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NINETEEN
Felix
I slide a beer across the bar to the man I’m serving and take his money.
“Felix, dude. It’s packed in here,” Mylo yells from where he’s counting change into the register. He offered to cover when Zi asked for the night off. The only reason I gave it to her.
He’s right, though. The bar is packed. The DJ’s playing his own blend of Cluan folk songs and soulful house music, the locals in the crowd stamping their feet and clapping their hands to the tunes we’ve grown up hearing. The tourists attempting to follow the fast rhythms but failing spectacularly.
We’ve moved the sofas from the main bar out onto the terrace leaving the inside for dancing.
“I’ve never heard anything like this.” Mylo dips his head so I can hear him over the music, his head bobbing to the thick beat as he scans the bar. I know who he’s looking for. The girls are out tonight. Out out according to Zi.
“It’s traditional Cluan,” I mutter. I’ve spent the last hour watching the door too. I thought they’d be here by now.
“You expecting someone? The little receptionist from the Castle maybe?”
“No. Yeah.” I rake my hair back from my face and shake my head. “Fucked if I know.” I haven’t seen Laia since the other day at her place. Figured space would give me some sort of clarity. That with some distance I’d be able to figure out what the hell’s going on in my head. It hasn’t.
“She seems like a good girl.”
I scan the bar again. “It’s complicated.”
He glances down to where Jayne is calling out for another round of drinks. “I’d take complicated with Laia over listening to that voice any day of the week.”
I blow air into my cheeks then take a swig of beer. “She’s got a past.” I shake my head.
“Haven’t we all.” He rolls his shoulders before pinning me with the same take-no-shit brow quirk he’s used on me since the day I met him. “In my book, complicated is always better than easy.”
Before I can agree—or disagree, the unmistakable sound of drunk women drifts over the loud music.
It’s impossible to miss the way Mylo straightens the second Kenzi struts through the crowd and sidles up to him at the bar, the others tottering in behind her.
Laia’s at the back of the gaggle in a black-trouser all-in-one outfit thing. Whatever it is, it looks sexy as hell on her. The high neck and bare arms leave just enough to the imagination. Until she turns to the terrace, bouncing on her toes to the music as she yells something into Rae’s ear. Her hair is twisted up off her neck, leaving the curve of her spine completely bare from her hairline to her…
Holy shit that’s low. I lift my chin in a vague greeting to the others, but my gaze refuses to remove itself from Laia. I shove my hands in my pockets and rock back on my heels.
“Hey, lover-boy, how about some drinks over here?” Rylie leans over the bar, her knowing gaze shifting between my face and Laia’s back.
The other girls grin, nudging each other like schoolgirls until Laia turns.
Her smile is like a sucker punch to the gut. Complicated definitely wins out over easy.
Letting Mylo take care of the others, I lean against the bar and wait for her to come closer.
Slightly glazed, but startlingly green even in the dim light, her gaze flits over my face.
“Laia.” I plant both hands on the bar in front of me.
She blinks, a smile tugging at her lips. “Hey.”
I can barely hear her over the thumping music, but I try anyway. “You look good.” I take in her outfit again.
She bites her lip, her nose scrunching, but she doesn’t look away even when her cheeks flush. “So do you … I mean, you look good too.” She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, but her smile doesn’t shift.
My chest knots, a bemused grin stretching across my face. She doesn’t look away until she’s dragged backwards onto the dance floor.
I think Laia just flirted with me.
Laia
So, somewhere between wine number three and the fresh air of the short walk to The Beach Hut, I came to a vague sort of agreement with myself—tonight I stop being complicated.
Tonight is the night I get uncomplicated—with Felix. Uncomplicated with Felix.
It’s just a shame I forgot that I suck at flirting—like, really bad.
Despite it all though, a care-free drunken daze envelops me as I dance around to the music—hands in the air, wiggling, giggling, girls-night-out dancing. I’m having a ball.
And then when I don’t think it can get any better, the backbeat to the last song fades and a dramatic acoustic guitar solo takes over.
Kenzi and Rylie jump up and down, squealing like a pair of teenagers, and Rae pulls me back a few steps until we’re leaning against the bar. “Best give them room,” she laughs into my ear.
“What? What do you mean?” My head swings from her to them and back again.
“Just watch.” She tips her bottle of water in their direction. “Trust me.”
Kenzi and Rylie get into position, still squawking and giggling like little girls. Arms held in an arc above their heads, one foot tipped, heel to the ground, the other planted flat.
