Page 97 of Love Me Tomorrow

Savannah and I have been at opposite ends of a string for so long, that, now that we’re all tangled up, it’s impossible to even consider winding my way back out.

I wasn’t lying when I said this thing between us could never be just a one-night-stand.

I want tomorrow too, and the tomorrow after that, and all the hundreds of tomorrows that trail in their wake.

Voice hushed, Savannah says, “Someone created a fake Instagram profile of me. The pictures are mostly stills from the show, but the captions are disgusting, the comments even more so. Obviously, I reported the page as soon as I saw it, but I spent the entire night thinking about how not a single soul stood up to defend me in the hundreds of comments.” Her gaze lands on my face. “It made me realize that even though ERRG might not be my dream, I at least feel supported there. And, in turn, I do my best to support every one of our employees. I control the narrative. I control the vibes—and it all starts at the top, with me.”

Confusion has me asking, “What’re you getting at, Sav?”

“It means that instead of running, I’m going to take control of my image and beme. Isn’t that what you tattooed on my skin?Be as you are?They can’t take anything from me if I throw the doors wide open. Part of the thrill, I’m sure, is in exposing my secrets, but if my secrets are already out there . . .”

A slow grin makes its way onto my face. “Take what you want,” I murmur, enjoying the resolve etched into Savannah’s beautiful face.

“That’s the plan, but before I get to that”—she smiles at me, and this one isn’t the least bit sweet—“I was hoping you might be willing to let me take you first.”

Feeling my heart start to thump erratically, I cock a brow. “Are you propositioning me?”

“If you have to ask then, clearly, I’m not doing it well enough.”

“Oh, you are, but I have one stipulation.”

Her shoulders square off. “Which is?”

“I’m gonna need you a little wetter first.” Before she has any time to defend herself, I use the blade of my paddle to spray her with water.

I get her thighs, her stomach, those perfect tits of hers, before she cries, “Owen!Oh, my God. Don’t think I won’t get you back for that!”

“Nuh uh, keep that water to yourself.” With a pat to the backpack strap, I offer her a big, taunting grin. “Wouldn’t want precious Pablo here getting his fur drenched. Right, Pabs?”

Savannah’s eyes narrow. “Please don’t talk to him like y’all are besties now.”

“But we are, Rose. Absolute best friends. What? What’s that you’re trying to tell me, Pablo?” I mock-tilt my head, as though I’m hearing something. “Do itagain? Damn, you’re one ruthless cat, man. I like your style.”

And, then, I follow the furry antichrist’s orders by spraying his mom as I paddle past her. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” I tell her as I skirt by, “I’ll be waiting for your revenge when we get home. For the record, I’m hoping we’ll both be naked by then.”

I leave her there, spluttering and cursing and dripping wet, but damn it if I’m not smiling so hard that my cheeks are hurting.

This is the Savannah I adore most—stripped down, thorns showing as she figures out how to one-up me, and absolutely soaked.

I grin.

Pun absolutely intended.

29

Savannah

Instead of returning to my house, or even going to his, Owen takes us south.

Over the course of the thirty-minute drive to Barataria, it’s on the tip of my tongue to ask if we’re heading there because his canal-side home is outside of the New Orleans metro area, and therefore more secluded from possible people-watchers (aka the paparazzi), or if it’s because, well, the house feels like it belongs tous.

In the end, I decide to tack a lid on the questions and instead find ways to drive Owen crazy. Payback, ladies and gents, at its finest.

With Pablo passed out on the backseat, after his many adventures, I’m left with ample opportunity to get creative—and I start, as all beginnings should, with a bang.

I strip off my wet tank top and leave it on the gear shift.

To my delight, Owen’s knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. In a thick, guttural voice, he demands, “What are you doing?”

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