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“Hello, darling. Did you shave your beard?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“It’s a lovely look.”
“Thanks—”
I throw up my hands. “Oh my God! Let’s just invite the whole island to my bedroom!”
Jason pulls his lips together. “Ten p.m. At the Anchor. Totally casual. Locals. Karaoke. You can bring Otto.” Those blue eyes drink me in. “Just think about it. All I ask.”
“I’ll think about it,” I say.
But I keep my arms tight around my chest. I’m not budging.
“Okay.” That, at least, has brought a little bit of the hopeful spark back to his eyes. He jabs his thumb over his shoulder toward the window. “Well, I’ll just see myself out—”
“The door, please. Like a human.”
Jason slips past me. He gives Pearl’s shoulder a pat as he exits. “G’night, Missus P.”
“You should go,” my mother urges in an urgent whisper as I take the door from her, gently closing it. “I’ll watch Otto. It will be perfect—”
“I’ll think about it. Good night, Pearl.”
Finally, I close everyone out.
I exhale. Count to three.
I go back into the bathroom. My wineglass is still there, the bath still drawn.
I’m wound tight. Frustrated. But the mood is killed, and my bath is cold.
I feel rotten. Jason—kind, sweet Jason—is doing everything in his power to get me back. But his father’s shadow hangs over me like a cloud. Meanwhile, I nearly humped myself to a mind-blowing orgasm with Donovan on my brain.
This complicates things.
I pull the plug on the tub, letting the bath drain out.
59
Kenzi
I’ve made up my mind not to go to the New Year’s Party.
Otto and I are spending it together, snuggled up on the couch with bowls of ice cream, waiting for the ball to drop. The news flashes from various spots all around the world, and we watch people celebrate as new anchors get progressively drunker.
Pearl, however, keeps dropping hints. She’s wearing a sequined dress and a paper crown with the numbers 2019 across her head and clicking around the house in kitten heels. My mother will always dress up for a party—even if that party takes place entirely in the living room.
“Look at what I found!” she says. She holds up a velvet emerald-green dress.
“Where did you find that?” I ask.
“At the bottom of a suitcase you have yet to unpack,” she says triumphantly.
“For the last time—please stop going through my things. And thank you.”
“It’s pretty,” Otto says, and I muss his hair.
