Page 112 of Godless Saints

Ugh. Fuck. I should’ve stopped drinking hours ago. He pulled out his wallet and paid for both. I was still half in his lap, dignity somewhere on the floor.

“Don’t pay for my drinks. They’re expensive.”

“I have expensive taste.”

What the fuck did that mean.

He hauled me up. We headed for the hotel.

We passed a small private beach. Pitch black. Soft waves against the shore. Salt thicker here. I leaned toward it. “We should go there.”

“Just don’t go swimming. You’re drunk as hell.”

We dropped onto the sand. I fell onto my back. Stars spun overhead. I pointed up.

“Look at all the stars.”

He lay down beside me.

“That’s Orion.” He took my wrist and guided my hand. My eyes followed.

“No, that’s a shopping cart.” I cracked up.

We lay there in silence, staring up. His body heat bled into me. I leaned closer. He smelled good. Whiskey, sunscreen, cedar.

His fingers traced mine. Then locked. We kept staring at the sky.

“Why are you here?”

His hand was warm. Rougher than Vivi’s. A scar crossed the back. I didn’t let go.

“Same reason everyone comes to this island.”

“Vacation?”

“To disappear.”

“Oh.”

I tensed.

“So you’re not okay either.” It slipped out. I dropped his hand and sat up fast.

“Let’s go back to the hotel.” My words slurred. I tugged his sleeve, barely keeping my balance. He stood and steadied me.

Only when we got closer did I notice. Same place I was staying. The rates here were insane. So he had money too.

We stepped into the lobby. The woman at the desk looked up. Me flushed and shitfaced. Him way too steady. I was literally hanging off him.

I was supposed to drink alone, crawl back to my room, and sleep for seven days straight before New York.

“Mr. Ashbourne, and Mo—”

“Ay ay ay.” I waved a finger at her. “I’m Betty White.”

Cillian chuckled and looked at her. “He’s had one too many. Drinks that sound like bath products.”

I swung at the air. Fuck. I thought I was hitting him. He grabbed my wrist and steered me toward the elevator.