When she returns to the table, I can’t help but ask, “Who was that?”
“Not that it’s any of your business,” is her instant response before she tosses another shrimp into her mouth, “but if you must know, it was about a job up in Bolivia I’m interviewing for this week.”
“Bolivia, North Carolina?”
“Yes.”
“A long-term job or just a one-time shoot?” I ask her.
Lowering her gaze, she quietly says, “It could maybe be permanent. That’s why I came home…”
“So, you might move back here?” I say, shocked, not sure if I’m happy about that or not. Trying not to jump her for a few days will be tough. For months, or longer? Impossible. And if I have to see her with another man, I’ll lose my shit.
“I don’t know yet,” Zoe replies. “First, I need to get hired and make sure it’s a steady income, hence the interview the day after tomorrow.”
“I’m going with you,” I assert.
“What? Why? I don’t need a babysitter, Winston,” Zoe huffs, picking up her fork to poke around in her coleslaw.
“Just let me drive you! It’s an hour away with kidnappers on the loose, remember?”
“Fine,” she agrees with a sigh. “But you’re waiting in the car.”
“Good. We can take my bike.”
“No way. I need to look nice, not like I’ve shoved my finger in a socket and blown up my hair. Either you drive us in a car, or I’ll drive myself in dad’s Beemer.”
“I have a car,” I admit with a wince. It wasn’t one I was planning to show her, but it’s better than driving Martin’s little roadster.
“Great, then I guess you can be my chauffer like when we were kids. Your mom made you drive me everywhere and you absolutely hated it.”
“Yeah, I did. It was impossible to pick up girls with you riding shotgun looking like, well, a supermodel.”
“Not sorry,” she responds with a half-grin.
“So, what do you have scheduled for tomorrow?”
She narrows her emerald green eyes. “Were you listening in on my call?”
“Yes.”
Zoe huffs, but thankfully answers me. “I booked another signing event and photo shoot at the local racetrack.”
“Oh yeah? I loved that place when we were kids. I was convinced that I was good enough to race in the Grand Prix.”
“I remember,” she says with a puff of laughter. “You used to act like a race car driver on the highway too, scaring me to death.”
“Still do,” I admit.
I’m about to ask if I can take her to the event when Zoe beats me to it. “Yes, you can come with me, but only if you promise to be on your best behavior!”
“I’ll try.”
“It’s going to be a long, hot day outside,” she warns.
“I’m used to the heat. I’ll be fine,” I assure her.
“If you say so.”
“I do. So, what do you want to do tonight?” I ask, wishing she would say get naked with me but knowing it’s a longshot.
“I want to go down to the beach and take a swim in the ocean after it cools off. It’ll actually be a legitimate reason to wear a bikini for once.”
Zoe dripping wet in a bikini will be like hell on earth. And I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I deserve the torture for what I did to her. “Sure, we can do that,” I agree, my voice husky.
Lifting her eyebrows, she says, “Maybe I was planning to go alone.”
“Hell no. Swimming alone is dangerous. I’m going. End of discussion.”
Chapter Eight
Zoe
* * *
Strutting around in a bikini in front of Winston may become a new favorite hobby of mine. He obviously wants me. I’ve been around enough horny men to know that look, the one where they look desperate, pissed, and hungry all at the same time. Too bad he’s in for a week of disappointment. He may insist on staying at the house with me tonight, but it wouldn’t matter if we were sleeping in the same bed, naked. There is no way I’m going to fuck him.
Even with his sunglasses covering his eyes as he sits on the back deck steps, I know he’s watching me. I can feel the heat from his stare as I wade into the crashing waves, enjoying the fresh salty air and the cool, wet sand sinking under my feet. He can look all he wants, but I’ll break his fingers if he tries to touch me.
He hurt me so bad that I never recovered from his harsh words dismissing the night we were together, telling me I meant absolutely nothing to him. He was everything to me and I cried for so many weeks, I still can’t believe I won the modeling competition with my puffy red eyes. Those makeup artists worked some serious magic.
As the sun begins to set, casting a shadow over the beach, I decide I’ve had enough for now and start walking back to the deck steps.
“Excuse me,” I say when Winston doesn’t budge from the stairs to let me through.
“You don’t look happy,” he says without moving an inch.
“What?”
“Are you happy, Zo? Because you don’t look like you are.”
“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” I mutter.
“When you were younger, you smiled all the time, not just for the cameras but like you were genuinely happy.”
“Men don’t want naked women smiling at them because it makes them feel insecure, like they’re laughing at the size of their tiny dicks.”
“I don’t mean just in photos,” Winston grumbles. “You’ve looked unhappy since you got here.”
“Maybe that’s just because you won’t leave me alone!”
“Do you really hate me that much?” he asks.
“Yes,” I answer, making his jaw clench even tighter. “Now let me get by. I’m ready for bed.”
“Bed? It’s not even nine o’clock!” he huffs.
“I had a six a.m. flight,” I say in my defense. “It’s been a long fucking day.”
Apparently, Winston is finally satisfied with my answer because he stands up, putting us toe to toe.
“What time do you have to be at the racetrack tomorrow?”
“Eleven.”
“I’ll be ready to go at ten thirty and if you leave without me, I’m going to be pissed,” he says.
“Okay. But I’m driving Dad’s car tomorrow.”
“Fine.”
“Fine. Goodnight,” I say before I slip around him to climb the stairs that lead to the back door of the house.
“Night,” Winston replies from behind me, and then I hear his heavy footsteps as he follows me back inside.
Chapter Nine
Winston
* * *
It’s really fucking hard to sleep knowing Zoe hates me.
I toss and turn in the full bed from my teenage years, wanting to barge into her room next door to shake her and make her listen to me when I tell her the truth about all the shit I said to her ten years ago.