The guitar stops for a beat then the thump of stamped feet on wood starts up. Slow at first—a rhythm completely foreign to me. Then, as it speeds up, the complicated clapping starts, and my mouth falls open.
A quick glance behind me tells me that I’m not the only one who doesn’t know what’s going on. Huge arms folded over his chest, Mylo’s eyes are glued on Kenzi.
Even Felix has picked up the clapping. And seriously. Seee-reee-ouus-ly. I’ve never seen anything sexier. It’s just clapping, but … his stare meets mine for a second, and something intense, smoldering, and hot-as hell wraps around me.
The guitar starts up again along with the haunting voice of a woman singing in Cluan. I shake myself from my Felix-haze just in time to see Kenzi and Rylie snap their arms down. Their feet do a little stamp hop thing, and then they’re off.
Kenzi hitches up one side of her dress and swoops low, then follows the arch of her arms up and around into a spin and some sort of finger dance, all the time her feet stamping the same hypnotic rhythm as the music, Rylie moving in complete symmetry. And in those heels.
My face breaks into the biggest grin I think I’ve ever had as they move in time, swooping and arcing and stamping their feet. I clap along best I can, but these guys are good. These guys are master clappers. The speed of their fingers slapping against their palms is mind-boggling. My hands sting a couple of minutes in, but Kenzi and Rylie just keep on going, swooping and kicking and heel-toe tapping and twirling in perfect time with the beat. The clapping and the stamping get louder, building and building until finally the house beat kicks back in and the whole bar goes nuts. The dance floor heaves in a swoop of movement and music and dancing bodies. Rae pulls me back into the thick of it by the hand.
I don’t get far before an arm wraps my middle, something cold pressing against my back. Surprise spikes my pulse from one to a million. I jerk around.
It’s Felix. Just Felix.
My heart does a double backflip regardless, adrenaline firing through my veins at the curve of his far too kissable lips as he pushes a bottle of water into my hand. Every nerve ending in my body pings to attention beneath the thin material of my jumpsuit at his nearness—at the feel of him beside me.
He dips his head, his cheek brushing mine, his breath tickling the shell of my ear. “Drink.” His hand drops to my hip and stays there even after he’s pulled back.
I like that it’s there, like the way his scent wraps around me, so, before I can think myself out of it, I lean into him, lift onto my toes, and press a kiss to his cheek, my throat throbbing with my pulse, my cheeks blazing with my public boldness. “Thank you.”
Fortune favors the bold—it’s quickly becoming my favorite of my dad’s sayings.
When I drop back down, Felix’s mouth is quirked, brows raised. “Laia I—”
“Felix, babe.”
A familiar, whiney voice from behind me stops him from finishing. You’ve got to be shitting me.
Flappy Eyes nudges me to the side and flattens her hands on Felix’s chest. “There you are, baby.”
Jealousy flares white hot and blistering inside me. I grind my teeth. Baby?Really?
“Jayne.” Felix covers her hands with his and pulls them from his chest, but she wraps both of her skinny arms around one of his and leans towards me while trying to pull him away. Her bold puts my bold to shame. “You don’t mind if I steal him from you, Laia, do you?”
“Types change, huh?” Shaking my bottle, I force a smile. “Thanks for the water.”
“Wait.” Felix shrugs Flappy Eyes off his arm, turns his back on her and links his fingers through mine.
“Felix, don’t.” I try to pull my hand from his grip, horrifyingly close to bursting into drunk-girl tears. “It’s cool. Really. It is.”
“It’s not.” This time he tugs me to him, slides his free arm around my back and curves his big body over mine.
My head tips back and I blink stupidly, my heart speeding up in my chest. “Felix—”
His lips cover mine, cutting off whatever I was about to say. Quick. Hard. Soft. Slow. All of the above. My eyelids flutter closed, the scruff of his jaw prickling the palm of the hand I hadn’t even realized I’d lifted to his face.
I inhale his breath and push into his hold. The fact that we’re in a bar, in his bar, in front of everyone I know on the island niggles in some far away part of my brain, but I can’t quite bring myself to care. Not yet.
“She’s not my type.” He nips my bottom lip then pulls back slowly, his forehead pressing against mine. “You are.”
And then he’s gone. Sauntering back to the bar, leaving me standing there gawping like a guppy, wondering if that actually just happened.
