FIFTEEN
Felix
Why the fuck is nothing simple anymore? I circle the cloth back over the already clean bar with more vigor than necessary.
I made Zi lie for me. About Rosa. About fucking Rosa!
Life was fine before. Good. Things were what they were. Me. Alone. Me fine with being alone.
I should just tell Laia what happened and get it over with. I shake my head. I don’t need her looking at me like I’m the one that needs to be fixed. Made better. Saved.I should just stay the fuck away.It doesn’t take a genius to figure out she’s got her own past to deal with. I won’t put mine on her too.
My fingers clench around the cloth and I rub a harder circle across the mahogany leaving a trail of moisture in its path. There’s something there though. Something daring me to push further. Pleading with me to solve the fucking puzzle of her.
Maybe that’s the novelty of her. She’s a puzzle I want to solve. Something broken I want to fix. Something broken I can fix. I suck in a breath of warm salty air as I look up and my hand stills. Past the beach terrace, past the customers chatting lazily, past the pink lit sand to the setting sun as it slashes through the darkening sky with splices of reds and oranges.
Rosa. I see her in every fucking sunset. Sometimes it’s comforting and sometimes—sometimes it’s just damn miserable. I had the world and I lost it. I’m not stupid enough to think I get a second chance at it.
“Felix, man, you wanna wipe that scowl off your face? You’re scaring the customers.”
The tension releases in my forehead and I turn to Mylo. “Fuck you, man.” I throw the cloth at his face. He’s been helping out here for the last few nights to pass the time while he works out the logistics of setting up a surf school on the island.
He dodges it easily. “You’re not my type, bro.” A low rumble of a laugh shakes his shoulders, his mop of blond hair pulled back into a knot.
“The woman at the end of the bar has been wailing your name for the last ten minutes.” He glances past me to the opposite end of the bar then pins me with something that looks a lot like distaste.
My chest tightens, mangling itself into useless knots of familiar starry-eyed make-believe the second I look her way.
Mylo knows about Rosa, but he never met her. If he did, he’d get it.
She looks just like her. Even the way she sits is the same. Hair pulled over one shoulder, elbow on the bar, hand tucked under her chin. It’s like stepping back in fucking time—to before I knew just how much one moment can fuck up every single aspect of someone’s life.
My greedy gaze drops to her petite frame and my chest loosens, the stupid fog receding. I can safely say I never saw Rosa in a dress as tight or as short as that one.
“Fuck, man, that voice.” Mylo grimaces and scratches his chest through his brand-new Beach Hut tee frowning down the bar at her. “Tell me you haven’t.”
“I’ll deal with it.” I reach up to massage the twitching muscle in the back of my neck and head down the bar to where she’s sitting.
“So, I’ve been thinking, babe.” She stares up at me through her long black eyelashes. “I think we should give us another chance.”
“There is no us.” I press my hands flat against the bar unable to stop the scowl from lowering my brow. Her looks are where the similarities end. Mylo’s right, her voice is all whine.
“But there could be.” Her fingers tickle over the back of my knuckles.
I pull both hands off the bar and step back. “Listen— ”
“Jayne.” Her glossy red lips push out into a pout.
Rosa never pouted. Unless she was kissing me. I rub my fist across the middle of my chest at the sharp pain my careless thoughts bring with them every damn time. “Jayne, I’m flattered, but I’m not interested in dating.”
“Who said anything about dating?” A small crease appears on her pretty face and I hesitate. So like Rosa. So what I’m used to. I could just pretend. Just for one night. No complications, no expectations. She really fucking looks like her.
“Here.” As if sensing my hesitation, Jayne pulls a pen from her purse and scribbles onto a napkin then slides it across the bar to me. “Take my number?. Just in case you change your mind. I’m not looking for love, Felix.” She runs her tongue over her red lips and lets her gaze slide down my body. “Maybe we can come to an arrangement that works for both of us.”
I smile. I think I might even nod. It’d be so easy. Like escaping my head for a few hours. No risk. No stress. My fingers wrap around the napkin, and I shove it into my pocket.
