"Because I hate feeling so pale and meager in comparison. Seriously, I'm so mediocre in so many ways, and I just want to know that you suck at something too. Come on, it'll make me feel better."
"You're not mediocre," he says, his nose in my hair, his voice far too serious.
But I refuse to give up, I need something to go on, something that'll humanize him, if only a little. 'Just one thing, please? Even if you have to lie, it's for a good cause-my self-esteem."
I try to turn so that I can see him, but he grips me tighter and holds me in place, kissing the tip of my ear as he whispers, "You really want to know?"
I nod, my heart beating wildly, my blood pulsing electric. "I suck at love."
I stare into the firepit, wondering what he could possibly mean. And even though I seriously wanted him to answer, that doesn't mean I wanted him to answer so seriously. "Um, care to elaborate?" I ask, laughing nervously, not sure if I really do want to hear it. Fearing it might have something to do with Drina-a subject I'd rather avoid.
He presses against me, his breath drawn out and deep. And he stays like that for so long I wonder if he's ever going to speak. But when he finally does, he says, "I just always end up disappointing." He shrugs, refusing to explain any further.
"But you're only seventeen." I move out of his arms and face him.
He shrugs.
"So how many disappointments could there be?"
But instead of answering, he turns me back around and brings his lips to my ear, whispering, "Let's go for a swim."
One more sign of how perfect Damen is-he keeps a pair of trunks in his car.
"Hey, this is California, you never know when you'll need them," he says, standing at the edge of the pool and smiling at me. "Got a wet suit in the trunk too; should I get it?"
"I can't answer that," I say, wading in the deep end, steam rising up all around. "You just have to see for yourself."
He inches toward the very edge and pretends to dip his big toe.
"No testing, only jumping," I scold.
"May I dive?"
"Cannonball, belly flop, whatever." I laugh, watching as he executes the most gorgeous arcing dive, before popping up beside me.
"Perfect," he says, his hair slicked back, his skin wet and glistening, as tiny drops of water cling to his lashes. And just when I think he's going to kiss me, he ducks back under the water and swims away.
So I take a deep breath, swallow my pride, and follow.
"Much better," he says, holding me close.
"Scared of the deep end?" I smile, my toes barely touching the bottom.
"I was referring to your outfit. You should dress like this more often."
I gaze down at my white body in my white bikini and try not to feel overly insecure next to his, perfectly sculpted, bronzed self.
"Definitely a big improvement over the hoodies and jeans."
He laughs.
I press my lips together, unsure of what to say.
"But I guess you gotta do what you gotta do, right?"
I search his face. Something about the way he just said that seemed like he meant something more, like he might actually know why I dress the way I do.
He smiles. "Obviously it protects you from the wrath of Stacia and Honor. They're not too keen on competition." He tucks my hair behind my ear and smoothes the side of my face.