I press my lips together and glance to the left.
The girls are staring, eyes wide, mouths hanging open with varying measures of shock. It happened.
I glance to the right. Flappy Eyes is glaring, lips pursed like she just sucked a giant lemon. It totally happened.
And finally, I glance over to the bar. Felix is already grabbing a glass from the overhead shelf. He looks over as he pulls a bottle from the rack and winks. And fight it as I try, I swear my grin almost splits my face clean in half.
“So, that just happened,” Kenzi squeals in my ear as she man-handles me around to face them again.
I open my mouth. Then snap it shut again, pressing my lips together, but I’m completely unable to stop them from stretching back into a grin. “It did.”
“Complicated, my ass.” Rae grabs my hand and lifts it, prancing around in a wiggly little circle. “Now, less mooning, more dancing.”
And so, we dance. And dance. And hug and sing and woop and laugh. And pass around shots and dance some more until my feet throb, my hair is plastered to the back of my neck and my cheeks ache from the kind of massive smile I never thought I’d ever wear again. Girls’ nights rock. Even if I have had to dodge my way out of a few of Rylie’s group selfies along the way.
The first bump to my back comes as Jo hands me another Monstrosity, sloshing the pink liquid over my hand. “Oops,” I laugh, and hold it out in front of me, glancing over my shoulder to watch out for the wayward dancer.
My laugh fizzles out. Flappy Eyes and her friends are strut-dancing beside us. None of them look at me.
Kenzi links her fingers with mine and tugs me back into our little circle, shooting drunk eye-daggers into their backs.
A laugh bubbles up, but I shake off the weirdness and get back to my dancing, trying unsuccessfully to catch the end of my straw between my teeth as I go.
The second bump knocks me into Rae, propelling her backwards into where Rylie’s showing Simon and Jo a complicated dance move. This time we all glare at their boney little backs but break into song when the beat kicks back in, promptly forgetting what we were glaring at.
The third bump is more of an elbow, and it catches me right in the ribs, nudging me sideways into a high table, knocking me and my glass into the wooden edge of it. The glass smashes, then falls from my grip. I hop back, frozen alcohol splashing up my legs as it crashes onto the wooden floor. Whoever’s behind me gets the brunt of my hop back. I twist, an apology teetering on the tip of my tongue, just in time to see her go down, like a tree chopped from its roots, she wobbles then topples.
Somebody shouts, “Timber.”
Still standing on one foot, I lift my hand to cover my mouth. Flappy Eyes. On her ass. Heels akimbo. Face contorted in a scream.
I can’t decide whether to laugh or apologize, or, I don’t know, help her up?
Common decency has me leaning forward to hold out my hand. She slaps it away, clawing at her friends’ arms to help her onto her feet, just as Felix appears.
My eyes widen, my pulse picking up at the scowl on his face as he gets between us. “It wasn’t my … I didn’t mean to…”
“She pushed me, Fee,” Flappy Eyes whines, her pretty eyes wide, but not quite innocent as she makes a grab for his arm again.
“Go home, Jayne. Now.” His voice carries over the thump, thump thumping of the music. “Or you won’t be allowed back.”
Her mouth flaps, her face pinching until all the pretty just gets up and leaves it. “You and me are over, Fee. You hear?”
I watch her go, her girls on her heels, the music suddenly too loud, the crowd too bouncy, my head too woozy. Felix turns, big hands on my shoulders, face all kinds of worried. “You okay?”
Kenzi catches my arm and lifts it before I can get a word out.
“Blood.” She joogles my hand above my head. “Bitch drew blood.”
“I…” I look up at my hand, then back to Felix, trying to tug it back down without drawing even more attention to myself. “I’m fine.”
“Zi? Tidy the glass,” he shouts without looking away from me. “You come with me.”
And then it’s him who’s holding my hand up. And it’s him who’s behind me, marching me past the flip-down hatch of the bar and through the door on the back wall.
Fear sparks, then stutters, then sparks again. It’s Felix. This is Felix. I repeat it in my head as I take the concrete stair into a narrow hallway lit only by the open door at the end of it. Felix steps down behind me, still holding my hand out to the side like it might fall off if he lets go.
“Where are we going?” I turn my head but keep walking forward, the hand on my hip distractingly warm, and big, and warm. My tummy flits and bobs and weaves at his fresh air scent and the heat of him at my back.
“My office,” he rumbles into my ear, his breath whispering over my cheek.
