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“Sure is.” I look at the floor before Paxton’s hand touches mine.
He gives it a light squeeze, and that’s when I realize what I’m doing. The feel of his hand on mine has me letting out a sigh.
“We’ll figure something out.” His calm voice is full of reassurance, and at that moment, I believe him. We will figure this out together.
“You can stay here.” His voice cuts through my thoughts, and my heart stops beating for a second. Then, as if hit with a defibrillator, it jumps erratically in my chest, bashing against my breastbone.
He wants me to stay here.
With him.
“Y-You wouldn’t mind?”
Shit. Do I even want to stay here with him?
I glance up and find him staring at me. His gaze unnerves me, especially in the confines of his personal space. The way he’s looking at me makes my knees wobble.
I can’t tell if he’s back to hating me or if he wants to fuck me.
But regardless, he’s my best option for the evening. Because if he says he’s not serious, I’ll have to trek down the path to find Teagan, and I might die if I have to do that.
He pulls his gaze away from me, and the moment is gone. I miss it. “It’s fine. I’ll crash on the floor.”
I nod, feeling grateful, relieved, and, most of all, confused by my reaction.
“Sit.” He motions to the bed, and I feel dumb, but I look down at my still-drenched outfit.
“I’m all wet—”
“Oh, shit. Yeah, hold on a second.” Paxton walks over to the closet and grabs a shirt before returning and handing it to me. “Here.”
“Thanks.” I chuckle, looking it over. “This won’t be the first time you’ve handed over your clothes to me.”
His lips spread into that sexy smirk that makes my stomach feel like jelly.
Luckily, I don’t need to tell him to turn around because he does it unprompted.
Once I know he’s not looking, I remove the wet clothing and throw on his shirt.
It’s huge on me, but I’m not surprised. When I borrowed his shirt on the boat, it also fit like a dress.
“All clear,” I say once I’m covered. Paxton turns around and proceeds to look me up and down—a strange expression passing over his features. I feel like I should say something or maybe cover myself, but that’s dumb. I am covered. My anxiety is peaking in his presence.
“This is becoming a habit.” He speaks my prior thoughts.
“Sorry,” I mutter, shrugging.
“I’m all right with it.”
My eyes narrow slightly as I try to make out the meaning behind his words. The room sways a bit, and I need to sit.
Now that I’m no longer drenched, I do just that.
“Want more?” he asks, and I nod.
I reach for the bottle, and that’s how it goes for several quiet minutes. We take turns passing the rum back and forth.
“Do you have any idea when this storm is supposed to stop?” I ask, breaking the silence.
“No clue. My service is gone. Can’t even look up the weather.”
“Surely by tomorrow.”
He blows out a hard breath. “Let’s fucking hope so.”
A pang in my chest builds, and I question why. Is it because he wants me out of here?
Not that I can blame him. This hut should be his private space. A place to escape it all. Hard to do when you have a woman you hated only a few days ago stuck in your hut.
I go to stand, needing to use the restroom, and sway a bit more. I’m feeling the effects of the booze, and I can tell that Paxton is, too. His eyes are glazed over, and he has this lazy grin he’s been sporting for several minutes. It’s like he’s stuck.
No matter. He’s even more gorgeous when he’s smiling.
The more we drink, the more the air between us shifts. I’m starting to relax and get comfortable when the smile drops.
His face grows stern, and I’m instantly on edge. He looks like he’s struggling with something he wants to say, and one can only guess what.
“Something wrong?” I finally ask, hating the tension that’s filled the space, desperately hoping that whatever he says won’t ruin my buzz.
We’re in a good place. He better not rock the boat. In my drunken state, I don’t know if I’ll be able to take it.
Paxton doesn’t answer right away. He stares at the wall before he meets my gaze. “I was a fucking dick.”
Not what I was expecting.
“You were.” There’s no point pretending he wasn’t. He was, and I want him to own it. I won’t say a word. I’ll allow him to lead this conversation.
“Your father.” He presses his lips together, and he continues to stare at me, but oddly enough, he doesn’t say another word after that.
“I’m not him. We’ve established that. Can’t you just move on?”
Paxton lets out a breath before nodding; his eyes look softer, a little dazed—maybe it’s the booze. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Mallory.”
