Rogue Wave by Isabel Jolie (reading eggs books txt) 📕

never thought of myself as beautiful, but hearing him say the words warmed me on the inside. College boys didn’t use words like that, or at least, none had ever with me. Brandon and I had started dating in second grade, so it hadn’t been a word in our relationship vocabulary. I inched closer, wanting a kiss.

“You’re too beautiful for me. Too full of hope. You’d be one of the people standing on the street all day with a smile on her face, even when someone cursed at you or shouted for you to stop vandalizing property.”

“Did people shout at you?” His lips met mine in answer, my question no longer important. He drew back and dropped a kiss on my nose then tugged my hand to continue our walk.

“I didn’t encounter many haters in Rhode Island.”

“But in other parts of the world?”

“I wasn’t looking for donations. We were tracking ships that were egregious violators.”

“Was it dangerous?” His thumb caressed my knuckles as we walked, the sensation a buoy in the dark, but there was something about the movement that made me think it comforted him more.

“It could be. But mostly it felt futile. We’d spend a year tracking one boat. Meanwhile, a hundred new boats launched doing the exact same thing. Without government interference, it’s not going to end. And it’s not really in the government’s interest to interfere. I mean, sure, in the long term, many countries will be hit hard by a depleted ocean. Hell, the entire planet will be. But governments tend to be short-term thinkers. It’s all about today’s money.” He stopped and pointed at one of the cages nestled against a dune and pointed. “That’s one of yours, right?”

I nodded. The nest had hatched two nights ago. I’d planned to come along on Monday and pack up the materials, clean them, and store them for next summer. “The last nest is down the beach this way.”

“So, all these questions about Greenpeace. Is that your goal? Do you want to work for them?”

“No. I’ve been researching opportunities in Central America. Potentially researching coral reefs. Maybe pursue my doctorate later on. I’d like to find a program that couples research with advocacy. You know, maybe something with a camp element that strives to get the community, or at least kids, as enthused about environmentalism and science as I am. And work on programs to save the manatee. I’m partial to manatee. Keeping the marshes clean. Initiatives along those lines.”

“Sounds like a good plan. Do you think you need your PhD?”

I smiled. He sounded like my parents asking that question. “No. But maybe I’ll teach. I don’t know. It feels like a natural next step. It’s a lot of time and money, and if I don’t need it…” I kicked at a shell as I trailed off. “We’ll see.”

We arrived at the last remaining nest, and I pulled him down with me. In truth, we didn’t have to watch the nest. But in case any of the turtles were misguided by some of the lights onshore, I liked to be here. During the season, I’d have people paying to come out and watch the nest, hoping to witness tiny baby turtles clawing through the top layer of sand and scurrying toward the ocean, guided by instinct.

He situated me between his legs, my back to his chest, and his arms wrapped around me. He looped my hair and twisted it, presumably to keep it from whipping his face. He cupped my breast and ran his thumb across my nipple as if it was the most natural thing in the world. The intimate gesture felt warm and uninhibited as I leaned back against him. Any intimidation I felt from his being older had drifted away.

“Tell me, Luna. What does a young, beautiful girl with a bright future saving the world want with an old washout like me?” He nipped at my earlobe, and tingles traveled down my spine.

“A washout? Who called you a washout?” To me, he was anything but a washout. He’d gone out into the world and made a difference.

The sound that escaped from his chest wasn’t quite a groan but rather a garbled noise, as if he couldn’t bring himself to mumble the words or complete the thought.

I twisted around and climbed on his lap, one leg on each side of him, my crotch settled on his groin, so I could better see him. I fingered the scruff along his jaw, loving the prickling sensation across the pads of my fingers.

“Don’t call yourself a washout. For one, you’re way too young.”

“Feels old as fuck to me.”

“But you’re not. You’re still young. You have so much left to live and to do. I feel like maybe you came here to recover from whatever happened.”

“What makes you think something happened?” His brow creased, and his tone deepened.

“You have that look. And you don’t need to tell me. If you want, you can. But it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you heal. And I think this island is good for that.”

“See, an optimist. Always seeing the possibility. Determined we’re on a course for improvement. For things to get better.” He nibbled on my neck, and goosebumps rose all along my arms.

“If we each do our part. That’s all it takes,” I said, angling my head to expose my neck.

He leaned back on his arms, creating space between us, and chuckled.

“What?”

He turned his head to the right and left while sucking on his lower lip. “I used to be so much like you. God. It’s like looking in a mirror from ten years ago.”

“Is that bad?”

“No, it’s just…don’t change. And you should probably stay the hell away from me to make sure I don’t rub off on you.”

“But I like you rubbing on me,” I teased, ready to let the serious conversation go and do fun things in the sand.

“Why? What’re you looking for, beautiful girl?”

“Looking for? I’m twenty-two. Why do I have to be looking for anything? Can’t