His office is … way bigger than I expected. And way more well equipped. A huge desk in one corner and a sofa, coffee table, TV and even a fridge in the other, but that’s not what stops me in my tracks when I step through the door. It’s the massive canvas painting of a sunset on the back wall. Pinks and reds and oranges and golds and so real if I were any drunker, I’d possibly be tempted to dip a toe into the rippling water lapping the shore. “Now that’s a painting.” A big paint-spattered jar of brushes sits on his desk beside his laptop.
Felix walks into my back, almost knocking me off my feet when I stop to stare at it.
I twist to look at him, my hand still clutched in his. “Did you paint that? Do you paint? Please tell me you paint,” I blabber as he guides me into the room towards the desk. “Did you paint the one at Kenzi’s house too?”
“Less talking, more moving. You’re bleeding.”
His hard chest presses against my back, my very bare back. From pecs to belt buckle, his T-shirt is soft and warm, and honestly? I don’t think I’d notice if my fingers had fallen off and were rolling around the floor.
Finally, he releases my hand and spins me around to lift me onto the desk like I weigh exactly nothing. He doesn’t even grunt.
“You know…” I peer at my closed fist and the trickle of blood that’s escaping when he moves behind the desk and starts to pull open drawers. “This probably isn’t necessary.” I uncurl my fingers one by one, wrinkling my nose at my blood-smeared palm. My pointer finger and my middle finger have matching slices and—I lift my hand closer to my face—there’s a cut in the middle of my pinkie too. “I think they’re fine,” I drunk-yell over to him, still examining them intently. He tugs my hand from my face and my head jerks up. I thought he was over there. “I think I’ll live,” I whisper.
“I didn’t have you down as a bar-brawler.” He scans my face, a smile kicking the corner of his lips up as he nudges my legs apart so he can get closer. “Let me see.”
“I brawled with no one.” I watch him as he examines each finger. “I don’t think she meant it … meant this to happen.”
“We’ll agree to disagree there,” he mutters, dark head tipped forward, gaze intent, jaw clenched tight as he gently wipes away the blood with antiseptic pads from the big green first aid case now sitting beside me. “Does that hurt?” He asks without looking up from where he’s pressed the pad to the cut on my pinkie.
“Nope.” I shake my head, the foreignness of his gentleness, of his concern almost enough to bring on the waterworks. Did I mention I may be a teeny bit drunk? “So.” I lick my lips. “You kissed me.”
“I did.” His gaze flicks up to mine then drops back to where he’s now cleaning up the palm of my hand with slow, careful wipes. “But technically you kissed me first.”
“Is that … should we…? People know now.” My cheeks heat, my pulse puttering in the dip of my throat as I watch him peel the back off a Band-Aid and wrap it around my pointer finger.
He bandages up my middle finger next and then my pinkie, before finally looking up at me. “Does it bother you if people know?”
“No. I mean yes. I mean … I’m not sure I’m…” I try desperately to hang on to carefree, non-complicated new Laia and her sureness that we’re ready for this—for him. But my breathing speeds up anyway, my teeth sinking into my bottom lip, my Monstrosity buzz depleting by the second. “Just … can you do it again?” I hold his stare. “The kiss, I mean. Please.”
His blue, blue gaze, fringed with lashes so thick I could get lost in them bounces from my left eye to my right, reading the shift in me loud and clear. His face sobers and his brows lower, but he shifts his body closer, lifts a hand to cup my jaw and tilts my head back. “Why?”
“It makes me forget.” It’s out before I can stop it. I forgot how much Drunk Laia likes to blab my secrets.
Time seems to halt, the muffled bass from back in the bar fading beneath the whooshing in my ears.
His gaze travels my face, the one question I pray to anyone out there he won’t put into words written in every concerned line of his handsome face. Forget what?
Our silence stretches out, more loaded with secrets than anything either of us could ever put into words.
His eyes stay open even as his lips press against mine. Soft and smooth and … it’s not enough, my mind stays depressingly clear and full of all the shitty reasons I should not let this happen.
I lean my body into his, my fingers gripping the sides of his T-shirt, the injured ones pulsing beneath their Band-Aids. I stretch up and press my mouth harder to his, suck his bottom lip, daring him—no, pleading with him not to overthink this.
A second ticks by and then he moves. His other hand comes up to the nape of my neck, his gaze flicks back down, before he angles his head and kisses me harder, his tongue pushing into my mouth, his teeth grazing my bottom lip, body dwarfing mine, wrapping my senses and doing exactly what I hoped it would do.
