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“Pretty sure that’s not true, but I appreciate the sentiment.”
She gave me a stern look. “You ever need a pair of nuts kicked, you find me. I love you, girl.”
“Love you too.”
She patted my wrist. “Jack says take your time and come back out when you’re ready. I’m gonna go scope out the room and make sure that asshole’s definitely gone.” She pushed off the wall and hesitated. “You sure you’re okay? You look a little flushed.”
I stared down at my feet, thinking about Roman’s ice-blue eyes and the way his lips curled as his gaze traveled down my body—it was strange, like he was both appraising me and unable to look away.
“I’m fine. Really.”
“All right. Take your time. I’ll be back in a bit.” She waved and marched back off toward the banquet hall.
I leaned my head against the wall and took a few more calming breaths, trying to remember that meditation exercise I’d learned on YouTube. The guy with the very soothing British accent called it a body scan or something like that. I started at the very top of my head and imagined the focus of my attention slowly moving down, from the tip of my skull to the points of my toes, pausing to focus on each muscle, each inch of skin.
By the end of it, I almost felt better.
Except then the image of Roman’s hands following that exact same pattern, touching all of me, from my lips down to my breasts down to the soaking wet heat between my legs sent me into another stupid dizzy tailspin and I decided I had to get some fresh air.
I grabbed my jacket from the break room, headed through the kitchen, waved to Chef José, then shoved out the back. The Stone Harbor Club was a little private events space right on the edge of the bay, and the seaweed stench rolled up from beneath the wooden pier that surrounded the building. I walked over toward the railing overlooking the water and stared out at the gently lapping tide, the marsh grasses waving in the wind. I pulled my jacket tighter for warmth and let out big plumes of white breath, trying not to think about that man again, about that Roman.
It was like he wiped away the darkness of the moment with Manzi. For one second, I felt utter fear, the sort of chest-constricting terror I hadn’t experienced in a very long time. I was sure Manzi would do something horrible if given the chance, and I couldn’t tell if a room full of men would stop him.
At least until Roman had appeared. Then it was all about that beastly specimen.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to banish the thoughts. I couldn’t get some stupid, girly crush on a guest, especially not when I’d been working so hard at keeping to myself. I’d moved to Sea Isle three years ago, after the incident, and ever since then, I hadn’t done much dating or really much of anything at all.
I touched my belly where the scar tore me in half, hip to hip.
Winter said I was antisocial and wallowed too much. I said she was right, but I didn’t tell her why. Before the incident, I was an outgoing girl—I had lots of friends, liked big parties, always had a big smile on my face.
The world was great. Sunshine and flowers. Rainbows, ponies, unicorns, and all that crap.
But afterward, things changed.
“Get the fuck off me, pendejo. Vete a la verga, stupid asshole.” It was the Latina girl again, and she sounded pissed. Her voice echoed off the pier and the club walls, and I caught her shadow projected along the wooden slats.
Another voice, this one male. It was Manzi, but I couldn’t make out the words. He sounded angry, though, and I drifted toward them, heart racing.
What would he do to that poor girl, out here alone? Should I run inside and get Roman?
