Page 50 of Covetous

“Is she okay?” He shifts back and forth as if he’s debating on walking away or going through Liv. Because that’s what he’ll have to do to get to Esme.

“What the fuck does it look like? Don’t ask stupid fucking questions that you already know the answers to.”

“Just go. Get away from me.” Esme lifts her head from the toilet when he doesn’t leave. “Get the fuck out,” she yells before she heaves again, choking on bile.

“You should go,” I say when he doesn’t leave.

He winces, gives a quick nod, and turns away, leaving us to do what friends do best—pick up the broken pieces.

Before Liv and I put Esme to bed, she explained what made her spiral tonight. All the drinking she’d done tonight was for liquid courage to seduce Victor and win him back. So I was wrong about something pushing her heart over the edge between the beach and dinner. It was after we returned from the bar and he’d tucked her into bed that things went south.

She’d asked him to stay, which he agreed to. But when he stripped out of his clothes and put a pair of basketball shorts on to sleep, rather than going nude like they’d done every night since they’d been together, Esme laid her seduction on thick. The final remnants of her liquid courage resurfaced for one last bout as she climbed on top of him and tried to take what was once hers.

It didn’t work. He barely had a semi as he resisted her, patiently at first, until she wouldn’t let it go and tried to suck his dick. He’d ended up tossing her off him, her back hitting the mattress. It was then that she realized it was really over.

Liv and I stay with Esme until she falls asleep before heading to our rooms. I told Liv I was going to crash, but when I close my door, I grab my hoodie, a blanket, and my phone and slip out through my bedroom’s sliding door. It’s been one helluva day, and I’m struggling. Not only because of the Victor and Esme situation, but because of my own. I just walked away from the man I once was certain I'd spend the rest of my life with.

I creep down the balcony stairs, hoping to go unnoticed. Esme’s passed out. Smith is probably in Liv’s room. And Victor retired for the night on the living room couch—or so I’ve been told.

“Going somewhere?” Smith scares the crap out of me. He’s leaning against the side of the house with an unlit joint dangling from his lips.

“To the beach. I’ll be back soon.” I couldn’t even make it out of the yard before getting spotted.

“It’s dark out. Are you heading there alone?” He raises his lighter to his lips and sparks his joint, taking a few puffs before offering me a hit.

“Yes. But I’m good on the weed. Thanks, though.”

He doesn’t speak, just takes another drag.

“Can you not tell anyone that I’m gone? I don’t want anyone to worry.”

Smoke curls from his lips as he exhales, creating a billowing haze in the air. “Yeah. Sure.” He coughs. “Damn, this is some good shit.”

“Where did you get that from, anyway?” I doubt he or Victor was bold enough to bring it on the plane.

“Bought it from a guy at the beach today.”

“Ah. Got it. Well, I’m going to go now. Check you later.” I’m trying not to appear antsy and come off as rude. But I do not want to see Victor right now—or anyone.

“Yep,” he says, his voice strained from sucking in a huge cloud of marijuana smoke.

Chapter Eighteen

The frigid air nips at my skin as I settle on the cold sand, wrapping my blanket tightly around my shoulders for warmth. Pulling my hoodie over my head provides little warmth against the biting wind. The beach is deserted, which I expected given the hour, and I appreciate the solitude. It’s what I needed. To be alone in my thoughts. My last conversation with Ian ended in a heated argument, leaving me no time to properly grieve what could very well be the end for us.

“What are you doing out here?” Victor’s voice warms my insides, despite the frigid air.

“Just needed to clear my head. But I’m fine. You can go back to the house.” I keep my gaze straight ahead on the vast black sea and not on Victor’s silhouette standing near me.

He does the exact opposite and sits down in the sand next to me. “You shouldn’t be out here alone. It’s not safe.”

“There’s literally no one here. And I’m not supposed to be talking to you. You’re the enemy.” But even as I say it, I know I don’t mean it.

“We don’t have to talk,” he murmurs. “I’ll just sit here with you and watch the ocean.”

“You’re really not leaving, are you?”

“Nope.” He covers his head with his hood and lies down, back flat on the sand.

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