Page 6 of Safe in Clua

SIX

Laia

Ipeel one eye open. Then the other. This isn’t the bungalow. Kenzi’s. I stayed at Kenzi’s. I unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth and gingerly pull myself up until my back rests against the iron headboard, unease tightening the back of my neck. I let my guard down last night. My pulse thumps uneasily in my throat as my fuzzy brain attempts to sift through the night. The bar. Kenzi and Mylo flirting like there was no tomorrow. Felix. Nothing happened. Anxiety blooms in my stomach and twists around my insides regardless. I let my guard down. I should know better.

My gaze meets my own in the mirrored wardrobe on the other side of the room. Gauzy curtains the color of sunshine hang from a wooden rod, ruffling in the warm breeze.

My hair, half-in half-out of its bun,sticks clammily to the side of my face. One strap of a pink tank that’s definitely not mine hangs off my shoulder. And my eyes. God. I look like a hungover panda. My attention is caught by the massive canvas on the wall above the bed’s headboard. I twist to look at it. A sunset of pinks and reds and oranges, the rippling of the water so vivid I can almost hear the waves. The muscles in the back of my neck loosen slightly. I let my guard down last night, but nothing bad happened. I blow out a slow breath. Nothing bad happened. I had fun. I’m allowed to have fun.

My tongue re-sticks itself to the roof of my mouth. Water. I need water.

I spy the white-washed wooden bedside table and the tall glass of water sitting on it. I barely remember getting home, let alone coming to bed with the foresight to bring water.

My face screws up with the effort it takes to lift the glass and down the whole thing in one go.

Okay. Better. Still blurry but better. Nothing bad happened.

I should feel worse. Probably something to do with the bottles of water that kept on appearing with every cocktail? or the fact that Felix cut us off after Kenzi challenged Mylo to an arm wrestle.

It was fun.

“I’m rough.” Kenzi’s voice sounds a second before the bedroom door opens, and she weaves in, already dressed for her shift in the hotel, hair wrapped in a cerise-pink towel.

“I’m not too bad actually.” I take stock of my brain now that I’ve managed to reel in the morning after anxiety. It’s a bit fluffy around the edges, but it doesn’t ache. I can handle this.

Throwing the crisp white sheets from my legs, I wiggle my toes until they appear out of the bottom of Kenzi’s pink-checked pajama pants. “Maybe if you’d drank the water that came with every cocktail…”

She rolls her eyes and pulls the towel from her hair, then sets about combing it into the tight bun she wears for work. “Yeah, perfection in surf shorts isn’t usually so attentive.” Her lips quirk to the side as she winds her hair onto her head.

“I was drunk. I didn’t mean it.” I glance back at the painting above the headboard again in search of something to change the subject before the nerves set in again. I was drunk and I didn’t mean it. “Was this painted from The Beach Hut?” Swinging my legs off the side of the single bed, I lean over to search the floor for my purse underneath my discarded dress. No purse. It’s not there. I jack-knife up and look around the room. Not on the rocking chair by the window. Not the dresser Kenzi’s sitting at. “Kenzi?”

“Your purse is at the bar,” she mumbles, opening a drawer and pulling out a makeup bag. “Fee texted earlier. And yeah.” She glances up at the painting, her brows tipping up in the middle, a not-quite-happy smile lifting her lips. “My friend painted it right from where The Beach Hut is now.”

“She’s really talented.” Wincing at the ball of red material that used to be my dress, I fight to keep my dread in check. The Beach Hut is literally the last place I want to go this morning. Especially not in last night’s clothes.

“She was.” Rummaging in the dresser drawer by her knee, Kenzi tosses me a pair of gray jersey drawstring shorts and a white tank. “Here, throw these on.”

“Thank you.” I grab the clothes, eyeing the shorts dubiously. “I can’t believe I left my purse.”

Twenty minutes later, we’re pushing through The Beach Hut’s swinging doors. And just like last night, I freeze, mouth open at the sight that awaits me. This time it’s not the view though. Well, not just the view.

Felix—fresh from the ocean, walking up the beach towards the terrace like some sort of Surf God from the deep.

“Tongue in.” Kenzi nudges me in the ribs when she walks past me to the bar.

I press my fingers against my lips. How can she not be affected?

Or more importantly, how can I not be affected?

Drunk Laia gets on great with Drunk Felix. But in the sober light of day—I’m not Drunk Laia.

Walk forward. Walk. Forward. I force my feet to move.

