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“Jesus. How often do these happen?” I ask, squeezing the water out of my hair and sinking into the silence of the room.
Kai pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it onto a chair.
I stare at him. This view never gets old. Guys walk shirtless around most of the time. Yet, seeing Kai is different.
He is mesmerizing. Doesn’t he know that?
I am used to a different image of him. But this—this inked beauty—is enchanting in all the bad and good ways.
I peel my eyes away and turn around.
The rain clatters on the roof and the trees outside, but the inside is stuffy and quiet. I kick off my shoes and study the interior, which is basic. A low queen bed, a dresser, a desk, a couple of wicker chairs, and a low wicker table. Kai’s clothes are scattered around, but nothing else makes this place personalized. He spends most of his time in the workshop.
Music starts trickling in from somewhere, and I turn to smile at Kai.
“Nice,” I say, suddenly feeling too self-aware.
He takes a towel from the hook on the wall and tosses it to me, then takes another one and starts drying himself.
I do the same but can’t take my eyes off him.
What now?
I want this moment alone to stretch. And I don’t know what I want next. Except I don’t want to be anywhere else but here with him.
“We should look into that wound on your back,” he says.
“Sure,” I blurt.
And I am thanking God for the downpour. I hope the storm comes down onto this island so I can be buried here with Kai in my arms.
It’s an atrocious thought.
But suddenly, I feel like the last years of fighting my hate and desire came down to me being on this island with him.
27
KAI
“Your wound might get infected.So take off your shirt,” I say softly, not looking at Callie.
I walk to the first-aid box in the drawer by the bed. We all have those. Plenty of shit happens, and we know better than to leave wounds unattended. There is no doctor here besides Maddy.
The memory of the kiss still burns my mind, though the scenario changed. “#41” by Dave Matthews Band trickles from the speakers, breaking the awkward silence.
When I come back with the box, Callie still stands next to the desk, staring at me like I am an alien.
“What?” I pull the Neosporin and a Band-Aid out. “I don’t have proper mirrors, petal,” I say, taking a step closer and cocking my head. “So unless you have an extra-long arm and a third eye on your back, take off your shirt.” I pause, holding her gaze. “Or do you want me to do it for you?”
I am being cocky.
I don’t know if that’s the kiss or something else that makes the air between us so sexually charged. It’s probably just me. We are alone. In my bungalow. It’s a downpour outside. And I hope that no one—fucking Ty or someone—comes to check on us. I want to be alone with her. For this brief moment. In this small space.
Callie casts her eyes down and pulls the shirt over her head.
It’s right there—her exposed skin, the jagged tan lines, her neon bikini top with strawberries.
I don’t hide my open stare. She is too close to me, and it’s dizzying.
