He pulls it off though, somehow.
Talon kicks back in his chair, curls of his hair lifting in the breeze coming off the ocean. He angles his glass towards Jay. “Dress code was optional.”
“Never met a theme night I didn’t like.” Jay shrugs, the ice in his gin and tonic hitting the crystal when he takes a sip.
“You didn’t even read the itinerary.” I point towards the shirt. “You just willingly pack shit like that in your suitcase?”
He swipes a hand through his hair, rings glinting under the setting sun. “Vintage is in. Wouldn’t expect either of you to know a thing about fashion.”
Talon takes offence to that because he’s contradictory and ornery about almost anything, even though Jay’s right—he doesn’t really care about fashion or trends.
I’m not listening—I’ve been tuning them out for years.
I’m busy craning my neck in a way that’s pulling funny and I should probably stop, but we’ve been sitting on one of the decks at a bar for the last thirty minutes, waiting for Sloan and Tia so we can start Talon’s stupid disco night.
The impending threat of a night spent in a loud club with flashing lights and grating music had me taking a pre-emptive propranolol. Not exactly psychiatrist recommended, but neither is a lot of my behaviour—including watching like a fucking hawk so I can see her first when she arrives.
She was in her room with Tia when we got back to the suite, and Talon said I was being weird, lingering around, so he dragged me here.
“What’s taking them so long?”
Talon stops whatever tirade he was on about Swedish fashion and glances down at his phone. “Tia texted, says they’ll be here in a few minutes.”
I nod absentmindedly, still craning my neck.
He eyes me, lip pulling up. “Can you relax? You’re going to fucking hurt yourself if you keep doing that.”
“I don’t like how we left things earlier,” I mutter, finally looking back at Talon and Jay.
Jay snorts. “Probably should have thought of that a year and a half ago.”
I give him a flat look. “Ha-ha. Thanks for that.”
“Is he wrong?” Talon asks, leaning forward, and I think he’s about to deliver another sermon I didn’t ask for when Tia drops into one of the empty chairs.
She reaches forward, the silver sequins on her dress glinting under the fading sun, grabbing Jay’s gin and tonic, taking a sip,and pretending not to notice when he tosses his hands up in exasperation.
“Where’s Sloan?” I ask, impatient, hands tightening around my own glass.
Tia arches a brow, thinly veiled displeasure all over her face. “She’s still getting ready. She said she needed ... a bit more time to decide what to wear.”
Her eyes flash when she pauses, and mine pinch closed.
“Fuck,” I mutter, pressing my fingers to my temple.
“Indeed,” Tia says flatly.
“So? People take a long time to decide on their outfits.” Talon tips his chin towards Jay. “Look at him. The selection can really carry on.”
“Not Sloan.” I push to stand. “I’ll be right back.”
Tia purses her lips. “Haven’t you done enough?”
I don’t bother to answer—even though it’s pretty evident that I have.
All kinds of irreparable damage.
“Bohdan.” Tia grabs my arm when I go to walk by, and I glance down at her fingers, pressing down on my wrist, before my eyes flick to her face. Lips turned down, features soft, and all that ire gone from her eyes. She looks impossibly sad. “Don’t. Not unless you’re going to give her what she wants and really try to fix things. She can’t go through it again ... she doesn’t deserve it.”