His hands drop to my ass. Mine lift to his neck. I hike my legs up around his waist, swallowing his rough growl when the thick length of him nudges between my thighs, pressing through our clothes, harder with every rock of his hips and every tilt of mine.
It all goes away, every memory, every fear, every reason morphed into nothing but a need to get closer to this man. To never let this stop. It’s dizzying. It’s spellbinding. It’s everything. I grab at his T-shirt, dragging it up his hard body.
He breaks the kiss, breathing hard, his hands covering mine, pushing his shirt back down. “You’ve been drinking.”
I wrap my legs tight around his waist and blink up at him. “Drinking but not drunk.” I slide my hands beneath the hem and press them flat against the hard ridges of his abs, trailing them down until my fingers hook into the waistband of his shorts. Drunk Laia is also forward. She can stay.
He steps back, out of my reach, dragging his hair from his face and shaking his head. “Not like this.”
Lips pressed together, I nod, powerless to stop myself from ogling him, from his disheveled black curls down to what’s going on beneath his boardshorts.
My teeth sink into the inside of my cheek. An idea so completely un-me it almost makes me laugh out loud forming in my not quite sober brain. “Not like this?” My tummy knots itself with nerves I really hope are the good kind as I reach up and slip the strap of my jumpsuit over my shoulder.
“Laia,” He warns, his hands lifting to his hair again as he watches me. It does delicious things to the muscles of his … everything.
“Or not like this?” I slip the other shoulder strap over the curve of my other shoulder and just … let it fall. And with no back to hold it up, it does. Completely. Cool air lifts goose pimples over my bare breasts. My eyes go wide, a laugh catches in my throat at my newly discovered boldness and the sheer shock on Felix’s face.
His gaze drops, then lifts, then drops again, his tongue touching his top lip, before something way too carnal to be called a smile curves his mouth. “I won’t fuck you in my office, Laia.”
“No fucking then,” I practically pant, my tummy unraveling its knots, then twisting up all over again when he moves back between my legs and seals his mouth over mine in a kiss so hard and so fevered, for a moment I forget everything. His name, my name, everybody’s name. Big hands smooth up my sides, thumbs brushing the swell of my breasts before sliding around to my bare back, crushing me to his body as he rocks between my thighs with the confidence of a man who knows exactly what he’s doing.
This time, he doesn’t stop me when I grab greedily at his T-shirt. He curves back and lets me drag it over his head then goes right back to the kissing—the bodies-smooshed-together, mind-bogglingly-hot kissing, all skin on skin on skin on skin.
A hum of approval vibrates from my lips when his hot, smooth chest drags over mine and his hand moves to the back of my head. He kisses me deeper, better, harder, guiding me back, back, and back until my shoulder blades touch the cool wood of the desktop. His lips move to my jaw, below my ear, my neck, my collarbone. I arch and rub and wrap myself around him, still half waiting on the fear to kick in—to do something, but it doesn’t come. Not even when he cups my breast and his lips close around my nipple, the hot, wet heat of his mouth sucking, licking, dragging a moan from my lips, but no fear.
“So fucking perfect.” He growls the words, drawn out and rough against my skin.
I sink my fingers into his thick hair, and he pushes me further along the desk, his body blanketing mine. I bow into his hold, trying to get closer, to touch more of him, to let him touch more of me. It’s drugging and heady.
And then my elbow knocks something.
The sound of glass shattering against wood implodes the moment faster than a bucket of iced water in our faces.
He freezes above me. Lifts his head, his hair a mess, his lips shining, but his eyes—his eyes are horrified.
One second, he’s holding me, the next he’s gone, hands on the back of his neck, staring down at the mess on the floor. “Fuck.” He steps back from the desk and turns away like he can’t bear to look at it, or me. “The fuck am I doing?”
My missing flight mode kicks in, swift and sobering. I scramble to get my top back in place and my ass off his desk. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see, I…” I drop down to pick up the pieces of broken jar amongst the paintbrushes scattered over the floor, my brain struggling to catch up with the sudden jackknife of such an impossibly great moment. It’s just a jar, a big old mason jar. I pick up the biggest piece of glass then start piling the smaller pieces on top, careful not to cut myself all over again.
“Laia, leave it.”
