Page 6 of Hooked on Love

Tomorrow, this will all be sorted out. He’ll be gone. I’ll forget the way he looked in that doorway—all windswept and rough and unexpectedly, undeniably attractive.

Tomorrow, I’ll be back to the sad reality of my temporary position at the seaside resort with no friends, no family, no real place to call home since my mother died. I’ll be right back to where I’ve always been.

Floating in a sea of people living their lives to the fullest while I simply…exist.

Damage Control

Jake

This couch is a liar.

It looks comfortable—plush cushions, decent length, a cozy throw over the back of said couch. But I’ve been lying here for three hours, and I’m convinced it was designed by someone who hates the human spine.

Why the hell would Luke toss his old couch? Yeah, it had some lumps and valleys, but it was damn comfortable.

I shift again, trying to find a position that doesn’t make my lower back scream. I haven’t slept more than twenty minutes at a time since I stretched out around midnight. Every time I close my eyes, I see her. Standing in front of that mirror, water droplets trailing down her back and shoulders, that damn tiny towel…

I throw an arm over my face and groan quietly. This is exactly what I don’t need to be thinking about. I need to be worrying about my livelihood, my boat, my business. Not the too-pretty-for-me woman down the hall with ocean blue eyes I could get lost in and full, mouthwatering lips worth craving.

The apartment’s quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the building settling. Early morning light filters through the curtains, painting everything in shades of grey and gold.

I check my phone. 5:47 AM.

Might as well get up. I need to get down to the marina anyway, assess the damage to Knot Working, figure out how long I’m going to be stranded on land without income, and where the hell I’m going to stay.

I sit up slowly, my back protesting the movement. The throw blanket pools around my waist over grey sweatpants. I chance a glance down the hall and stare at the open bathroom door, remembering the chaos of last night.

Coffee. I need coffee.

I head to the kitchen, trying to be quiet. The last thing I need is to wake her up and give her another reason to want me gone.

After Peyton went to her room, I debated going to the local motel, but when I called, they had no vacancies. And I refuse to pay those overpriced resort fees at The Tides near the marina.

Luke’s coffee maker—or Peyton’s now, I guess—sits on the counter next to a ceramic mug with a sun painted on it. Cheerful. Optimistic. Everything I’m not feeling right now.

I grab a different mug.

I find the coffee in the cupboard and get to work, the familiar ritual soothing despite everything. Measure the grounds, add the water, press the button. The machine gurgles to life. While it brews, I lean against the counter and survey the apartment in the growing light.

It’s different than the last time I was here. More lived-in. There’s a stack of books on the coffee table—thrillers and romance novels with colorful spines. A laptop sits beside them, closed. A sweater draped over the armchair, soft, cream with wooden buttons up the front.

Her things.

She’s only been here two weeks, Luke said. But she’s already made the place feel less like my brother’s bachelor pad and more like a home. The coffee maker whines and I pour myself a cup, inhaling the bitter, familiar scent, and take a sip. The burn down my throat has me sighing to myself.

A sound from down the hall makes me freeze.

An alarm. Muffled but distinct, playing something upbeat and melodic. It cuts off after a few seconds, and then I hear movement. Footsteps. One door opens, then another closes.

The bathroom sink turns on.

I close my eyes and take another long sip of coffee.

I set my mug down harder than necessary and grab my phone, scrolling through emails I’ve been ignoring. Booking inquiries I’ll have to turn down. A message from my parts supplier about a delayed shipment from last month.

What a fuckin’ mess.

After maybe ten minutes, I hear the bathroom door open again, then the bedroom door close. She’s getting ready for work.