Protection

Chapter 11

TRIS POV

Today is the perfect day. The sun shines down on me directly, but it is not too hot with the gentle breeze. The towel I am lying on is soft, and my feet hang off of it because it is too short for my body, allowing me to bury my toes in the sand. My bright pink bikini makes me look almost hot in contrast to my tan skin.

Four lies out next to me on his own towel, dressed in black swim shorts, a white t-shirt, and dark sunglasses. He looks so relaxed, which is a rare sight to see.

Two weeks ago, we told each other how we felt. Over the last while, we have kept our distance. I gave him the space and time he asked for, and besides that we have both been busy with our own things. We didn't really leave the house much, and when we did, it was like we were back to square one, bickering over dumb things and acting just as friends.

But I don't want to be friends.

"Why are you so quiet?"

I look over at Four, who is now leaning on his elbow and facing me with an inquisitive look behind his sunglasses.

"No reason," I say. "Just enjoying a day at the beach. Speaking of which, why do you still have your shirt on? Don't you want to get a tan?"

He stiffens noticeably and goes back to lying flat. Did I say something wrong? "I get burnt easily. And I really don't feel like getting up and lathering myself in sunscreen."

I frown. His face and arms are always tan; I don't believe him when he says he burns. But I give him a pass. Whatever reason he has for not removing his shirt is none of my business.

Still, I wish he would.

We lie in silence for a few more minutes before I sigh and lean on my arm. This is awkward. And counterproductive. "Sit up," I command. "We're playing a game. This is boring."

He turns to look at me and then copies my actions. "A game?" he asks.

"Yeah. Let's play..." I rack my brain for an idea and then come up with, "Twenty-one questions." That will work. Plus, it will get him to communicate with me, something he hasn't exactly done in a while.

"What's that?"

"You've never played twenty-one questions?!"

He glances away and swallows, giving me a great view of his sharp jawline. "I've never really played any games, actually."

I don't know what he is referring to, but I don't push him. "Okay, well, basically we take turns asking each other a question."

He looks over at my pause. "That's it?" I nod. "That's not even a game. That's just called a conversation."

I roll my eyes. "Fine, whatever. Then let's just ask each other questions. You go first."

He bites his lip and looks deep in thought for a few moments before he deadpans, "What's your favorite color?"

"Oh my God." I bury my face in my hands while he laughs lowly at me. "You can get deeper than that, you know. And to answer your question, dark blue." Like the ocean, like your eyes—did I really just think that...

"Okay, my turn," I start. "Um...what do you like to do for fun? Besides working out."

Four furrows his eyebrows in concentration, like the question is a hard one. I don't understand, doesn't he have any hobbies?

"I guess I like to go shooting at ranges, although I don't do that often. Sometimes it brings back bad memories." My mind travels to the pills I found in his drawer. It wouldn't surprise me if he has PTSD or something after going to war; he hides it well though. After clearing his throat, he asks, "Do you like having a ton of money?"