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I’ve made an art form of the clinical hookup. Of sneaking out before sunlight, the polite message the next day trailing into silence in the weeks that follow.

Best for everyone if feelings don’t get too intense.

So why the fuck did I let myself get so carried away with Olivia that I was this close to pushing her back on the counter of my five-star restaurant and fucking her despite all the red flags?

It’s just not like me.

Refusing to consider the obvious, I stomp back to my car to find my phone, which I stashed there earlier in the night. When I’m shifted, I don’t tend to keep it on me. It only gets in the way.

I pull up a message to Billy and type.

Noah: feeling a bit rough. I’m going to b late in tomorrow. Can you manage prep?

It’s late, but since when do sous chefs sleep?

Moments later, three dots appear, shortly followed by his message.

Billy: No worries, boss. Take it easy.

I don’t feel bad about the lie. It’s none of anyone’s business what I do. I do feel bad about leaving everyone in the lurch, though. Once I’ve cooled off, I’ll go back tonight and set up some of the complex sauces and things I don’t trust the apprentices with. Get them a head start before I lock up.

Not like I’ll be sleeping much tonight anyway. I can feel that already.

Truth be told, I don’t sleep well out of the water. Never have.

I hate the feeling of dry skin.

Since monsters came out, I took every opportunity, every moment I got, to be in my kraken form. The people of Kraken Cove quickly learned to get used to it, like it or not. Why should I hide what I am? I’ll never understand why my parents and my brothers insist on doing so.

I’ve just been under a lot of stress lately. Things still haven’t settled into a predictable rhythm at the restaurant since opening. Some nights I think we’re going to get slammed and it’s quiet. Others, I give someone the night off and the place blows up.

That’s all this is. Just an over-reaction to all the pressure of starting my own business.

So what if my body reacted to her? It means nothing. I’ve no doubt offended her, so she won’t be back. Done deal.

Which is a shame because I was really hoping for that positive review. Still, business is booming. We’ll be right. Fuck her and fuck her review.

Fuck her useless fucking boyfriend too.

I would have said she deserves better, but apparently we’re none of us any better than anyone else, myself included. I just wish I could care a little less about it.

The very worst part is that Charlotte was right—at least partly. She always said one day I’d understand.

I guess today’s that day.

That only makes it worse, though. The way I hate myself today. Almost as much as I hate her and that asshole she left me for.

I wake at about three in the morning, cock aching and the phantom taste of Olivia on my lips. God she’s sweet. Like the heady alcohol and sweet coconut of the dessert I made her, mingled with something so fucking right, even now it hurts just thinking about it.

Tasting with your mouth is nothing to tasting flesh like that. The sweet subtle flavor of a woman’s skin. The salty tang of a juicy cunt.

And I’ve never tasted a cunt as sweet as Olivia’s.

I punch my pillow and sit, dragging a hand over my face, wishing I could put it out of my head.

I can’t, though. Every time I close my eyes, I’m right back in that moment, tentacles dragging through salty sweetness, lips closed around a pert nipple while he little moans fill my ears.

With a curse, I throw back the covers and drag on a shirt and some sneakers. It’ll be cold on the bike, but I don’t bother with my jacket. I need to feel the bite of the air on my skin.