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FIVE
Laia
Lifting the fishbowl glass of pinkie-goodness to my lips, I attempt to catch the end of the black straw in my teeth between giggles, my gaze flicking over to the bar and the man behind it before I drag it back to Kenzi for the millionth time tonight.
“You’re drooling.” Kenzi’s glazed blue eyes hold my stare over the top of her glass with a smirk. She stopped messing about with straws two Monstrosities ago. “On a score of one to ten, how bad have you got it?” She takes an unladylike gulp of her drink then places it down between her two unopened bottles of water.
A snort escapes me before I finally catch the straw and take a long pull of the sweet frozen drink.
I’ve felt the weight of his stare on me most of the night too. It’s been kind of … nice. I think. Not that I would ever admit that to anyone, especially not to lil ol’ matchmaker over here. If my brain wasn’t so warm and fuzzy, I probably wouldn’t even admit it to myself. Placing my drink down beside my empty water bottles, I fix her with a serious-ish stare and lean forward. “He’s perfection in surf shorts.” Wha?? I slap my hand over my mouth. “I mean. Zero … minus ten.”
Kenzi cackles loudly. “Perfection in surf shorts? Really?” Rocking back against the cushion, she lets out another cackle. “Oh, Laia. I like you. I think I might keep you.”
I want to cry. I want to laugh. I want to climb into my glass and never come out. “Joking. I was totally joking.” I chew on the corner of my thumbnail and wait for her to stop laughing. At least I think I was joking.
Whatever she reads on my face when she finally wipes the tears from her eyes and sits up kills her buzz. “Laia, there’s nothing wrong with having the hots for Fee.” She only sways slightly as she covers my hand with hers. “They say he’s quite hot.”
“There is if you’re me.” I pull my fingers from beneath hers and wrap them around the stem of my glass, my own Monstrosity-buzz dissipating rapidly.
Concern scrunches her forehead. I’ve said too much. Shown too much. Damn you, lovely Monstrosities.
“I know we don’t know each other very well yet, but…” Her mouth drops open, her attention caught by something behind me before she drags it back to me. “You can talk to me, Laia, you know, if you want to, eventually.”
To my complete and utter mortification, my eyes start to sting, my nose tickling with emotion. We’re nowhere near me telling her about my crappy past, but the thought that maybe, someday, we could be warms something in me. “Got it.” My chin wobbles. I hide it behind my fishbowl.
“Okay. Now, I really need you to turn around and tell me I’m not seeing things.”
Mid-drink, I swivel on the cushion until I’m facing into the bar—and the monster of a man that just pushed through the door. Think Thor—but bigger. In board shorts and a gray T-shirt. “What?? I mean? who’s that?” I shift closer to her on the sofa.
“That.” She leans into my side and rests her head on my shoulder with a long sigh. “Is my idea of perfection in surf shorts. I think I’ve just fallen in-fucking-love.”
I don’t know ?whether to blame it on the cocktails, or blame it on the pies, but an uncontrollable burst of laughter bubbles up my throat and explodes from my mouth.
I can’t help it. And I can’t seem to stop. My tummy aches and tears roll down my cheeks. Thank God the bar’s nearing empty because I’m full-on snorting, and my hysterics, apparently, are catching. A second later, grabbing onto my hand for support, Kenzi leans forward until her head’s almost on the table, her shoulders shaking with the most unladylike laugh I’ve ever heard.
“I. can’t. Breeeeeeeeathe.” Clutching my sides, I rock into her shoulder.
“And this pair of hyenas are Kenzi and Laia.”
Kenzi’s laughter withers right along with my own, her fingers clamping around my wrist.
Staring down at us, matching smirks on their faces, are Felix and Thor, the man-mountain that started us off in the first place.
My cheeks are numb, my eyes, wet. I force myself not to stare at Felix and instead concentrate on the tattoos that cover his friend’s ginormous left arm. Intimidating—definitely. Stunning—absolutely. I nervously glance up into his face. But his eyes are gray and … sort of kind. Startlingly so.
Books and covers. That old chestnut again.
“Ladies, this is Mylo.” Felix jabs the mountain in the bicep. “We served together in the Marines.” Dimples appear in his cheeks. Two of them. “Fucking surprised the shit outta me tonight.”