I glance up to where Felix is already pulling on his T-shirt. “It’s fine. I’ve got it.” I grab a couple of the old brushes.
“I said leaveit!”
I drop the brushes.
Every muscle in my body, every tendon and bone and cell curls into itself at the sudden sharpness of his roar. I’m not exaggerating. It’s a roar. It cuts through the relative quiet of his office like a punch to the gut, shocking and sobering and catching me completely off guard.
I stand slowly and turn, the heat seeping from my face, leaving me clammy and cold, and barely able to force myself to look at him.
He’s staring at the floor. Eyebrows tipped, jaw tight. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“I—I should go.” Tears sting the back of my eyes, confusion and alcohol making my head spin and my stomach roll. I run out the door and I don’t stop until I’m in the back of a taxi.
Felix
I stare at the mess of broken glass and old paintbrushes on the floor. Rosa’s. Her brushes—her lucky jar. It was stupidly big and ugly, but she wouldn’t let me replace it.
I rub the middle of my chest with my fist and blow out a long breath, an ache as fresh as the day I lost her taking up root in there.
“Fee? What did you do?” Zi appears in the doorway, a look on her face that could shrivel the balls off a donkey. “Laia has left the building. And she didn’t even say bye.” She stops short when she notices the mess. The paint brushes. “Oh…” Her big blue eyes swivel up to meet mine. “Oh, shit.”
Scrubbing my hand over my mouth, I force myself to focus, force myself not to roar at her to leave me the fuck alone too. “I didn’t—fuck.” I shake my head and glare at the ceiling, everything I thought I’d figured out turned upside down. “She left?”
Zi’s bottom lip pops out and she nods. “I really wish you two would sort your shit out already.”
“Give me her number.”
“Do you think she’ll want you to call?” Her nose wrinkles with a grimace and she sways back a step. “I think there were tears, Fee. Please tell me you didn’t shout. Laia’s like—like a little baby flower petal, dude. She’s delicate. You don’t shout at little baby flower petals, or they cry little baby flower petal tears.”
“Kenzi, her number.” I step towards her, pulling my cell from my back pocket. “And no more Monstrosities. You’re wasted.”
“Oh, shut up.” She rolls her eyes but pulls her cell from where it was tucked into her bra, rocking back on her heels as she swipes the screen to life. “Rosa would be so pissed if she knew you were still playing the widower card. You know that, right?” Her lip pouts back out again.
No words form. She’s right. I know she is. But it does nothing to shift the ache in my chest or the tension in the back of my throat.
“We all miss her, Fee.” She taps her cell a few times and swipes a few more. “Okay, contact sent.” She scowls again but leans in to kiss my cheek before weaving back out the door. “Be nice, or I’ll punch you.”
I wait for the door to close behind her before I hit call. It rings off. I close my eyes and listen to the automated voicemail until it beeps. “Laia it’s me. I’m—fuck, I hate voicemails. Call me when you get this—please.”
I puff my cheeks out and stare at the bits of jar Laia stacked up on the floor for a full minute before squatting to pick up each well-used paint brush until all that’s left is paint-spattered slithers of glass too small to pick up by hand. It’s just glass. It shouldn’t still matter this much.
Dale’s head pops around the door as I put the last of it on my desk. “Calling last orders now, boss.”
“Yeah.” I wave him off.
By the time I step back out into the bar the lights are on, and most of the customers have left or are leaving. Zi and Jo are helping the guys collect glasses while Rylie, Rae and Simon do some sort of weird moonwalk by the DJ box, cackling like witches.
“Any luck?” Zi asks as she unloads a tray full of empty glasses onto the bar top looking marginally less buzzed than she was in my office.
I shake my head. “Voicemail. I’m gonna head over now.” I lift my hand to massage the knotted muscle in the back of my neck.
“Call me crazy, Fee, but if she won’t answer the phone to you, I doubt she’ll answer the door. Leave it to me. I’ll get the girls to drop me round hers on their way home.” She leans over the bar to grab her purse from the fridge beneath but stops before she drops back down. “Maybe you should make sure you’re—you know—ready before you talk to her.”
I click my tongue off my teeth, but nod. She’s right. Fuck. I hate that she’s right. Laia does not deserve to be messed around. She didn’t deserve to be shouted at either. I scrub my hand over my face. “Fine, but go now.” I glance up when she turns to leave. “And Zi? I want to be the one to tell her about Rosa.”
“It’s about time. I’ll text you when I get there.”
