“You think?” I retort as my phone dings.
“It will be fine. If you want, I can hire someone to take Richard out. I know a guy who knows a guy who knows a guy,” Zeke rambles, then hiccups. “Fuck.” He giggles. He fucking giggles! “I forgot how much of a lightweight I am.”
“Jesus Christ.” Owen stares at Zeke as he slips out of the chair and onto the floor, annihilated off two fingers of alcohol. “New rule—he gets no liquor. Ever. He sticks with beer.” Owen squats and picks Zeke up off the floor, carrying him like a groom would his bride on their wedding day. He must see the humor stretching across my face, and he narrows his eyes at me. “Shut up.”
“I didn’t say anything,” I defend myself, and Heaven holds out a hand, waiting for me to greet it with a high-five.
So I do.
Owen curls his lip in annoyance and looks down at Zeke, who is now snoring, head thrown over Owen’s arm. “He better hope this is jet lag because no man goes down this easy.”
“Maybe he didn’t eat today.”
“That’s a good point. Drinking on an empty tummy is not a good thing.” I pat Zeke’s stomach, and he laughs again, wiggling in Owen’s arms to escape the touch.
“Tickles,” he slurs.
“How is this man our lawyer? Someone might want to think about that and decide if we want a new one. He’s a train wreck.”
“Yeah, but he’s our train wreck,” Heaven adds with a tone filled with care as he turns on the TV. “Sweet, I love this movie.”
Bridesmaids.
“Hey, Grayson, which one are you? I think I’m the drunk one.”
“I’m not answering that question.”
“You’re the one getting married. For sure. All fun, kind of, then serious and gloomy. Yeah, you’re her.”
“Fuck you. I am not.” I am. I refuse to say that out loud. My phone vibrates again, reminding me I have a message. “Oh, shit!” I hope it isn’t Finley. I don’t want her to think I’m ignoring her, but I get the impression she’s ignoring me.
We were talking constantly for a bit, and then she stopped messaging me out of the blue. I admitted I wanted to get to know her more, and I think I freaked her out. I pushed. I hurried. I should have known better with what her profile says. She wants to be friends and go slow, which is what I want.
And then I had to go and rush things because I’m impatient. I want to know how her voice sounds. Is it high-pitched? Low and raspy? Nasally?
God, don’t let it be nasally.
I pull my phone from my pocket and smile when I see her name across the screen. Maybe I don’t need to be too eager. Do I make her wait?
No. Never make a woman wait.
I swipe the message icon, my heart pounding when I see it’s a picture of her, but just of her from behind. She’s sitting cross-legged and looking out over a cliff, and various buildings are in her view.
Her hair glows a beautiful ruby color. Her skin is the color of milk. I bet she’s beautiful, and I bet that’s why she doesn’t want to show her face. She is used to guys only wanting her for her looks, and she wants to meet people the other way. Conversation.
Without communication, two people together are just sex.
FinleyPark: I’m sorry for being nonresponsive. I’m traveling. My service is iffy. Pretty cool view, right? North Carolina is gorgeous.
I’m not staring at the buildings. I’m staring at her, her body, her hair. She looks so small, delicate, and for the first time in eight years, I want to wrap my arms around another woman.
Love destroys everything. Trust no one.
The voice in the back of my head speaks up, reminding me of why I’ve been on guard all these years.
I press my fingers on the screen and zoom in, tilting my head to look at her shoulder. There’s a huge bruise on it.
IsaacGray88: Looks beautiful. I love traveling. Good to know you do too. What happened to your shoulder. Are you okay?
I’m not going to say she’s beautiful, not yet. The last thing I want is to spook her from saying she looks good when I really only know what her hair looks like.
FinleyPark: Ah, clumsy me. I fell and slammed my shoulder against a rail.
The common ‘I fell’ excuse. It could be the cynical side of me, and maybe she’s telling the truth, but my senses are telling me otherwise. Something happened. I can betray her trust and have Sebastian look into her, but I don’t want to do that. I want her to tell me on her own.
My phone buzzes again.
FinleyPark: Where do you live? Maybe on my travels I can see you. ; )
“Oh, fuck.” I fly out of my chair and run my fingers over the scruff on my face.
“What?” Heaven asks, trying to look over the couch at me.
“Um, nothing. Don’t worry about it. I thought I paid a bill, but I didn’t.”
“Oh, that sucks,” he says. “That’s okay. Call them, and it will get sorted out.”
“So positive,” I grit through a forced smile.
FinleyPark: I’m kidding. I’m not trying to stalk you.
IsaacGray88: No, sorry. I was talking to my friend. I live in Trinidad, California. All beaches. Right on the side of a cliff called ‘The Cliff House’.”
FinleyPark: Sounds like a dream.
Wanting some privacy, I head over to the sliding glass doors and step outside, closing it behind me. I bring my phone up and snap a picture, getting the infinity pool in it too. Damn, I live in a beautiful place. It’s warm out, and the sky is clear for the first time in a few days. The ocean is navy blue, and a hint of the cliffside can be seen across the way.
Muscle memory takes over, and I sit down on the red patio couch Quinn picked out. I get an idea and tap my fingers against my thigh, debating if I should do it. Fuck it, right? It’s all or nothing. I shrug my shirt off and toss it on the couch.
Step out of your comfort zone. Not everyone is bad. People can be trusted.
Why am I taking off my shirt? Because I have a nice body. Even if she only sees my back, I want her to know how good it looks. I want her to find me attractive. I know the easiest way would be to show my face. I want to see hers too, but I’m afraid our banter will change from joking to getting to know one another to sexual. I let sex ruin my life before. I had sex with Kendall on the first date and in the end, she was the one who fucked me over.
I’m not going to let my hormones get the best of me. At least, not yet.
I place my phone on the table and set it against the umbrella rod. I swipe the camera open again and angle it in the direction I want. I set the self-timer to ten seconds and run into place near the pool’s edge and turn around, giving her my back. I tense so my muscles seem more defined and shove my hands in my pocket as I stare out toward the ocean. When I hear the click of the camera, I run back and tap the thumbnail in the bottom left corner and analyze it.
“What are you doing?” Heaven leans against edge of the sliding glass door and crosses his arms.
“Nothing,” I answer and send the picture to Finley. I’m not going to chance him finding that photo of me. I click the gallery app and delete it. It’s only for Finley’s eyes.
“Your shirt’s off.”
“It’s hot out,” I say simply. “I’m thinking about going for a swim.” Heaven wobbles from the doorway to the patio table, sits down, and lifts his casted leg to the empty chair in front of him.