My lips twitch, but I manage to keep my smile at bay. The man’s hot when he’s serious but when he smiles like that … I grab my pendant … there’s nothing more dangerous.
He’s with Flappy Eyes and I’m a million miles away from being ready. I need to stop.
“Ladies.” Mylo lifts his chin in greeting, one side of his mouth turning up into a half smile, his gaze lingering on Kenzi.
Her lashes bat rapidly, and she squeezes my wrist. “Hi.”
Felix clears his throat, and I can’t help it. I look again. Bad, bad mistake. He really shouldn’t look at me like that. I lick my lips, and his attention drops to them. I can’t help that either. He’s just—heat rushes my cheeks. I’m drunk, that’s the only reason I’m noticing.
“Nice to meet you, Mylo.” I cough to clear the breathiness from my voice and return to gawping up at his friend.
This is fun.
I lift my shot glass to my lips and methodically meet the stares of Mylo, then Kenzi, then Felix before slamming it back.
When my eyes release from their alcohol-induced scrunch, I’m instantly handed a bottle of water. Felix’s thigh is pressed tightly against mine. Has been since Kenzi abandoned my sofa for Mylo’s. I only flinched for the first ten minutes after he sat down next to me.
Now it’s … I’ve no idea what it is—comfortable? Distracting? Dangerous? For once I don’t feel like dissecting the feeling though. And I don’t feel like moving away either.
“Tell me again what’s with the eye contact thing?” Kenzi lounges against Mylo’s massive shoulder.
“It’s an old military thing.” Felix leans back into the cushion behind us, his arm stretched along the back of the sofa behind me, his legs crossed at the ankle. “Supposed to be lucky.”
I sway as I drink my water and my arm brushes his pec. It’s—firm. Everything about him is firm. Hard. Thankfully, I manage to swallow my water before my snort escapes.
“What’s funny?” He takes the half-drunk bottle from me and places it on the glass-strewn table then sits back, his body so close his smell wraps around me. It’s a good smell. A safe smell. I like his smell.
I twist around to face him. “Just wondering what you do to get so … hard … I mean … firm … I mean…” I cover my mouth and sink further into the cushions. “Fit … I’ve no idea what I mean.”
His laugh is a rumble of deliciousness. It slides down the back of my neck and straight to my tummy. I haven’t felt this relaxed around anyone in years. I also haven’t had a drink in years. Something tells me it’s not a coincidence.
The flutters in my tummy multiply when he carefully tucks one of my untamable curls behind my ear. “Where did you come from, Laia?”
I still, but I don’t flinch. “Arizona.” Wait. What? I don’t tell people that.
The first rule of living on the run—don’t tell people where you’re running from.
His eyes narrow at whatever my face does. Kenzi and Mylo’s easy banter fades along with the crashing waves from the beach and the low background music of the bar. The voice that’s become a constant in my mind for the last year niggles; Be careful.A pretty face does not make him good.
But tonight, there’s a new voice in there too, a slightly tipsy but way more persistent … it doesn’t have to make him bad either.
My neck heats like my cheeks and the rest of my body.
His smile is disarmingly handsome, his teeth straight and white against his deeply tanned skin. “I like your pink cheeks, Laia.” He stills as soon as he says it and drags his hand over his mouth, something closing behind his eyes like my pink cheeks are the last thing he should like.
He’s not wrong.
Flappy Eyes. He’s thinking about Flappy Eyes. The thought is like a bucket of ice water over my head. “You’re thinking about your girlfriend? The woman at the bar earlier.” I suck both lips into my mouth.
His brows raise. Then fall. And just when I think I’ve offended him, just when the familiar prickle of fear seeps down the back of my neck, and I start to shift away from him, he chuckles roughly and drops his head onto the back of the sofa to stare up at the ceiling. “She’s not my girlfriend.”
I watch the rise and fall of his chest and the slow bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows. Take in the black mop of hair that curls around his ears and his thick dark lashes and for the first time in a long time, my fingers itch to touch. To press against his lips. To run over the stubble of his jaw. To trace the straight line of his nose.
As if he can hear my thoughts, he rolls his head to look at me, a sadness etched over his face I have no idea how to read. My heart trips over itself but I don’t shy away from it.
I just fold my arm on the back of the sofa, rest my cheek against it and offer him the only thing I can. The only thing I need when people catch a glimpse of the secrets in my own stare.
Understanding without questions.