By the time I make it to where Kenzi’s already skipped behind the bar, Felix is stepping in from the terrace, beads of water glistening as they weave their way over his pecs.

I try to look away. I do. Okay, I don’t. At all. It’s risky, and dangerous, and probably not good for my health, but the man is … I didn’t think those V muscles actually existed.

He grabs a towel from the bar and wipes himself down, and I finally manage to blink my eyes up to his face. What’s wrong with me? I don’t check out half-naked men. I have never checked out half-naked men, not even pre-Damon.

“How’s the head today?” His eyes do that happy, smiley, crinkly thing when he comes to a stop before me.

Semi-frozen between wanting to recapture the easy banter of last night and knowing that I can’t, I just stare at him dumbly. Last night was a fluke, a fake comfort brought on by whatever was in those cocktails.

“Fine. Good. Thanks.” I swallow down any of the random words forming before they make themselves known.

His gaze slides down—then stops long enough to raise goose pimples over my skin before he jerks it back up to my face.

I glance down and only just manage to stop myself from about turning and leaving. Kenzi could maybe have mentioned that this tank leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. Heat licks up my cheeks. I might as well be standing here in my bra. I cross my arms to hide the unmistakable reaction my body’s had to wet him.

The muscles in his throat contract, his jaw tight as he dips his head to run the towel over his hair. “You okay?”

“Yep.” I clear my throat. “Yes.”

“Good.” His gruff chuckle releases some of the tension in my shoulders.

I tuck my hair behind my ears but can’t quite make myself look away first despite the fact that the niggly be-careful voice is back and louder than ever.

His clear blue gaze scans my face, eyes to lips and back again, his brows pinched up in the middle like he’s as wary of whatever happened last night as I am.

“What do you take in your coffee, Laia?” Kenzi calls over from the coffee machine.

I shake my head, trying to the disperse the—whatever that was—and force myself to move, to pull out one of the high stools by the bar and get my head out of the wet-man-shaped clouds. “Milk and one sugar, please.” I lean my elbows on the bar and press my hands to my hot cheeks.

“Warm, Laia?” Kenzi frowns as she slides a mug of coffee across the bar to me. “Want some ice for your coffee?”

Felix’s bare arm brushes my own as he climbs onto the stool beside me.

I flinch.

He notices, his forehead creasing. “She does look warm.”

I like your pink cheeks.

My face blazes even more.

Kenzi smirks as she places a mug of black coffee in front of where he’s leaning on the bar. “Is Jo in this morning?”

Who’sJo? Another Flappy Eyes?

My stomach drops before I remind myself that I shouldn’t care. It doesn’t matter how many Flappy Eyes he has flirting around him. The more the merrier. All the better to keep me out of his way.

“Like she is every other morning, Zi.” Felix shrugs and takes a sip of his coffee. “Why?”

If there’s something I’ve learned from a week of working with Kenzi, it’s that her face tells no lies. And when she does that shoulders-up, girly grin, she’s up to something.

“Laia isn’t in the hotel until this afternoon, why don’t you show her around the island?”

No. She did not just—I’m seriously reconsidering this friendship.

Felix’s warmth shifts against my arm.

I stare resolutely ahead. “You really don’t have to do that.”

“As much as I’d love to” ?—he gulps down the rest of his coffee and stands— “I’m meeting Mylo in a bit.”

I suck my bottom lip into my mouth and try to keep the sting of unreasonable disappointment from my face. I didn’t want him to say yes.

I did not want him to say yes.

The moment Felix steps through the door behind the bar, Kenzi hops up onto the top-loader refrigerator that runs beneath the bar top and leans over. “Don’t think I missed that little stare-off. I saw sparks.”

I wince, checking that he’s not there. Why she bothers leaning in when she’s not even whispering is beyond me.

“It was … this tank.” I pluck at the stretchy material. “Thanks, by the way.”

“I’m not blind,” she sing-songs. “There’s definitely something there.”

There’s no point in arguing with her. “You may not be blind, but you’re about to be late?” I smile sweetly and lift my chin to the big clock hanging on the back wall.

“Shit. How is it ten to already?” She hops off the bar, the mug by her knee clattering to the ground.

“Steady on there, Zi.” Felix appears through the door while dragging his T-shirt over his head and my heartbeat does a distracting little tap number. “I’ll give you a ride.”

The soft white material hugs his perfectly rounded biceps, making it absolutely impossible to look away when he reaches above the bar. I’m officially my own worst enemy. “I think I’ll just walk.” I barely manage to catch my stool before it falls when I push it back with my ass.

