Page 19 of The Southern Thirst Trap

“It was a mistake to let you in tonight, and it was a mistake to get mixed up with you in the first place.” She’s backing away from me, her eyes narrowing. The fury of her words feels like a punch to the gut, my lungs constricting with the reality that I brought this on myself.

“You’re willing to call your child a mistake to bite back when you feel insecure about misreading what was offered?” The words are meant to cut her back, but I instantly hate myself for saying them when I catch the flicker of hurt cross her face that is quickly replaced by resolute indignation.

“How can you be such a shallow asshole?” She holds up a hand to keep me from responding to the rhetorical question. “No, I shouldn’t even ask, it’s just in your selfish nature. You didn’t give a shit about me before you saw a headline that was enticing enough clickbait to get you interested for some reason. Please, just go back to forgetting I existed. It was easier that way.”

“I can't fucking forget about you,” I say, my words coming out harsh, yet the most honest of anything I could have said tonight.

I run my hand against my stubble in irritation, frustrated that this went ass up when I had every intention of being civil. She pushes my buttons so easily. Instead of remaining in control, I slip into bad habits and strike first before anyone can get the upper hand on me. Only, this isn’t the place or the time to be acting on those well-honed skills.

“This isn't what I wanted when I came here. I had no intention of fucking up your night or fighting with you.”

She’s backed away from me as far as she can, her arms returned to the defensive position across her chest as she stares me down. “I’ve spent years getting past the blip in my timeline where you reside and I don’t owe you space or my time now.” Her voice is brittle.

The brokenness in the words tells me just how hard she’s worked to put me behind her. I should have stayed there and let her have her peace. I don't deserve to be in her present or her future after how I fucked up her past.

“Should have quit while I was ahead.” I reach for the full wine glass across the island and set it in the sink next to hers, wishing this had gone differently and I could have sipped it while talking to her like a reasonable man. I don’t wait for a reply as I cross the kitchen and see myself out as she remains frozen in place.

This is exactly why I don’t do repeats or attachments. There’s not a chance of the vacillating drama to contend with if you just steer clear of seeing the person you fucked ever again. And hell, why would you care what happens in their life after? Feeling something other than intense pleasure or sexual satisfaction is overrated. Why did I decide to follow through with the urge to contact her, to see how she had changed over the years, or if I could still fit into her life with the kid that could possibly be mine?

It. Doesn’t. Fucking. Matter.

Back to not caring, removing attachments, and continuing on with what I do best.

I slam my car and pull up Instagram, opening my DMs, and furiously scrolling through the messages from countless beautiful women. I settle on a gorgeous model in town for a shoot who messaged me this morning, and send her a casualAre you upbefore continuing my scrolling. It takes less than a minute to get a reply with an invite to a party she’s at full of heart emojis. Bingo.

I’ll fuck my way past this sudden attack of conscious and the shitty masochistic walk down memory lane I took myself on. I’ll be back to myself tomorrow and Harlowe will be firmly removed to the past where she belongs, kid or not.

eleven

Zander

Five Years Ago

“Doyouseethatreef out there? I’ll race you to it.”

I look over at Harlowe, who once again looks incredible in a cobalt blue bikini with a scoop top that lovingly holds her tits in perfect presentation for me to admire. She’s shading her eyes and judging the distance seriously. I feel a smile tugging at my lips as I consider her latest challenge. Yesterday, it was who could find the most abalone and coming face-to-face with a reef shark that she stared down and waited for it to move on while her lungs nearly gave out. The woman is fearless.

“What makes you think you can beat me in an open-water swim that’s at least two hundred meters?”

“Ten years on a swim team and a whole lot of confidence,” she replies, turning to me and dropping her hand from her gorgeous face, sun-kissed and perfect in every way. “Why, worried you’ll be beaten by a woman?”

I pull her against me. “I like your confidence. It doesn't bother me to potentially lose to you with all that swagger. But I’d like a fair wager. So what do I get if I beat you?”

“I’ll titty fuck you. It’s a lot of work for something that’s all about your pleasure instead of mine, so it’s a fitting prize.” Her answer comes without hesitation, which makes me wonder if she already had it prepared before she made her first comment about the bet.

My gaze instantly drops to her tits, pressed invitingly against my chest, and it is a wonderful visual to consider fucking her there. I push a finger down into her plush cleavage, slick with sweat and her coconut sunscreen, and imagine my cock following the same path. I’d rather do something that gets her off, but if that’s what she’s putting on the table, I won’t argue. I pull my slick finger out and nod.

“And what would you like if you win?”

She grins widely. “I want you to draw me a bath, complete with flowers, bubbles, candles, the whole nine yards. I want you to take it with me and massage my shoulders for at least ten minutes before it devolves into fucking. Because it inevitably will, but I want that guaranteed pampering and shoulder rub first.”

Fuck. That sounds like couple shit. But it also sounds like something I’d like to do now more than anything. I tilt my head, evaluating if that would be going too far, if it would break too many rules. “Deal,” I say before I can overthink it. I’ve already broken all of my rules for her. What’s one more?

Her smile is brighter than the light reflecting off the Indian Ocean around us. “Good. See you at the reef.”

And just like that, she’s racing down the beach and into the water, her long legs churning up sand and splashing through the water. I immediately pursue her and plunge into the warm ocean hot on her heels. It’s been a minute since I’ve had to swim with any sort of competition in mind, but the form is ingrained in me and I slice through the waves, letting my strokes pull me along as my strong kicks stabilize my body against the rolling waves. The saltwater burns my eyes, but I have no choice but to keep them open to see if I’m on course, and if Harlowe is anywhere close by. I see a splash ahead and realize she’s far enough out that I may not catch her. That damn Wildcat knew what she was doing and baited me. No wonder she was confident enough to challenge me and make a bet out of it. I double down anyway, putting more strength into each stroke and working to close the gap.

My max effort isn’t quite enough. Harlowe is treading water when I reach the reef, and she’s barely out of breath. “I like my baths on the hot side. Those plumeria flowers the housekeepers keep putting on our bed would be amazing in the bathwater. They smell so good,” she says when I swim up next to her.

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