Page 60

“You have everything to hide,” countered Rowan, his expression going stormy as he made it clear that he had not given up on his new quest of getting to the bottom of my problems and saving me from them.
I glared at my brother. “Shouldn’t you be manning the grill and tending to your fragile masculinity? This is women’s business.”
The corner of Rowan’s mouth twitched. “Isn’t your whole thing about dismantling misogyny and the very idea of ‘women’s business’?”
Fiona barked out a laugh from across the table while Nora shook her head, grinning knowingly at her husband.
“Since when does who I fuck matter to any of you?” Frustrated, I reached to the middle of the table for the bottle of champagne I wished was a Xanax. Now that I’d detoxed off both coke and benzos, I was back to just booze to regulate myself. Not healthy in the slightest, but my goal wasn’t to be emotionally healthy. That ship had sailed. I was aiming for staying breathing and moderately sane.
“Who youfuck?” Tiffany, Tina’s wife, repeated from down the table. She leaned forward, her long blonde curls coming with her. “Who have you been fucking at Shaw Shack?”
I squeezed my eyes shut, immediately regretting honesty as my policy. Lying was best with family and friends.
“Well, I doubt it was Beau since he hasn’t been cooking regularly for a while now,” Nora mused, rubbing her stomach.
“And, Louie, the main bartender, is gay,” Fiona added with twinkling eyes.
Why she was adding to this when she knew exactly who the fuck I was talking about was anyone’s guess. She must have been secretly sadistic underneath that Australian accent, blonde hair and newfound motherhood glow now that she was actually sleeping a solid five hours—a miracle, according to her.
“Fuck.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, leaning back in my chair.
It was a matter of seconds before the women figured it out, since there was only one fuckable person at Shaw Shack. In my opinion, at least. Unless they were going to start counting the women.
I instantly noticed the man coming around the side of the house. Though I’d been drinking wine with the women, I also had the awareness of the men—the overprotective alphas who also immediately went tense as the figure walked toward the children playing in the grass.
My skin went taut with fear for a split second, fear clutching the back of my throat as I thought that that was it, that was the moment my actions ruined not just my life but endangered the lives of the people I loved more than anything.
Then I recognized the curls. The easy gait, the breadth of the shoulders and the crooked nose.
My mouth fell open for a second before I composed myself, choking the glass in my hands. Elliot’s eyes found mine first, warming with intimacy before focusing on Kip, whom he clasped hands with before going in for a man hug.
He was wearing a faded tee, a cardigan, jeans and fucking Birkenstocks. How a man could look fuckable in Birkenstocks and a cardigan was a mystery to me, but he managed it.
My entire body felt electrified. And worse, alighted with a comfortable warmth at that knowing smile on Elliot’s lips, the knowledge that he obviously hadn’t died at sea in a perfect storm since he was there, in my brother’s backyard.
“Holyfuck,”Tiffany stage whispered, looking from me to Elliot.
“Cats out of the bag, honey.” Fiona raised her glass to me. “It’s your turn for the focus of this little crew to be on your love life.”
“Sex life,” I corrected. “Unlike any of you,” I waved my glass, “this isn’t a happily ever after, it’s a fuck. That’s it.”
I pushed my chair back, sending it falling onto the grass and not bothering to pick it up. My eyes zoomed in on where Elliot was talking to the men, all smiles while taking the beer my brother offered.
“Me and you will be having words.” I jabbed my finger at Kip threateningly, and he had the gall to fucking smirk.
“And me and you are going to have a conversation.” I redirected my ire at the now beaming Elliot. I ignored the way that smile lit up my whole body and kept my lips in a thin line. “Beach. Now.”
I quickly turned, stomping down the walkway to the beach, knowing that Elliot was going to follow me. I didn’t look back until the soft crash of the waves drowned out the hum of conversation and the sounds of my nieces playing.
Of course, Elliot had followed me. All it took was a quick glance to where Rowan and Nora’s backyard backed onto the coast to see more than half of our little dinner party had gotten up from their seats to shamefully watch.
I huffed out a breath. So we had to do it with an audience. Which was good. It would keep me honest. Or at least in line with the lies I was trying to tell myself.
Initially, I’d intended to situate myself a respectable distance away from him, to communicate my intentions, or lack thereof.
Not surprisingly—infuriatingly yet also secretly lovely—Elliot hadn’t let that happen. He’d followed me, taken one look at where I’d put myself in relation to him, then while keeping our eyes locked, he’d taken a deliberate step forward. We were not a respectable distance apart. We weren’t touching, but we were close. I could smell him, the breeze bringing on the briny smell of the ocean mixing deliciously with the depths of his scent.
Finally, I let myself look at Elliot. Really look at him. He looked good. Really good. My body responded to his presence in front of me, even as I cursed it.