“Hey, Fee. Three Pink Monstrosities and a vodka soda.”
Kenzi? I glance over Rosa-look-alike’s head, and my gaze instantly collides with wide green eyes brimming with hurt.
“Laia.” I force my lips into the easy smile I greet all of my friends with. Except there’s nothing easy or friendly about the sudden pinch to her face or the weight in my gut knowing I put it there.
“Felix.” She lifts her chin, her gaze flicking to Rosa-look-a-like before she blinks and turns her head.
“I didn’t expect to see you in here on a weeknight.” Fuck, that sounded stiff. Guilty even.
Her cheeks stay resolutely sun-kissed. Not a blush in sight.
It bothers me. Way more than it should.
“Work stuff,” Kenzi answers for her, curling her lip at the back of Jayne’s head in the process. “Simon wanted to check out our cocktails.” Grabbing Laia’s hand, she tugs her back towards where Pete and Simon are already sitting at one of the tall tables that circle the edge of the bar.
“A double date?” Mylo grumbles as he hands a customer his change over the bar.
“Does it bother you?” I ask, still staring over to where Laia is sitting with her back to me. Her cream dress clings to the curve of her ass, the back low enough to have me wondering what she doesn’t have on under it.
“Why should it bother me?” Mylo’s big face cuts off my view when he leans his ass against the fridge in front of me, the black and gray ink on his biceps stretching when he folds his arms over his chest. “But really? Out with her boss?”
He’s clearly bothered.
“Work stuff apparently.” I can’t help my long fucking sigh.
“A work thing? So, I know the manager but who’s the other guy?”
I cough to hide my laugh at Mylo’s thinly veiled jealousy.
“Pete’s husband, Simon. He’s the head chef in the hotel restaurant,” I say dryly and clap a hand on Mylo’s back. “Green doesn’t suit you, bud. If you’re interested in Zi, you should ask her out. She won’t wait around forever.”
“I think that advice works both ways.” He looks over his shoulder, his body shifting to give me a glimpse of Laia.
She glances my way but doesn’t smile. She doesn’t even blink. Just returns her attention to her friends.
It stings. A lot. I drag my hand over my mouth and keep watching her, the soft curve of her spine, the curl escaping its knot and tickling down the back of her neck. There’s nothing easy or simple about her.
I’m heading for risky fucking waters, but I can’t seem to make myself paddle the other way.
Laia
Even with my back to the bar, I fail miserably at following the conversations around our little table. Too busy fighting the urge not to flinch under the weight of Felix’s stare. I don’t have to look to know he’s watching me. But then he’s probably watching Flappy Eyes too.
How could I not have seen this coming? He literally told me that he’s single because he wants to be. He doesn’t do serious, and I don’t even want serious. So, what’s my problem?
“Three Pink Monstrosities and one vodka soda.”
His voice trails down my spine, the roughness lighting a fire under my skin. I clamp my teeth together and stare resolutely at the wooden tabletop. It shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t. I don’t want anything from him, and he clearly doesn’t want anything from me.
His hand invades my line of vision when he places the cocktails onto the table.
“Laia.” Tray tucked under his arm, he leans in closer, so close his lips brush the shell of my ear. “That wasn’t what it looked like.”
I pull back, plastering my widest, brightest smile on and force myself to look at him. “It doesn’t matter.” My jaw aches and I’m pretty sure I look insane, but I keep on grinning. “Why would it matter?”
His eyebrows twitch down in the middle, black, black eyelashes fluttering as his gaze moves over my face. “Right.” He rocks back onto his heels, the tick in his jaw working overtime. “Enjoy your drinks, guys.” He shoots me one last unreadable look then saunters back to the bar.
I fiddle with the stem of my glass. I don’t need to look up to know they’re staring.
“So, that happened.” Kenzi leans over the table and pulls my hand from my glass. “I thought you two were better than this.”
I meet her unimpressed stare and raise my brows to where Pete and Simon are watching us like we’re the latest instalment of Hot and Hasty Housewives: Trapped Edition.
