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There were a lot of people in town who would be thrilled to talk shit about me to Sophie and it wouldn’t have bothered me. Whatever. They could say what they want. But the one person who had no right to say a goddamn thing to Sophie about me was Christian. He had lost the right to have any opinion about my life when he had fucked my girlfriend.
And gotten her pregnant.
Or not gotten her pregnant.
We’ll never know for sure because we’re identical twins with the same fucking DNA, so a paternity test is absolutely useless. So, yeah. He had no right to say dick to Sophie.
I hadn’t called her to invite her over again. I hadn’t been planning to see her again at all. I figured why fuck up a good memory, right?
But then she’d said Christian had made it sound like I was so predictable that he was fully confident in saying I would never see her again. There was no way I was going to let that motherfucker tell Sophie anything about me.
I shoved my phone down into my pocket and took a deep breath of the ocean air. I should eat something. My stomach, churning miserably when I first got on board, had settled down.
Rick had taken one look at me at eight when we’d met on the dock and said, “You look like shit. But less shit than total shit so I’d call that a win.”
I had felt way worse many a time. Mostly I was rough around the edges because I hadn’t slept much. After I had gotten home, thoughts of Ali’s baby, who Christian had claimed as his, had pressed down on me. I had drunk two more glasses of whiskey until the anger had dulled, and when I dropped into bed, I smelled the sweet scent of Sophie. I buried my head in the pillow she had rested on and let it calm me.
Her body, her curious stare, were the last things I thought about before I fell asleep and the first thing on my mind when I woke up. My dreams had been tangled with her wide eyes and her curvy hips, riding me. I’d woken up hard with my hand on my dick.
It was exactly the distraction I needed. She had lived up to my expectation. Hell, exceeded it.
My other crewmate, Liam, came up and sat down on a trap, a sandwich in his hand. “Dude, you look like you got some serious pussy last night.” He took a bite and spoke around his food. “That is a shit-eating grin on your face.”
“I don’t kiss and tell, motherfucker.” It had never been a habit of mine to engage in locker room talk. I didn’t need to brag. But I really didn’t want to discuss Sophie with anyone. She was different. Something that was a little bit more than the normal hookups I had.
And I didn’t want to share her or our time together with anyone. I wasn’t going to look too hard at the why of that, but it was what it was.
Liam took another bite of his sandwich. “Dick. I would tell you all the juicy details if it were me.”
“First of all, it never is, you fucking loser. Second of all, why do you bite your sandwich first and then start talking? How about you chew and swallow and then bug me? I’m embarrassed for you, man.”
“Says the guy who pukes overboard at least once a week.”
There was some truth to that. The motion of the ocean wasn’t kind to an alcoholic. “I’m feeding the fish.”
Liam made a face. He was not a good-looking guy, having eyes that were set too wide, and a larger nose than most would deem attractive, but he was easygoing and fun, and he always had a whole harem of homely girls trailing around behind him. The problem with Liam was he thought he deserved a supermodel and walked around with an odd arrogance and entitlement that meant when he could actually have a sweet little girlfriend sucking him off every night, he chose instead to hold out for the dream girl that didn’t exist for him.
At least I didn’t think so, but hell, maybe I was wrong. Maybe one day Gigi Hadid would be on fucking vacay in Camden and she’d fall for Liam the Ugly Lobster Fisherman. But I wouldn’t bet the farm on it, or even five bucks. Life doesn’t work that way. You don’t always get what you want.
“Thank you for that disgusting visual,” Liam said.
“Right back at you,” I said, gesturing to his mouth filled with chewed ham and rye.
He rolled his eyes and stood up and walked away, obviously a little annoyed with me.
I texted my mother.
You home tonight? Can I stop by?
Sure. Would love to see you.
My mother, God love her, is the sweetest, kindest woman on the planet, and had chosen the world’s biggest dickhead to marry. My father had been a prick from what I remember, but he had rolled out by my fifth birthday, leaving Mom with five kids to raise solo. He had popped in and out a few times but mostly was out. I had heard about three years earlier he had gone to prison for stealing forty grand in copper out of a salvage site but I didn’t know if he was out or not. I didn’t care.
Is Christian going to be there?
It was a loaded question and I knew it would upset her. She thought my brother and I should just hug it out and forgive and forget. Which was as damn unrealistic as world peace. But until that happened, she preferred us not to be in the same room together just as much as I did. Lorraine didn’t like conflict. Which was why she had stayed married to my father rather than confront him on his many flaws, from womanizing, to gambling, to drinking.
