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I ignore Nicole’s text because something is bothering me. The last thing I need is her coming over and wanting to stay the night like last time.
The bottle of cognac sits on the glass shelf inside my living room. I pour myself a glass then stare outside the large window and into the ocean.
The emerald eyes taunt me, teasing me like a piece of tangled fruit in the middle of a jungle. Her need to voice her opinions of me is something I usually wouldn’t fixate on. But tonight, I wasn’t conversing with a teenage girl anymore.
Addison Edwards is all woman now.
And one you can’t seem to get out of your head.
Inside my pocket is my phone. I pull it out, dialing Ava’s number.
“Playboy, what’s happening?”
“Did you tell your sisters my dad has a pierced dick?”
“Whoa…” Ava gasps, then continues, “… context, please.”
I take a deep breath, walking over to my shelf again to top up my glass. Quickly, I explained to her how it came up over dinner.
“Look, in my defense, it was a long time ago, and I think I heard it from Aunt Adriana.”
“You mean everyone knows?”
“I’m pretty sure.”
“Jesus Christ, Ava,” I mutter, pressing my hand against my forehead as I close my eyes shut for a moment.
“So what? It’s your dad. Do you know how much crap I get about my dad?”
“Listen, I’m tired, and it’s been a long day.”
“Is everything okay? Don’t forget you said yes to coming to dinner on Thursday. It’s Austin’s night off, and if you’re a good boy, my husband will cook your favorite lobster.”
I chuckle softly. “I better be a good boy then.”
We hang up the phone, yet these unwarranted feelings refuse to settle. The cognac eases my racing mind, only slightly.
A restless night is upon me.
And there’s only one way to understand what the hell is going through my mind.
I need to see her again, first thing tomorrow morning.
* * *
The door swings open to Addison wrapped in a white towel, barely covering her wet body and noticeable dripping hair. The lack of clothing catches me by surprise, doing nothing to ease my curiosity.
As her eyes lay upon me, she draws back, surprised by my visit.
“Do you always answer the door wearing a towel?”
“What are you doing here?” she asks out of breath.
My gaze shifts to the small trickle of blood seeping from her hairline.
“You’re bleeding,” I say, keeping my focus on her with worry. “What were you doing in the shower?”
She raises her hand to her head then brings it back down to observe the blood on her fingers.
