me as I pass.
Plenty of other girls.
Squeezing through the entrance, I drop my pack beside one leaning against the wall. I crack my neck and poke around. Some travelers are in a lounge area on the left—two on computers, others hanging on an orange couch. A chick’s at the bookshelves, dragging her finger along the spines. Clanging echoes from the kitchen behind them, laughter drifting through the door on the heels of a familiar song, something by Jack Johnson. The next doorway reveals the check-in counter.
After a rundown of do’s and don’ts, I’m given a bunk in the guys’ dorm. It’s a small space with orange walls, apparently a theme, with piles of clothes on most of the beds. I dump my stuff on the only one where the sheets are still tucked, and I leave, wallet in hand, in search of a grocery store.
Halfway down the block, the map the guy at the desk gave me slips through my fingers. I turn to pick it up as a taxi door slams. A girl staggers under the weight of her bags and trips on the first step of the hostel. The porch light shines on a red ponytail.
Ginger. Fucking A.
I almost run to help her with her bags, but judging by her freak-out earlier, she’ll either fall on her face or take off. Better to go shopping and get back quickly. Turning, I try to pick up the pace, but it isn’t easy these days. With each step, my limp feels more pronounced, the flesh of my legs rough against my jeans. The accident was a year ago, and I’m not as far along as the doctors had hoped. But I’m alive. And I’m living.
Mom would’ve wanted that.
Another day in Florida, and I was liable to punch someone. If one more person looked at me with those sad-ass eyes, I would’ve grabbed their hair and rammed their face into concrete. Halfway across the world, no one knows me. I can be anyone. But all I really want to be is the fun, cocky bastard who ruled the football field and turned girls on.
Blinking through the fluorescent lights of the grocery store, I scan the rows of shelves. The food looks pretty much the same as the stuff at