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She scoffs. “It’s January.”
“Yeah, and my net worth has already increased by eleven billion.”
She pretends to hate those comments, but her eyes flick to my lips after I say anything cocky.
I can’t take another minute of this. I just want her so much.
“So, what’s our next move?” Jay asks a little too loudly, a little too abruptly.
To my chagrin, Julia turns away from me to say, “Dancing, obviously.”
Shit. I hate dancing. I want to tell her I’m going to crash in my room—maybe give her the spare key. But I meant what I said: I’m not letting her out of my sight with this guy around.
***
And that’s how I end up in the VIP section of a beach club, actively questioning every decision I’ve made today.
Julia is seated next to me, wearing a shimmery white coverup over her bikini. It catches the club lights in the Cartagena evening, making her look like a fucking angel. Her hair is in loose waves over her shoulders, and she’s drinking from a bottle of beer. In the five months since I met her, she’s never had a beer. Now, I know why. Watching her drink a beer on the beach, laughing underneath the night sky, is enough to make any man lose his head. Shit’s dangerous.
Jay, seated on her other side, notices as well. He tracks the motion of her hand as she tucks a length of her hair behind her ear. It’s obvious he wants her.
But he doesn’t just want her for her body, I decide. He wants all of her. When she pays attention to anyone but him, a minute flash of panic passes over his face. Whenever he makes an idiotic joke, he glances in her direction to make sure she’s laughing. If she’s not, he pouts until she focuses on him again. It’s borderline infantile, and yet she keeps him by her side like one of those chihuahuas women carry around in a shoulder bag.
I scan the crowd in the VIP section, which is packed with people who I assume are, objectively, not very important. It takes me a minute to locate Peter, who is making out unabashedly with a woman—sorry, two women—by the bar. Frustrating. If he had stuck around, I could have asked him to help me understand what Jay’s deal is. Without the intel, I’m stuck talking to Jay—and frankly, I’d rather have my wisdom teeth reinserted and removed again.
“…Gus,” a voice says.
I snap back to attention. Jay is staring at me over Julia, eyes narrowed.
“Were you talking to me?” I question. “What the hell do you want?”
Julia snorts into her hand. “You’re such an asshole,” she murmurs lightly, before reaching over and squeezing my hand.
Yeah, she has a point.
Jay’s eyes nearly bug out at the sight of our linked hands. He raises his chin and says, “So, how exactly did you two meet?”
“We met at her father’s birthday party,” I reply, taking up a small caress on the back of Julia’s hand with my thumb. “You weren’t there, were you?”
He clenches his jaw, but doesn’t react immediately. He shifts instead and places his drink on the nearby table. “Julia and I went to boarding school together,” he explains. “We’ve known each other since we were fifteen.”
Perfect. That small insight is all I need to put two and two together. Jay has played the long game, trying to stay in Julia’s orbit all these years. I don’t blame him—but I don’t know his angle. Sex? Career? Money?
“So, what do you do?” I ask him, not bothering to mask my condescension. “You know, for a living?”
He doesn’t respond at first. He raises his drink and takes a long, indulgent sip while he stares at me through the hair over his eyes. “Pretty much this,” he finally says.
“Must be nice,” I continue, “traveling around the world with no real job or purpose. You can brag to your kids about it one day.”
Both of Jay’s eyebrows shoot up and I’m satisfied with myself for reading him like a book until I realize Julia’s face has twisted into a frown—and she’s looking at me.
Fuck. Somehow, in my quest to figure Jay out, I managed to forget that Julia is a perpetual nomad herself.
A devious smile breaks out on Jay’s face while Julia slowly wets her lips and glares at me.
“Fun night,” Jay murmurs. “I’ll catch you both later.” Triumphantly, he heads to the dancefloor, leaving Julia and me alone for the first time. His decision reads plainly: You screwed up, he’s implying. No need for me to stick around anymore.
Julia wrenches her hand away from mine. “Fuck you,” she mutters.
