Page 55 of Dirty Martini
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles after a long moment when my fingers find his wet hair. “I didn’t mean to freak you out. I was just at the library trying to study.”
I hum, my lips quirking into a smile when he lets out a small whine as I pull on his blond strands. “Next time you want to study, just ask me.”
“That didn’t work so well last time,” he jokes, but there’s an underlying tinge of insecurity as his eyes flutter open to meet mine.
“I’ll help you,” I insist.
“Because you promised Elton you’d look out for me?”
My breath hitches as I stare at him. With his head tipped, I can see all the light freckles that dot his nose. His lips look plump, red where he’s been biting at them, and I’m drawn to it. Drawn to the idea of what they’d feel like against mine. Maybe slightly chapped, rough, with his stubble scraping against my skin as I?—
I take a step back, clearing my throat. “Yeah.”
He nods slowly, rolling that same tempting lip into his mouth. Taking in another deep breath, he collects himself, somehow plastering on the fakest smile I’ve ever seen. “Thank you, Rhys.”
“No problem,” I say. To break the tension, I take his wrist and tug him away from the wall. “Come on. Help me get the shutters up and then we can look at your curriculum.”
“Okay,” he says, letting me guide him down the hallway and to the living room.
We prepare as best as we can, making sure all the shutters are up, organizing the food I bought, and laying out all the lanterns and candles anybody that’s ever lived in Florida has in spades.
As the storm clouds roll in—gray, violent, crackling with thunder—I feel a different storm brewing, much more turbulent than anything nature could throw at us. The fear I felt when I didn’t know where Everest was rears its ugly head again, even though he’s right in front of me and in one piece. The unpleasantchurning in my stomach returns, but this time it’s when he excuses himself to take a shower, leaving me to sit and think about what happened. I know I dropped my guard, let myself feel anything other than loathing for him, and he could take advantage of it.
But I don’t run from the feeling this time.
And I wonder, when we’re caught in the eye of the storm, what shards of hate will remain between us.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Everest
Rain pounds against the window,the shutters only muffling the whipping wind a little bit.
I’ve always liked storms and the way the sky darkens and glows with each strike of lightning. The rumbling of thunder has always been soothing, and I feel it vibrate through the penthouse. The hurricane is in full force now. We lost power a few hours ago and the backup generators haven’t kicked in. So, lit only by cheap lanterns, I sit in my room, staring at my test.
I really thought I would do well. I thought I understood all the concepts, but it turns out, all of it disappeared the second the packet was set in front of me. It’s hard to describe exactly how I feel. On the one hand, I’m not entirely surprised. Failure is something I’ve become familiar with lately. For the most part, I’ve always done well academically, but college is a brand-new game. I’m feeling overwhelmed and out of control, like I can’t grasp anything long enough to succeed. But still, a part of me believed that Rhys’s help would have been enough to push me through.
I sigh, looking at the grade. If I don’t pass the final test, that’s it. I’ll officially have a failed class on my record. I don’t knowhow much a biology course would hurt me, considering I still have no idea what I want to major in, but it can’t be good.
That’s not the only thing that’s confusing me, though. Rhys… What the actual fuck was that? I hadn’t purposefully been avoiding him—I really was in the library—and I wasn’t prepared for the way he pounced on me the second I came home. For someone who can be so cruel, he seemed to actually care. He would hate to admit it, but I saw the concern. I also saw the violence when he thought someone had hurt me, and it did things to me that have sent my mind reeling.
His attitude, the way he comforted me, made me melt into his arms. While it hurts to confess, the things he said about me needing validation and affection are all true. It does make me pathetic, I know that, but when he gave it to me, I felt so full. I don’t know how long it’s going to last, so I’m trying not to set my expectations too high. I missed seeing the glimpse of the Rhys he used to be when I was younger. When I hadn’t ruined his life, when I hadn’t betrayed him, when he was my favorite person and—even if it was just in my head—I was secretly his.
Christ, I really am sad, aren’t I? One hint of care and I’ve latched onto it. So fucking stupid.
I sit up when there's a knock on my door. Rhys peeks his head in, a tuna sandwich in his hand. He clears his throat, shuffling on his feet as he thrusts the plate in my direction. “I thought you might be hungry.”
“Thanks,” I mumble, standing to meet him by the doorway. It’s a bit awkward, and I don’t know what to do about it, but I’m not about to reject his kindness. “What’s up?”
He shrugs. “I just wanted to check on you. See if you’re still beating yourself up.”
“Yeah,” I say, picking at the sandwich. “Um, I’m still a bit upset.”
Nodding, he bites at his bottom lip. He looks over his shoulder, indecision on his face before he sighs. “You want to hang out? There’s no internet, but I have some books.”
While I’m not really in the mood to read, I nod. He takes my free hand, leading me into his room. It’s stupid that my heart flutters with anticipation. I’ve never been in his room before, his secret fortress where I haven’t been allowed, so this feels weirdly important.
His room is a bit smaller than mine, but still fairly big. It’s tidy, which isn’t surprising. His bed is almost like an overgrown couch, with the headboard wrapping around most of it. There’s a huge television on the other side of the wall, probably something Elton insisted on buying for him, along with all the other furniture in here. I don’t point that out, though, not when he’s being uncharacteristically nice. I sit on the bed and set the sandwich down on the nightstand, not particularly in the mood to eat. He goes to the huge bookcase by the shuttered windows and spends a minute pulling out a couple of books.
