Page 29 of The Heartbreak Hotel

This was fine, wasn’t it? The adrenaline firing through her veins, combined with the wet sensation between her legs, made it hard to tell. She’d bent more than broken the rules at this point, but at least there was no chance of getting Ella pregnant and creating a scandal, right?

Ugh. Stop making excuses.

She changed out of her bra and damp boxer briefs and swapped them for her swimming costume. She preferred the tight fit to a bikini when surfing. She had small breasts and found bikinis that suited her tall and lean frame hard to come by—less chance of accidental nipple slips while surfing, too.

After giving Ziggy some love and a kiss on his head, she grabbed her surfboard and joined Ella outside. The hot sun warmed her skin immediately, and she slipped on her shades before leading them down the path. Their footsteps slapped against the stone.

“You really do have a beautiful place here,” Ella said from behind her.

“Thank you.” Riley spun, almost knocking Ella’s head with the end of her surfboard. Luckily, she ducked out of the way.

“Seriously, am I cursed?” Ella tightened the scrunchie holding her hair in place. “Maybe Duarte put a spell on me when I boarded his boat. Or Pauline.”

They laughed, and Riley gestured for Ella to walk in front. Her voice had vanished, her body still throbbing in inappropriate areas.

“Have you lived here a long time?” Ella asked, as they joined the dusty path leading down the hillside.

“Four years.”

“Wow.” She held back the bush branches to let Riley past, then slipped back in front of her. “Do you think you’ll stay forever?”

That question hit her square in the face. She hadn’t really thought much about it. Thoughts of the future didn’t come easy to her, not when her previous plans had been ripped away so easily. All she could do was focus on the present moment and take it day by day.

She adjusted her board under her arm. “I’m not sure, to be honest.”

“Would you go back home?”

Riley couldn’t stop the snort from leaving her lips. “No.”

They reached the bottom of the path and started walking side by side to Ella’s cabin, even though it was in the opposite direction to where Riley needed to go.

“How come?” Ella asked, holding up her hand to shield her eyes from the overhead sun.

“Ireland isn’t my home.” It sounded harsh, but it was true. Ireland hadn’t been her home for a long time.

Her mind dwelt on the wooden plaque that used to hang above their front door, reading ‘Home is where the waves are’ in slanted script. Riley never understood it when she was a kid. How could anyone live in the sea? Wouldn’t the water be cold and unwelcoming? Wouldn’t the dark be frightening?

It wasn’t until she was twelve, coming home to find her dad’s eyes vacant and glazed, still tapping ashes into an overflowing tray, that she really understood. Being outside and riding the ocean waves, feeling their energy wrap her in their protective arms for a while, felt much safer than the four walls of their house.

Riley wasn’t used to having so much focus on her; it was normally the other way around, with her tending to clients’ needs and questions, so she shifted the conversation, feeling more in control now her clit had stopped aching. “What about you?” she asked. “Have you thought more about your path?”

Ella let out a soft laugh, kicking a loose stone with her sandal. “Yeah… I guess I’m still finding my way or whatever.”

“Beautifully put,” she teased.

Ella glanced at her, and Riley grinned, her pulse quickening again at the look in her eyes. Teasing Ella came naturally to her, despite Senhor Arenoso’s rules, which should’ve kept those parts of Riley tucked away. She couldn’t help it.

“I thought I heard traces of an accent,” Ella said, a curious lilt to her voice.

A little ball of dread lodged in Riley’s throat. She didn’t want to talk about her family. Or lack thereof. Thankfully, they’d just arrived at Ella’s cabin.

“You ever tried surfing?” she asked instead, pretty sure she knew the answer.

Ella shook her head as someone on a bike rang their bell, and they hurried off the path. The bike peddled past, pulling a cart full of oranges, and a teenage boy called out “Obrigado”, a “thank you” in Portuguese.

“You should try it sometime,” Riley said. “Surfing.” She wanted to blame her invitation on her reluctance to talk about herself, but it wasn’t entirely true. She wanted to see more of Ella, but as soon as the words were out, she wanted them back.

She shouldn’t entertain this. She knew that. But the excited feeling swirling in her stomach overrode her brain’s sensibilities.