“I get the feeling she doesn’t want to talk about it.” Pete leans back in his seat, resting his arm along the back of Simon’s stool.
I still can’t believe this is Pete. Buttoned up boss, Pete. I smile in thanks, my gaze dropping to the sleeve of tattoos visible where he’s rolled up his black shirt sleeves.
Suit Pete is handsome, tattoo Pete is sexy as sin.
“There’s nothing to talk about.” My lips twist awkwardly around the simple words.
Kenzi’s whole face puckers like she’s sucked a lemon.
“Whatever you say, darling.” Simon fans his hand in front of his face, in a move only slightly camper than the pink floral button-down he’s wearing. “That man’s got it bad.”
“Looks like Laia’s not the only one with an admirer around here.” Pete winks when the others turn to the bar. “They sure do grow them big around here.”
It’s Kenzi’s turn to scowl like a sullen teenager. Folding her arms over her chest, she shakes her head and lifts her drink. “I think that’s about enough boy talk for this evening.”
I couldn’t agree more. I take a drink of my Monstrosity, only wincing slightly at the sweet burn of alcohol.
“You’re right, let’s talk about Laia’s pie.” Simon clasps his hands together. “When can I get my hands on it?”
Kenzi cackles. My cheeks flame. Pete just shakes his head. “Simon, have you any idea how nasty that sounds?”
Simon leans back and brushes some invisible fluff from his white-jean-covered knee. “You dirty-minded heathens. Laia, honey, talk to me. How soon can I have some samples?”
I reach for my pendant and spin it between my fingers. “After the weekend? Maybe?” The panic sliding down the back of my neck right now isn’t normal. Why can’t I just be normal? “I’m not sure if…” I press my lips together, doubt and fear mingling with Damon’s constant assurance that I’m not good enough making it hard to breathe.
Simon’s eyes narrow like he’s about to ask me something I’m pretty sure I won’t want to answer.
Pete cocks his head, the questions quickly replaced by concern. He picks up his husband’s fishbowl glass. “Let me taste your Monstrosity, baby.”
I watch them for a second, taking another long pull from my straw. If someone could guarantee that I could have that, what they seem to have together, I’d maybe—I glance back over to Felix—maybe want more than just a pair of lips to forget my past.
Felix lifts his chin but doesn’t smile, and my tummy sinks as I turn back to the table. I’m not ready. Not even with guarantees.
“Just going to the ladies’.” I climb from my high stool, trying to keep my hands steady as I offer what I hope is an unruffled smile to Kenzi. “Be right back.”
“You okay?” She scans my face while stirring the ice in her glass. “Want me to come with?”
“No. I’m good.” My smile turns genuine. Regardless of what is or isn’t happening with Felix, this thing with Kenzi feels like it could be real.
I push through the door to the ladies’ room and let it swing closed behind me before I lean my hands on the rustic wooden vanity. My reflection stares back at me from the wall-to-wall mirror. I look … I tilt my head … kind of like my mom, if I squint and pretend that the low bun of dark blonde hair behind my left ear is black and about a thousand times curlier. I have her eyes. And her nose. But my dad’s mouth and hair.
The flat surface of my pendant catches the over-head light and I square my shoulders. I am good enough. Maybe I’m not ready for the man thing—but the pie thing, I’ve got. I’m good enough. I’ve always been good enough.
I puff out a sharp breath then nod and turn to the cubicle just as the middle of three doors opens.
My shoulders drop along with my I’ve-got-this smile. Flappy Eyes. Why not?
She straightens when she sees me, her chin lifting, thin shoulders pushing back as she struts in her five-inch wedge heels to the sink beside me. “Laia, is it?”
Even in her heels, she’s not much bigger than me. The word petite was invented for this woman.
I nod and follow her gaze to the mirror as she smooths her super tight mini-dress until it sits wrinkle-free over her thighs. “He loves me in red.” The tip of her tongue slides over her top teeth before she fixes me with an amused stare in the mirror.
