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I was eight when she died, and I know I probably got a jaded version of the truth, but that’s what I remember.
Those memories are possibly my best. Not that my grandparents mistreated me. I just got to know them more during a sad time when they were devastated, too.
Things were sad again after my grandfather died, and the strength he gave my grandmother and me died with him. Life was never the same after.
Hope returned to me when I went away to college. I thought I was going to spread my wings and be who I was destined to be, but those hopes died when Grams got sick.
It was like taking down the queen on a chessboard when all your other powerful pieces are gone, too.
There’s a possibility that I lost my mind last night and went wild because things have been bad for so long. I have Dru, and I know she’s that ride-or-die friend people dream of, but she has a life, too, which can’t involve saving me.
The beach house comes into view when we walk down to the sandy shore.
The sight shoves my thoughts out of my mind, and nerves steal the moisture from my throat.
When I was little, I used to play here with the other kids who lived nearby. It fascinated us that the sea and the surrounding caves were a stone’s throw away. Of course, back then, it didn’t have a super-hot guy living inside it whom I might have slept with.
God,I still can’t believe I got so drunk I only remember the little I do. It’s nearly been twenty-four hours, and nothing more has come back to me.
The closer I get, the more I wonder if this is a good idea. Maybe it wasn’t.
What if Mr. Handsome is there with a woman? Like Hazel.
Ughh. That would be icing on the cake.
I would hate that, and she would never let me forget it, either.
There’s a truck parked out front, and when I approach, I see the front door to the house is open.
Feeling slightly thrown, I look around to check if he’s outside. It would be awkward to go up to the door and look inside the house. That would just be weird. Weirder than me being here.
Sebastian runs ahead to the side of the house. Then he barks with excitement.
I stop in my tracks when he skips back around the house, and I hear the familiar rumble of deep male voice speaking Russian words I don’t understand.
Then Mr. Handsome emerges from the shadowy path, stepping into the combo of moonlight and the outside lights of the house.
Both light him up in a sexy glow, showcasing his masterpiece body. His hair is wet, slicked back, and dripping with sea water. And he’s only wearing shorts which display long powerful tattooed legs. I’m amazed by how many tattoos he has. Also, how artfully designed each one seems to be.
When he comes closer and I scan those muscles again, I think of one of those sculptures in Rome or Greece, of the mythical gods of legend. Someone like Poseidon—God of the Sea.
With his eyes on me, Mr. Handsome walks over to the truck and tosses Sebastian a squishy ball that was on the ground. That’s when I see Poseidon’s mythical trident inked across his entire back.
Wow, at least I’m right about something, or close enough.
Sebastian doesn’t hesitate to grab the ball and plays with it. Mr. Handsome straightens, says something else in Russian, then looks back at me.
“I’ve never spoken Russian to my dog before, but yet he understands you,” I say. It’s baffled me all day.
“How old was he when you got him?”
“A year old.”
“My guess is the breeder or someone around him before you must have spoken Russian.”
“Is that what you are?” He sounds native when he speaks Russian.
“Yes, although I was born in the States.”
