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I spent most of the night wracking my brain, trying to come up with an answer, but nothing fit. My dad was honestly the most boring billionaire on the planet. What does Rhys know that’s so bad he thinks it’ll change the way I see my dad?
“Stop thinking,” I mutter to myself. “You aren’t allowed to think anymore.”
Two teen girls walking past look at me oddly and then fall into a fit of laughter when they pass me. They quickly shush each other, only to laugh again.
I tip my head forward and groan. Guess I deserved that one, talking to myself on a busy sidewalk.
I’m blaming Rhys. He touched me yesterday and turned my brain to literal mush. Never in a million years did I expect him to say any of the things he said to me yesterday. He called me beautiful. He said he wants me, that he’s always wanted me. That he thinks about doing things to me. It’s odd, feeling like you’re on top of the world and circling the drain at the exact same moment.
I’ve dreamed about him saying those things to me for years. But hearing them…well, hearing them didn’t make me feel any better. It just reminded me that I can’t have him. He’s still untouchable. Only now it’s worse. Because I know he wants to touch me too. That should make it better, but it doesn’t.
I heave a sigh and start down the sidewalk, headed back toward his house. My buoyant mood is gone, my heart and mind heavy. What am I going to do? What are we going to do? Live together all summer and pretend there’s nothing between us? Am I supposed to watch him date other women?
I won’t survive that. The first time I see him with someone, it’ll break me. I know it will.
My phone buzzes in my hand. I stop walking to read the message.
Rhys: Depends. Do I get to attend this gig?
Me: You want to hear me sing?
Rhys: Hell yes.
Me: Really?
Rhys: Yes. Am I invited?
Me: Yes, but I have conditions.
Rhys: Wait. Where is this gig?
Me: McAllister’s on Friday.
Rhys: Yeah, no. I’m definitely fucking coming, princess.
Me: Wait. Why? Is it not reputable?
I wait anxiously for him to text me back, but he doesn’t. Instead, my phone rings. I immediately swipe to answer. “Please tell me people don’t get shot in the bar or something,” I say. “Tawnie didn’t mention anything nefarious.”
“No one’s been shot in a bar in Friday Harbor in years, songbird,” he says. “Fights break out regularly, but that’s every bar and restaurant in town. Drunk tourists are a pain in my ass.”
“Oh.” I exhale a relieved sigh. “That’s good then. Well, not the drunk tourists fighting part. That has to be annoying.”
“Very,” he says drily.
“What’s the problem with McAllister’s?”
“The fact that there are too many men there,” he growls.
“There are?” I frown, trying to remember the crowd inside. It didn’t look like there were an overwhelming number of men to me. Just a normal amount. Maybe it’s different on the weekends, though? “How many?”
“One is too many.”
“Rhys.”
My stomach flutters. Lord, this man knows exactly how to make my knees weak.
“They’ll be drinking and watching you on stage, thinking about trying to claim you before someone else can,” he growls, his voice somehow lethally soft and bristling with rage at the same time. “Fuck no, princess. New rule. You don’t date. Men don’t exist to you while you’re here.”
