Page 30 of Save Me
“Belinda’s not looking for a relationship. She has an itch she needs scratching, and I was an easy option.” At least, she thought I was, and probably for good reason—because I usually am.
Connor looks at me like I’m about to jump into alligator-infested waters. “You rejectedBelinda, and now you’re about to stroll in with another woman. Ayoungerwoman.”
“Who she despises. Shit.” I’m beginning to see where Connor is going with this, and he’s right—Belinda will have the nuclear codes at the ready and aimed at me. Or worse, Sloane. “Okay, I need you to do something for me.”
“What?”
“Belinda.”
He barks with laughter. “Yeah, right. Funny guy.”When he notices I’m not laughing along, his mirth fades. “Oh, you’re serious.”
“Yeah.”
“You wantmeto scratch Belinda’s itch?”
“I want you to see if she’s willing to let you scratch it.” There were three of us in that cabin room that day, and she didn’t seem to have a preference. “But do it discreetly.”
He groans. “Fine, but if I get fired for this, you better fix it.”
“Fine.” If I’m not already fired for showing up with Sloane. But I’m banking on Abbi not allowing that to happen. “Just be you. If she hasn’t sacked you for that yet, she won’t.”
He drops a meaty hand on my shoulder. “The things I do for our friendship.”
“Yeah, you’re really hard done by.”
“I really am. And, you know, I was thinking earlier about what Mermaid Beach is missing. Something that would solve problems like this.”
“This oughta be good,” I mutter.
“The first rule of fuck club is …”
Despite everything, I laugh. “You idiot.”
I weavemy sleek black car up the pothole-riddled driveway. It’s five minutes to six, and my palms are sweating. I haven’t been nervous to meet a girl since … I can’t remember when. But Sloane never responded to my text, and I have no idea what’s waiting for me here. I don’t know if she’s playing hard to get or avoiding me. I pray it’s the former. I’m up for a good chase.
Her Cherokee is here. That’s a good sign.
So is Frank’s pickup.
I park next to it and climb out, adjusting the collar of a clean dress shirt. I go through at least two a day in this heat.
The hens are busy grazing on feed in their coop, but Ralph wanders nearby, watching with those beady little bird eyes.
“Not today, motherfucker.” I pull out the carrot I sent Archie to grab from the hotel kitchen, snapping it up into bits and tossing them toward the trailers—and away from my freshly washed hood.
He scuttles after the bright orange chunks.
The sound of a door creaking draws my attention to the house and the figure standing on the porch.
Damn. All I can do is stare.
For too long, I guess, because Sloane starts to fidget.
“Does this work for your dinner thing?” Her toned arm stretches as she pinches the skirt, drawing the gauzy pink material away from her body.
I can’t decide where to look first—on the slit that shows off her shapely legs, the plunging neckline that hints at those perky breasts, her delicate shoulders, the tendrils of ash-blond hair that cascade down her back in loose curls.
Finally, I land on her mesmerizing face. “You match the hotel color scheme.” The fuck if I know if that’s the right shade of pink, and that was probably a stupid thing to say.
