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A few days after I caught Greg and Brenda together, I texted him and told him he didn’t need to explain his actions because I understood why our relationship ended the way it did. He’s been trying to get a hold of me ever since, but I ignore his texts, and send his calls straight to voicemail.
I have nothing to say to him, and really, what’s the point?
After choking down a bowl of Corn Flakes I found in Bryce’s kitchen, because I refuse to have breakfast with him at the inn—who actually enjoys a bowl of cardboard?—I venture out to the pool.
Like yesterday, no one is utilizing it, and I have the entire yard to myself. I waste no time diving into the deep end, slicing through the still water. I’ve never been a fan of running, but I get the equivalent of a runner’s high when I’m swimming. The world quiets, and so does my mind. I swim laps across the length of the pool, back and forth, back and forth, losing track of time. And when I finally tire, I lay on my back, spreading out my arms and legs, and float along the surface, letting the sun warm my face.
At lunchtime, a landscaping company comes by to chop down parts of the tree that were damaged from the storm. Between the loud noise of their saws, and the falling debris, I pack up my things and head inside to shower.
I haven’t seen Bryce all morning—which both pleases and irritates me at the same time. He’s probably working furiously to get my room fixed so I can get out of his house, but he could’ve stopped by to talk about last night.
I tighten the towel around my body. “He’s not man enough to apologize,” I say to the empty hallway as I make my way to the bathroom.
“Talking to yourself?”
A blood-curdling scream rips from my throat as I spin around, and throw a blind punch toward the male voice.
Catching Bryce right on his chin.
He rubs his jaw, and grimaces. “Damn. I don’t know what’s more dangerous, your scream or your jab.”
“Oh, my God. Bryce, I am so sorry.” I slap my palm over my racing heart. “You scared me. I didn’t know you were here.”
“It’s my house.”
“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
“It’s gonna take more than a tap on the chin to take me down.”
I plant my hands on my hips. “That was totally more than a tap.”
Whatever he’s about to say dies on his tongue as his eyes flick down to my body. I dropped my towel in my quickness to defend myself when I swung at him, and now I’m half-naked, dripping water onto the floor. With his black onyx gaze on me, the hallway feels a lot narrower, and I struggle to find my next breath. I should grab the towel, and cover up. I should slink past him into the bathroom. I should do something, anything, besides stand here and let him look at me like this.
But I can’t move.
Or I don’t want to.
I don’t want him to take those wild, hungry eyes off me.
Heat smolders in my core, flames licking up my skin, and my nipples harden under the thin fabric of my damp bikini. And he notices. His fists ball at his sides, and his tongue darts out, skating over his bottom lip. I sway closer, unable to resist, like gravity is pulling me toward him. My fingers itch to reach out and touch him, to feel his hard muscles, to trace the curve of his mouth, to run through his hair and grip on.
Wait, no. I’m mad at him!
I snatch my towel off the floor, and hold it against my body to shield myself from his hypnotizing eyes. “I take it back. I’m not sorry. You’re the one who should be apologizing after the way you acted last night. I hope your face hurts.” I move to push past him.
“Charly.”
That one word halts my feet like a command. I lift my chin, and meet his eyes.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to jump down your throat last night.”
“Why did you?”
He sighs. “It’s my issue, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “You accused me of lying about my mother’s death. What kind of sick person would do that?”
He winces. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
