Page 79 of Release Me

“An adorable puffball.” My heart swells as I listen to Skye’s Southern twang. She comes by it honestly, having grown up in rural Georgia.

Of all the seasonal staffers who have lived here throughout the years, I’ve always felt a special connection to Skye. I think it’s because, like me, she lost her mother to ovarian cancer at an early age and never knew her father. Whatever the reason, she’s always felt like a little sister.

“Whatever. I don’t care because this feels like coming home.” Her blue eyes are alight with thrill as they skim over “Rainbow Alley,” as Gigi affectionately named the row of mobile homes nestled between two lines of big, gnarly trees. Each is painted and meticulously decorated —a passion of Gigi’s in the quiet winter months. The yellow one that thegirls occupy is the nicest by far, with turquoise shutters and a pineapple theme interior. Hence the name: Pineapple Express. There’s also the purple Palmy Daze trailer, the green and pink Monstera Hut, and a teal blue Dolphin Around trailer. The only one not painted is Frank’s silver Airstream, but he has surrounded it with surfboards and tiki torches to give it some flair.

“Frank just put a brand-new air-conditioning unit in there last week. It cools down fast now.”

“Oh, great. No more sweating at night.” She shudders for effect. “Anyone else here yet?”

I falter. “You’re the first!” Dave and Ted were supposed to move into Palmy Daze on Saturday. I’m still not over the shock of that betrayal, but I don’t want to ruin this reunion by sharing the news yet.

“Ralph! My big boy!” Rebel exclaims. “Stop playing so hard to get.” The rooster runs at surprising speeds in the opposite direction as Rebel chases, earning our laughter.

“Okay, your place is all set. I’ll help you unload so you can get some sleep.” The back of their car is packed to the roof with their belongings and, knowing Skye, she has Red Bull coursing through her veins.

“Ugh, that’d be great. But first?” She grins with childish mischief.

I smile and toss an arm around her shoulder as we head toward the sandy shore.

37.Ronan

Afemale screeches, the sound quickly followed by a splash.

I lean over the railing of the rooftop deck to the pool below, where Connor and four local Wolf staffers lounge. Fucking guy. One shift and they’re flocking to him.

But I don’t know what I’d do without him. I’d be lonely in this giant house, that’s for sure.

“You comin’ down?” Connor hollers, his deep voice carrying through the peaceful neighborhood. Two-thirds of the houses are empty, waiting for summer visitors.

“Enjoying the view.”

“What view? It’s dark!”

I chuckle. The sun may be long gone, but the salty sea air is balmy, and the roar of the nearby ocean is palpable.

“Come on. We’re playing Marco Polo.”

“Pass.” Connor’s version involves losing articles of clothing, and two of those girls work in administration, which means they inevitably report to me. “Keep the glass away from the pool.”

“Aye-aye, boss,” he mocks.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. I dig it out to check the screen and smile as I answer. “What took you so long?” I texted Abbi twenty minutes ago to tell her I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing here.

“She’s busy,” a deep male voice retorts, his voice laced with smugness.

I groan. Henry has her phone. “What do you want?” He never calls me. The only time I hear from him is when he’s chirping in the backgroundwhileI’m talking to Abbi.

His gulp fills my ear. I can picture the asshole stretched out on his leather couch in their New York high-rise penthouse, sucking back a glass of scotch that only zero-point-one percenters can afford. “How’d your first day go?”

“Belinda didn’t stab me, so I call that a win. But I’m sure you’ve talked to her, so why don’tyoutellmehow my first day went?”

His dark chuckle tells me Belinda gave him an earful. “She has high hopes for you.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet.” I smirk. “The managers seem equally pleased.” Belinda introduced me to Chester, Dorian, and Mike. The reception was polite but decidedly unimpressed.

“Pleasing them is not my concern. How’s the house? The car?”

“House is on the small side,” I deadpan, stealing a glance at the pool as a brunette peels off her bikini top and tosses it to a nearby chair. I move away before I get myself into trouble. “The car could be nicer.” I haven’t had a vehicle at my disposal since I was living in Indie and booting around in an old Tacoma. The black BMW waiting for me in the parking lot today dropped my jaw.

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