The questions that appear in his eyes are impossible to miss. I don’t have to look to know they’re there in Kenzi’s too.

Questions I have zero intention of answering.

“I can give you a ride home too, no worries.” He slides his sunglasses onto the top of his head then reaches back up to the shelf above the bar. “But you won’t get very far without this.” He hands my purse over the bar to me, the tips of his fingers brushing my wrist.

It may be my imagination, but I don’t think I’m the only one that flinched this time.

He clears his throat and jerks his head in the direction of the exit. “Let’s go.”

The moment Felix opens the back door to his pickup, Kenzi jumps in and hauls it shut behind her. Her subtleness is outstanding.

I glare at her over-the-top grin through the darkened window when she points with both fingers to the passenger seat.

“Jump in.” Felix’s fingers brush the curve of my shoulder before he opens the pickup’s passenger door for me.

My whole body jerks back from the unexpected touch. I suck. And going by the frown that creases his forehead before he pulls his Ray-Bans on, he thinks so too.

“Come on, Fee.” Kenzi’s head pokes out from between the seats. “Drop me first. Pete will have a cow if I’m late again.”

I climb in the passenger seat, and Kenzi pins me with a wide-eyed stare, swiveling her eyes between me and where Felix is already climbing into the driver’s seat.

I shake my head my eyes widening right back. She really needs to get off this match-making trip.

“Seatbelts,” he orders while clicking his closed.

“Okay, okay.” Kenzi’s head disappears back between the seats again like a sulky child.

“You really do have a thing about road safety.” I swipe my hair from my face and tug the seat belt across to click it into place.

“Doesn’t everyone?” His jaw clenches as he turns the ignition. “Any idea how many preventable deaths there are every year on Cluan roads alone?”

I blink back my surprise at the seriousness of his tone. “Too many?” I venture quietly.

The tension radiating from him seeps into my skin, making my spine straighten and my fingers twist over each other.

“Too many.” He nods but keeps his attention firmly on the road, and not for the first time I wonder what his story is.

“Laia’s staying in Mrs. D’s son’s place up the road,” Kenzi announces when we pull out onto Clua’s main road in silence, the fun comfortableness from last night well and truly gone.

“How do you know Mrs. Devon?” he asks, concentrating on taking a tight bend.

“I didn’t … don’t, she … em … a friend put me in touch with her.”

His eyes flick to mine then back to the road. “You said last night you’re from Arizona?”

“I did?” I pinch the bridge of my nose between my forefinger and thumb and shake my head. I must have been drunker than I thought.

Kenzi groans from behind us.

I glance over my shoulder and force a wide grin at the hungover lump of woman that was once Kenzi, hoping like hell we’re done with this particular line of questioning. “Told you, you should have drunk the water.”

“You don’t sound like you’re from Arizona,” Felix presses when I sink back into the black leather and suede of my seat. “I served with a guy from there.”

My grin falls. “You must have been young when you served? You must have lived through some crazy things.” I roll my eyes. Subtle. Jeez. Kenzi’s right, I suck at deflecting.

“Crazy things. Cool things. Terrible things.” He flicks his gaze my way with a little half-smile that barely reaches his dimples.

“I can only imagine.” I keep watching the side of his face even after he returns his attention to the road. “Must be nice to see Mylo again.”

His lips twitch into a smirk. He knows exactly what I’m up to. It doesn’t take a genius.

“Erm, Fee.” Kenzi’s face appears between the seats again, a yawn splitting her face like she’s just woken up from a power nap. “You just drove by my turn off.”

I’m jerked forward, then back by my seat belt with our sudden stop, my purse sliding from my knees, my keys and wallet and God knows what else spilling out by my feet.

“Shit, sorry—”

“?—I’m so sorry, I’m so clumsy.”

Our words fall over each other, our gazes colliding.

“Why are you apologizing?” There’s a hard edge to his voice like he … like he knows.

Impossible.

“I’m not. I didn’t. Sorry.” I swallow down my useless babbling, heat seeping up my cheeks.

Hand on the back of my seat, he shifts the pickup into reverse and twists to look where he’s going.

I scoot closer to my door, and that crease between his brows returns when he glances at me, possibly even deeper than before.

He sees far too much. The black leather squeaks as I bend forward to pick up the contents of my purse. Wallet, lip gloss, loose change. Emergency Tampon. Seriously? Why?