My cheeks warm. Even my ears warm. I can feel the hurt tilt to my eyebrows, but I’m powerless to stop it. I take a breath to … I don’t know, tell her I’m not interested?
Her big dark eyes don’t stray from my face as she washes her hands then flicks the excess water from them, the stack of gold bracelets on her wrist jingling.
I should walk away. Look away. Do something. I don’t. I can’t. She means Felix. Felix loves her in red.
“Aw, sweetie…” She finally turns to look at me straight on and rests her ass on the edge of the vanity. “You didn’t know about us?” Her slightly upturned nose wrinkles daintily. “I thought everybody knew.”
I shake my head, the heat in my cheeks cooling until I’m pretty sure there’s no blood left in them. I should walk away. I don’t want to know. Except I do.
“Did you know he has a type, Laia?” She folds her arms, and her stare drops to my not-so-tiny body then snakes back up to my hair.
I was going for artfully tousled, but compared to her sleek, black, poker-straight hair, and the subtle sneer on her painted-red lips, I might as well have a bird’s nest stuck to the side of my head. I curl my fingers against the need to fiddle with it. “A type?”
She snorts out a dismissive chuckle and bites her lip like she’s considering her next words carefully. “Felix is only interested in women that look like her.” She shrugs and clasps her boney fingers over my shoulder. “And you don’t.”
I jerk my shoulder from her touch, trying to get her nasty words to make some sort of sense. They don’t, or worse, they do. They’re just … messed up.
“You’re wasting your time, honey.” She shoots me another once-over then walks out of the bathroom.
I meet my own shell-shocked stare in the mirror. What the hell just happened?
I’ve barely made it out of the toilets when an arm wraps around my waist.
“Felix,” I squeak, half relief, half I’m-not-your-type-leave-me-alone, half why-the-hell-do-you-sleep-with-women-that-look-like-your-ex? That’s too many halves. I don’t care. “Don’t.” I push him away and try to continue down the short hallway back to the bar.
“Laia.”
The hairs on my arms lift when his finger brushes up my forearm to my elbow, tugging me around to face him until my back’s to the wall and he’s far too close for comfort.
“What?” I’m pissed but pissed is good. Pissed I can work with. It’s better than confused. And way better than hurt.
His forehead furrows. “Laia. I can explain that woman.”
“No need. I get it. You have a type. I’m not it. Don’t worry, I won’t kiss you again.” I try really hard to keep the pissed from bubbling over in the face of the emotions flashing behind his eyes. He looks like I’ve just kicked him in the balls. “I don’t need an explanation. Or an excuse or … anything.” Even my voice sounds tired. Done. Miserable. I try to walk away again. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Laia, wait.” He plants his hands on either side of my head before I get far.
The panic comes out of nowhere, swift and paralyzing and completely unreasonable.
He’s not Damon. He. Is. Not. Damon.
I run my tongue along my dry lips, heartbeat roaring in my ears, eyes widening with every pulse. It’s fine. I’m fine. I know this, but my throat contracts and I press myself into the wall regardless.
“Fuck, Laia.” The frustration tightening his features morphs into something else entirely and his hands drop to his sides, a horrified tug to his lips when he steps back. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”
“Then back off.” I let loose the breath that had lodged itself in my throat and drop my gaze to his white Converse. “Please. I can’t do this.” My words are barely a whisper, but I’ve no doubt he heard them, because when I look up, he’s already gone.
I somehow manage to make my legs carry me back to the table. All eyes are on me as I sit.
“Everything okay?” Kenzi reaches for my hand.
I jerk away from her touch dramatically, even for me. “Fine.” My gaze moves unbidden to the bar just in time to see Flappy Eyes launch herself at Felix before he makes it behind the bar.
Her skinny arms wrap around his neck and everything else fades to white noise. I clamp my lip between my teeth, some masochistic part of me I never knew existed until now eager to see his reaction. And maybe hoping for him to prove me wrong. Show me that he’s exactly the man I thought he was. Nice. Cool. Not interested in women like Flappy Eyes.
His hands drop to her waist, and the stupid hope falls flat in my chest.