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8
THEO
Several hours later as I’m steaming clams down on the beach, I can’t stop thinking about snorkeling with Sullivan.
I’ve never been able to relax and enjoy myself in the ocean. The soundtrack toJawsruns constantly in my head, and each strand of seaweed that touches my foot feels like the teeth of a Great White taking a nibble in advance of the Big Bite.
But with Sullivan beside me, it felt like nothing could hurt me.
That’s ironic considering Sullivan used to scare me more than any shark. In high school, his temper was legendary. And apparently, it’s still right there under the surface. He may have learned how to charm everyone else on the boat, but when he shoved Angus under the water, he looked exactly like the guy I knew before—fucking scary.
Angus is still pissed at him for the aggressive dunking. I can tell because he’s barely speaking to me, either, other than snarking that I forgot to bring “one of those pigs on a stick.” Never mind that Angus specifically asked for clams.
Honestly, it’s an improvement when he ignores me. It means less obnoxious requests. Angus seems to delight in demanding impossible things then watching while I scramble to obey.
I’m sure it makes him feel powerful.
It makesmefeel like a court jester.
God, I can’t wait to be my own boss. Then when things go wrong, at least it’ll bemyshit going wrong. And when I fix it, I’ll be fixing it for myself.
I am happy that I get to do some cooking tonight. I’ve got the clams steaming nicely on a bed of coals, and now I’m dicing up fresh papaya for the green papaya salad.
Martinique is helping me. She likes cooking almost as much as I do. We’ve gotten so good at working together, it’s like a sixth sense.
“Pass me the sea salt,” I call, right as she tosses it to me behind her back.
“Already on it!”
Unfortunately, Martinique’s throwing arm is not on par with her knife skills. The salt goes flying over my head.
Sullivan snatches it out of the air.
He catches it one-handed, a neat little underhand snag that makes my stomach fold in on itself.
“Here you go, gorgeous,” he growls, pressing the saltshaker into my palm. His low voice tickles the hair by my ear. His fingers brush against mine.
I become aware that I’m extremely sweaty and probably smell like clams.
“Thanks,” I gulp.
“My pleasure.”
Sullivan takes a seat by the fire, striking up a conversation with Corgus. Every once in a while, he glances back at me and smiles. Every single time he does, my stomach performs a backflip.
“God, he’s dreamy,” Martinique sighs.
“I know.”
It’s not a good thing.
Actually, Sullivan’s sexiness is a major problem because it’s only making this more difficult.
He isnotmy boyfriend, no matter how well he plays the role.
And every time he looks at me or calls me some sweet pet name or, worst of all, puts his arm around me and makes my whole body burst into butterflies, he’s only feeding a craving that’s already spiraling out of control.
Especially when he defends me against Angus.
