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I shake my head. “Nah, don’t be deceived by Adrian’s alleged ‘honorable intentions’. He’s just a horny fucker who wanted what I had. And it worked. He took it.”
“But it broke your heart, too.”
I turn around and gaze off at the bonfire, choosing not to respond to that. Honestly I’m not sure whether I had actual feelings for the guy, or if I was just hoping for once to have something more than what’s here on this island.
Maybe that’s all my brother stole from me. Hope.
Jonah relocates to a spot at the railing next to me. “If it means anything, I appreciate you not following that rule with regard to me.”
I glance at him. Our elbows are almost touching on the wooden railing. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I like hanging around you.”
I shrug. “What’s so special about hanging with me?”
“It’s not one single thing. It’s the whole thing. There’s no pressure to be anyone other than myself around you, which … is an unexpectedly nice breath of fresh air, since I constantly edit myself around Rico.”
“Why?”
“He wants me to party more, do more, fuck more, be more. It’s exhausting. Is that a scar?” He touches my arm.
I know it’s just a touch. Just one little touch of a finger, no big deal. But my body feels it like an electrical current that doesn’t cause pain, but pleasure, and it charges up my arm and down through every limb, hair follicle, and molecule in my body. I swear I can even feel the energy in the tips of my eyelashes.
All of that, from just a fingertip. “Yeah, a scar.”
“Where’d you get it from?”
“Roughhousing with my brother.” His fingertip still grazes the spot, tracing it. “Though I’m honestly not sure which. It could’ve been Adrian. Maybe Brett. I got it when I was three.”
“Brett? Oh, he’s the one who got away, right?”
“Yep. Oldest bro. Went to college, put on a suit that I swear he’s never taken off since, married some sweet girl who turned out to be Satan in disguise, and hasn’t been back to the island since.”
“Not even to visit? Or say hi?”
“We’ve got phones for that. Mom keeps in touch. I’m lucky to get a text.” I shake my head. “And don’t even get me started on my dad, who’s basically the big bolt of cloth Brett was cut from.”
“So … Brett and Dad are the renegades.”
I chuckle. “That’s some flavorful language, but sure.”
He continues to inspect my scar with his fingertip, and my body continues to react. I glance down after a while to see what he finds so fascinating. That seems to pull him from his trance, and he retracts his finger. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
He crosses his arms tighter, seeming to hug the railing. “It’s an interesting shape,” he notes.
“Kinda looks like a crescent moon, huh?”
“I was going to say a smile.”
Really, though, was there a reason he touched me? He could have just asked about the scar. I would have. But instead, he reached out and touched it.
Should I make a move back? Should I try to touch him, too? Why aren’t the instincts just coming to me like they usually do in these situations?
Why am I so nervous?
“It’s been a long day,” he says suddenly.
Am I supposed to invite him inside? Skipper brought him here. He sought me out. “Yeah, it has.”
“Between the travel, the unpacking at the resort, and the whole dealing-with-Rico thing, the pool thing, dinner, and …” He clears his throat and scuffs his sandals restlessly. “Anyway, I just didn’t want things to be left like that on the beach. I had to come find you and at least say goodnight or something. I understand if you’re … done.”
Done? What the fuck does that mean? “Nah, I was—I shouldn’t have stormed off, actually.”
“Rico’s done a number on me before. I stormed out of my own birthday party once because he tried to get me in bed with some rando-hottie he invited over. I wasn’t into it. I never am.”
Invite him inside, idiot. “Do you wanna come in for a bit, maybe? Or, uh—”
“No, no, it’s okay.” Jonah pastes on a smile and lifts his hands. “I should really, uh … get back to my hotel. The day’s been a long day. Uh, it’s been a long day, I mean.” His face goes red again. “Sorry. Flustered a bit.”
Did I fluster him? Was it the whole inviting him inside thing? “I didn’t mean come inside to fuck.”
He snaps his eyes to mine. “What?”
“I was just inviting you in to hang out for a bit. Maybe have some more disgusting beer. Chat. I can play you a song on my guitar, or—” What? Play him a song? What kind of Kumbaya shit is this? I haven’t played for anyone in years. “—or just hang out, or—”
