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Bolt the door.
I walk less calmly to the shower, starting to shake.
Another lock.
Then there’s no stopping the collapse.
I flip the temp to glacial and stumble under the spray, fully clothed.
Teeth chattering, I drop on my heels and clamp my head between my knees. My pheromones claw loose just in time to wash down the drain with my regrets.
This is how moths must feel.
I keep volunteering to burn.
Shit on a shipwreck.
Burn me again.
After I scrub off Reese’s beard and my toxic scent, I finally find the way forward.
I can’t be Solomon, and I sure as hell can’t be myself.
Serafina to the rescue.
I change into leather pants and a high-necked yoga zip. I can’t care about island humidity when I need to play a badass.
Heavy makeup, green contacts, and the highest pony.
Most importantly, Serafina’s scent.
I stab her lemon in my throat.
As she hijacks my body, my vision blanks. I stumble to the drain to puke bile.
But I’ll take the stinging, bitter pain over walking around naked with my heart hanging so obviously on my sleeve that Reese can use it for batting practice.
When Dutch calls me to dinner, bellowing Solllllllllllllly down the hall, I walk out a different girl.
Shields up.
Mask on.
I can’t hurt the guys.
Even if I have to torch myself.
Meadows Pack shoots pointed looks as I cross to the long table in front of the open-air deck. I sit with my back to the breeze-blown curtains, so I’m not romanced by the glimmer of the moon.
More business, less fantasy. “What’s the plan? Have you heard from your friends?”
“Eat first.” Jin sets down a steaming bowl of soup. “You must be starving.”
All I want to do is lean over the rail and spout hard lemonade into the sea.
I’ll probably kill the fish and bleach the reef.
“I can multitask.” I stir, not planning to taste, but curiosity and the mouth-watering scent of Jin’s chicken noodle win over my nausea. “You made this?”
