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“About seven pm?”
“Fine.”
“Okay,” she responds, hesitating. “And Malakai…”
“Yes?”
“You might want to not be a jerk.”
“What?”
“Connie looked like she was about to cry when she returned this morning. Just because I’m used to you being a dipshit doesn’t mean you have to be like that to her. She’s just a kid.”
I stiffen. I’m well aware that she’s just a fucking kid, even if my dick clearly isn’t.
“Can’t help who I am,” I respond.
“Well, tonight, for me, just try to be nice,” she retorts, climbing down from my boat.
Standing, I pick up the bucket of water to cover my uncontrollable dick and turn, calling after Lola. “What do you mean, tonight be nice?”
“I’ve invited Ma Silva and Connie over for dinner too,” she calls over her shoulder. “The girl deserves a reward after all her hard work today.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”
“Nope, no joke. Just try not to bite her head off again, okay?”
As she walks away, I don’t respond. I can’t. How the fuck am I going to get through dinner without wanting to throw Connie up against the wall and fuck her until she can’t see straight?
I need to get a damn grip. She’s off-limits.
“Okay?” Lola presses, her voice ringing out from the other end of the dock, oblivious to my distress.
“Fine!” I shout back. Not fine at all.
* * *
Ma Silvaand Connie arrive just after seven pm.
“Be nice,” Lola warns, peering into the lounge and throwing me a warning look before heading to the front door to let them in. I’m sitting in the same old beat-up leather armchair I used to sit on as a kid, trying to calm the fuck down. Somehow it’s survived all these years. The room is surprisingly cool, with the thick stone that is common on the island and used in all the buildings to keep the heat out in the summer and the warmth in during winter, but my body is hot. So damn hot that I’m starting to think I’m coming down with something.
I hear Lola open the front door and stiffen, forcing myself to concentrate on anything other than who’s about to enter, like the décor. Lola has painted all the internal walls white and has styled Clayhill to suit her preferences. Images hang on the wall, photos of all her travels over the years framed in black. A few of them have me in them. Well, a younger version at least.
I’ve gotten older.
I was always worldly, being submerged in the kind of environment I was in meant I had to grow up fast. I heard things, saw things that no person, let alone a kid, should ever witness. Even here on this island my mother was never able to keep me away from that life back in London. She tried hard to shelter me from it, bringing me here when I was twelve, but when you’re born into the kind of family I was born into, running isn’t so easy. Hiding even harder. It’s one of the reasons I love the ocean so much. I can get lost out there, or at least it feels that way.
“Come in, come in. I’ve got a few dishes to finish putting together, so you might want to take a seat in the lounge,” I can hear Lola say from my spot in the armchair.
“Can I help with anything?” Ma Silva asks.
“Sure, that would be perfect, actually… Plus I have a bottle of port especially for you.”
“Well then, sounds like the kitchen is the place to be.”
I hear the smile in Ma Silva’s voice, but my stomach isn’t churning in anticipation of dinner, and my fucking throat isn’t dry because I’m thirsty for alcohol. Though a bottle of beer, or ten, might help to take the edge off. I’m feeling like a fucking teenager again, because ofher.
“I can give a hand too…”
