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Gripping my nape, I nodded. “Just water would be great. And I’ll be back in a moment.”
“Okay.” Rhea gave me a shy smile as I opened the door and slipped into a bathroom the size of the one on The Fluke. At least The Fluke had a window and a view of the ocean. This was a black box with a flickering neon over a chipped mirror, a sorry excuse for a sink, a shower with a torn curtain, and a toilet that was clean but discoloured.
Grabbing the sink, I hung my head and fought myself.
Get it together.
She’s super sweet. Super pretty. And super keen to get you naked.
I looked up and caught my eyes in the mirror.
I didn’t often look at myself because my features reminded me too much of my father. I shared his straight nose, stern eyebrows, and distrusting black eyes. My hair was lighter these days from the sun and tussled over my forehead with no respect for neatness, and the oak leaf-shaped birthmark on my left ankle constantly reminded me of what I was.
Glowering into my stare, everything I’d been running from snarled and hurled itself at the walls inside my mind. I hated my height. My lips. My jaw. I looked just like my fucking father...and that is not a good thing.
The image in the mirror morphed into an image of Neri.
Her gorgeous mouth, her glacial eyes, her stunning eyebrows and cheekbones and smile. I hardened faster from a single glimpse of her than I did at the thought of fucking the lovely girl outside.
I groaned under my breath.
What would it take to stop being haunted by that girl?
I’d seen her as a twelve-year-old. I’d watched her parade around, flat-chested and gangly. Yet all I could seem to remember was the graceful curve of her spine, the perfect roundness of her chest and ass, and the indecent glimmer in her gaze whenever she looked at me when she thought I wasn’t aware.
My cock twitched painfully.
I wanted to punch the mirror.
To shatter myself and her.
I want to stop feeling this way.
Spinning around, I yanked out my phone and opened the messages she’d sent.
Neri: What do you mean you’re not alone?
Neri: Who are you with? You don’t know anyone.
The last one was sent just a few minutes ago.
Neri: Who is she?
My heart hurt.
It physically ripped down the middle.
My fingers hovered over the keypad.
I typed.
Me: She’s not you—
I deleted it without sending.
I waited for something appropriate to say, but in the end, I typed absolutely nothing.
There was nothing I could say.