Kenzi has her door open before we even pull up to the entrance of the hotel. I glance at the time flashing from the console. We made it with two minutes to spare.

“Behave, you two,” she crows as she jumps out of the back seat onto the sidewalk and slams the door shut behind her.

“I can just get out here if you want.” I glance at him from the side of my eyes. “I don’t want to … you don’t need to put yourself out for me.” I chew on the inside of my cheek, far too aware of how he’s looking at me—of whatever conclusions he’s coming to about me. Last night was a bad idea. Getting comfortable around him was a really bad idea.

“No worries, I don’t mind taking you.” The tendons in his forearms tense and release as he drives around the fountain in the middle of the hotel’s cobbled drive until we’re headed back up to the main road. Tension, so thick it’s overwhelming fills what little distance there is between us even if he hasn’t looked my way again.

His hands flex on the steering wheel, his long fingers curling around the leather. “Why?”

My mouth goes dry at the roughness of his voice. “Why what?” I blink hard and swallow harder.

“Why do you wince every time anyone goes near you?” His fingers flex again, the muscle in his jaw ticking.

“I … its …” I wet my lips and turn to the window. “I don’t wince.”

It’s hot in here. Too hot. I’m not ready for this, for any of it. I should have known better.

With embarrassingly trembling fingers, I attempt to press the window down button on the center console. I need air. It doesn’t budge. Cars hate me. I jab my finger a little harder onto the button. Still nothing.

His hand covers my fingers, guiding them to slide the button, not jab.

I fight back the urge to shy away from the contact in an attempt to prove whatever he thinks he’s figured out about me is wrong. I just about manage to still my hand beneath his. My skin tingles. My throat contracts. I can’t. I pull away and clasp my hands in my lap.

The humid air now flowing in the window only adds to my discomfort, but I stare resolutely out the windshield. Mrs. Devon’s house is just around this bend. I can survive this. Then never leave the house again.

“You do.”

I’m already shaking my head when I turn to him. I can’t—I won’t explain myself to him or anyone. My past’s my past and I decide who gets to know that part of me.

He holds my stare. It’s only for a second, but it’s enough. Something’s there. He really is figuring me out. Figuring it all out.

I swallow down the urge to blurt out whatever mortifying things my stress-talking brain can come up with to deflect, but he sighs and shakes his head, eyes back on the road. “I met Mylo and Tom, the guy from Arizona, in boot camp.” He side-eyes me in a way that says, you win … for now. “Probably wouldn’t have survived my first week without them.”

“Friendships forged in fire and all that?” I nod like I’ve any idea what I’m talking about, the relief at the change of subject so acute it almost makes my head spin. “Where’s Tom now? Still serving? Or back home?” I relax back into the seat. “Maybe he’ll show up out of the blue too.”

“I doubt that. He didn’t make it home from his last tour.”

My chest aches at the tightness that pinches his face. “I’m such an idiot. I’m so sorry.” I lift my hand to—I don’t even know what. It drops back into my lap. “Losing people you love leaves its mark.”

We slow to a stop outside the bungalow. He cuts the engine and then shifts in his seat to face me, pulling his glasses off and tucking them into the neck of his T-shirt. “You’re not an idiot.” He narrows his eyes at me, his lips parting before he blinks away like he’s decided against whatever he was about to say. “Losing people you love doesn’t just leave its mark, it changes everything about you.”

The ache his words set off in my heart is almost suffocating; it blasts past the unease and the awkwardness and settles right in there. “You’re right. It does change you.”

Something strange, but not uncomfortable passes between us. I couldn’t put it into words if I tried. He doesn’t blink. Or look away. Or even twitch.

Neither do I.

Neither of us talk. I’m not sure we even breathe. The air is still thick with unasked questions, but also with a weird sort of understanding I don’t think I’ve ever had with anyone.

We’ve both suffered. We’ve both survived. We both have scars.

Every muscle in his body has stilled, besides the drop of his eyes to my lips.

I don’t move. Don’t shy away. I’m pretty sure I sway towards him, pulled by something way bigger than common sense.

A car speeds by, its engine a loud rumble in the silence and the spell breaks.

I jerk back and shake my head, heat exploding across my face. I must be still drunk. “I’m sorry … I didn’t … I … sorry. Thanks for the ride … I mean lift … run home.” I can’t even look. What the hell was that? With a little prayer that his door isn’t as stubborn as mine, I lift the lever. It clicks open without a single groan, and I jump out and run-walk down the drive without looking back.

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