Page 6 of Lovers Like Us

Blood seeps through the cracks of my fingers, dripping down my bare chest. My pulse is lodged in my throat. But I try to distract myself by focusing on the blood. Not Charlie, who disappears out ofsight.

I try to staunch my nose with my bicep, and then a wadded up black shirt suddenly lands by my knee. I glance at the yacht, looking for the person who threw it atme.

The audience already starts dispersing. Faces too hard to recognize from down here. I gratefully ball the shirt and press the fabric to my nose. And I rise to myfeet.

Back on the yacht, I manage to bypass most people. I make my way to the empty bow, darkened since all but one torch is snuffed. Beige cushions form a sunbathing pad, but I don’tsit.

I squat, slightly wincing, and rifle through a blue cooler. Ice all melted, cans of beer and soda float in lukewarmwater.

I stare faraway. Charlie’s words ring in my ears.I’d be better off if you never evenexisted.

You can do anything by yourself and thensome.

Have you ever felt like you need something or someone? Just for onemoment.

Just one damnsecond.

I’m rarely alone, but I’m not talking about Jane or my parents or any of my siblings or family. Have you ever felt like you’re missing something? Like a void exists, and you’re not sure how to fill thatspace?

Maybe it’s not supposed to be filled. Maybe this is it, and I have to be satisfied with this carved out chunk, thishollowness.

I’d be better off if you never evenexisted.

Yeah.

“Move, wolfscout.”

My head swerves abruptly towards the only guy who calls me that. The concierge doctor’s twenty-four-year-oldson.

Farrow RedfordKeene.

Black swim trunks hang low on his muscular waist. I almost drink in his body. He’s lean-cut and sculpted, but instead of a swimmer’s build like mine, his stature screamsMMAfighter.

What’s more, his bleach-white hair is pushed back, nose pierced, and thesexiesttattoos crawl up his fucking neck and down his chest. Inked pirates, skulls, ships, daggers, sparrows andswallows.

I’m trying my hardest not to give Farrow an obvious once-over. But he hovers close. Like actually right beside me while I’m frozen in asquat.

How long has he beenthere?

Farrow raises his dark brows at me. Like I’m not catching on fast enough, but he chews a piece of gum with a sense of unhurriedness. Then he rolls his eyes and just squats besideme.

I watch him rummage through thecooler.

Fuck, he wanted me tomoveout of the damnway.

I rake a hand through my hair, waking up out of a dark stupor. “What do you need?” I ask, licking my lip a few times, tasting iron from blood. I keep the black shirt wadded in myhand.

“Don’t worry about it.” Farrow grabs a couple of beers and then glances at me for a short beat. “You look like shit.” Hestands.

I stand. “Thank you,” I say, sarcasm thick. “For a second there, I thoughtbloodwas an attractive accessory. You know, like a hat, a scarf, a goddamnlightsaber.”

His lips upturn. “You would find lightsabersattractive.”

I almost groan, trying not to crack a smile. He’s irritating four-fifths of the time. The one-fifth makes mealmostbreak into a weird grin. I give him a look. “Did I say that lightsabers wereattractive?”

“In so many words.” Farrow stacks his beer cans in one hand, like he’s about to leave. But he hones in on my bloodied chest from mynosebleed.

I lick my lips again, inhaling a deeper breath. Something powerful surging into me.Stay.