She doesn’t want me to be out in the sun.
“I’m not moving. Do you know how many photos of this ship I looked at to scope out the best possible seats? I’ve been living in Sweden since I was twenty-two. I need the sun.” Talon points to his chest.
Tia lifts her sunglasses to roll her eyes at his already dark skin before she drops down on her chair, stretching out.
Sloan says nothing, but a furrow pulls across her brow. I watch her bite down on the inside of her cheek, eyes swinging between the chairs and the sun umbrellas pushed to the side.
She’s not wrong.
Sun this bright would usually hurt me. Maybe not right away. But later tonight or tomorrow morning.
I’m not sure I really care when she stands there like that. More beautiful than anything and worth every second of pain it’s going to cause.
Hair shining impossibly bright, spilling over her shoulders, thatBinked on her skin, sitting right beside the strap of her linen tank top. Lines of her legs tensing and shifting when she taps her foot in time with her finger against her bicep, denim shorts brushing against her thighs.
Her eyes find me again, she swallows, and then she’s bending over, arms wrapped around the cement base of one of the sun umbrellas, trying to drag it across the deck into the centre of our chairs.
“Jesus Christ, someone help her,” Talon mutters, brow lifting behind his drink.
I start forward, but Sloan’s eyes flick up to me, tracing over the scar half hidden under my hair, before she tugs harder on the cement base of the umbrella.
“Someone else then.” Talon holds his hands up, frozen daiquiri sloshing over the sides of his glass.
Jay cringes. “I’ve got it.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, and I don’t watch him drag the umbrella into the centre of the chairs, but I sit in the one that’s going to get the most shade.
Sloan exhales, soft, just a tiny flare of her nostrils and slump of her shoulders.
Her eyes sweep over me, tracking every inch of my body that might get exposed to the sun, but when she sees it’s just my legs and my left arm when I shift, she glances towards the scar again before sitting in the chair furthest away from mine, puts her headphones in, and doesn’t look at me for the rest of the afternoon.
Bohdan
I thought seeing Sloan again was painful.
That spending a day in such close proximity, sneaking glances at her sitting there, book propped up on her knees, chin in her hand, and headphones firmly in her ears while she ignored the rest of us was hard.
That it was torture, really, to be so close to her brain—the one she hates but I know is beautiful, wonderful, endlessly fascinating—and not be able to lean over, take one of those headphones out, press my mouth to the spot where her neck meets her collarbone, and ask her what she’s thinking.
I thought the last year and a half of my life was objectively brutal without her.
But I guess it was all just preparing me for this.
For her walking into the dining room of this godforsaken ship. For her hair lifting off her exposed shoulders in a phantom breeze, eyes bright and maybe happy for the first time since she saw me again. For her head tipped back in laughter, showing me the lines of her neck I used to sink my teeth into while she laughsat something Tia says. For her skin glowing from the sun and her legs stretching out from underneath this yellow silk dress that hits her mid-thigh. TheBon her shoulder tucked away under its thin straps.
“Fuck,” I mutter, absentmindedly rubbing at my chest.
I don’t think there’s ever been a more beautiful person on the planet.
Jay tips his wineglass towards her with a low whistle. “Think she wore that dress on purpose?”
I give him a flat look and grab my beer, swishing it around before taking a too-large swallow.
Talon cranes his head, eyes sweeping over Sloan before he lets out a bark of laughter. “You’re so fucked.”
“Thanks to you.” I empty the glass, wishing I’d had the foresight to ask the server for more than one.
I debate reaching across the table and taking the rest of Jay’s wine and draining that when Sloan and Tia reach the table.
