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“Mal—” I say against her lips as I pull away. “We have to stop.”
The look in her eyes practically undoes me. Her cheeks redden, but not from desire.
She quickly jumps off my lap, her eyes downcast. She won’t look at me.
“Mal.”
“Just . . .”
“You’re drunk,” I say, by way of explanation. When she says nothing, I add, “I think we should just crash for the night.”
At that, she glares at me, and if looks could kill, I’d be dead. Then she pulls back the covers, and I watch her lie in bed. “You don’t have to sleep on the floor. Just don’t touch me.” She turns to face the other wall, essentially shutting down any more talk.
Great. Just great.
I try to do the noble thing, and she’s still pissed at me.
We’re both silent. The storm raging outside is the only sound lingering in the room.
A wave of guilt washes over me for rejecting her and for fucking kissing her back in the first place.
Will we be back to square one tomorrow?
With one last look, I turn away from Mallory, hoping we won’t.
29
Mallory
@Stargossip: I got nothing. It’s crickets from the island. Who wants to talk about another movie?
@Musty_rat: What’s this status? No, we don’t want to talk about another movie! We want the TEA!
@Brad4life: @Stargossip But is Brad okay????
@Cloudyqueen69: Not a happy birthday to me, I guess.
Sitting on the edge of Paxton’s bed, I place my head in my hands and groan.
Kill me now.
Everything hurts.
My head.
My eyes.
My whole damn body hurts. It feels like my brain is being hit with a sledgehammer. Repeatedly. And slowly. By a lot of people.
I have the worst headache ever, and I only have myself to blame. What the hell was I thinking? I’m here to work, not get bombed in front of my client and colleagues.
I don’t even want to think about it, but Paxton’s presence in the room isn’t helping. He’s looking down at me, rocking back and forth on his feet. Clearly, he has something to say, and I want to crawl into a ball and hide. I’d rather eat dirt than hear whatever he’s thinking.
Some people get drunk and don’t remember the next day…
I am not some people.
Every dumb thing I said and did yesterday has reared its ugly head in my mind.
I remember how I acted. How I threw myself at him.
How he rejected me.
Now, I’m giving him the cold shoulder. It isn’t fair, but I’m not exactly in the right headspace to turn this train around. I see the tracks are broken up ahead, and I’m doubling down, rushing faster toward the derailment.
Not my finest hour.
But it’s easier than saying I’m sorry for being a drunk idiot.
Plus, at this point, I’m sure all our progress is gone.
Paxton probably thinks I’m a lush, unable to be professional, and I can’t blame him. I made such headway, only to drown it in one bottle of rum. Okay . . . maybe two . . . or three.
Who’s counting at this point?
But inside my head is an unbearable cacophony of noise, reminding me that last night didn’t just happen in some dream or alternate reality. It happened right here in this hut, and it was all my fault.
I take a deep breath and try to focus on the present moment, but all I can hear is the bitter echo of yesterday’s mistakes playing on a loop.
A gust of cold air rushes through the room, and it’s a welcome relief. It manages to cool my warm cheeks, hopefully hiding my embarrassment.
I look up, and Paxton remains standing there, watching me with those same concerned eyes.
Oh, just say it, for shit’s sake.
I’m too embarrassed and upset to let him get close. So instead of engaging with him, I stand and head toward the door.
I’m not even sure if it’s still raining, but I need to get out of here. I need space and time to process everything.
When the door opens, I find that it’s still pouring rain. The sloped area by the path outside of our huts is flooded. I don’t even want to know what condition my hut and possessions are in right now. Now’s as good of a time as any to find out.
The moment I hit the first step, I slip, and I’m about to tumble down the stairs, so all I can do is brace for impact.
But the pain never does come because Paxton has once again caught me.
I hadn’t even heard his approach. I’d been so fixated on my hut that I was oblivious to the fact he was following me.
“Think that’s a good idea, princess?”
That name, and all the memories associated with it, washes the embarrassment away, and anger replaces it.
I tear my arm out of his grip. “Don’t call me that,” I snap, and his eyes widen.
With my mind on getting to my hut, I splash right through the muddy puddles, not giving a damn how dirty I am.
