Page 119 of Relationship Goals

Triumphant, I emerge, dripping water as I plop the mesh bag and lobster toy on the top stair of the ladder, then pull myself out.

“That was amazing,” Luke says.

Just like that, my self-congratulatory high withers.

“I forgot for a minute how well you swim,” he continues. “You must have spent hours training for that show, huh?”

I scowl at him, then glance at Darren.

To my surprise, Darren’s face is one of extreme trepidation. “That’s not the right lobster,” he whispers.

“What are you talking about? That’s going to be great.” Luke frowns at him, then hands me a fluffy towel.

I give him a real smile, preening at his praise, until I remember I hate him.

“Put the lobster back,” Darren says, his dark eyes narrowed. He jerks his chin meaningfully to the bag at my side.

“This lobster?” I ask, laughing at him. I reach for the bag, and pain slices through the soft skin between my thumb and forefinger. “What the fuck?”

“Abigail,” Luke says, his voice anguished.

The pain in my hand and that tone from him only makes me madder.

“What thefuck?” I repeat.

The lobster isn’t a fake. It’s not the pool toy Darren sent me a picture of. How the hell did I manage to grab the real lobster in the tank?

“Shit, ouch, shit,” I chant. “Let go, you mean little fucker.” The ladder I’m perched on shakes, and the next second, Luke is there,crowding me in, cradling my hurt hand against his chest, his blue eyes livid.

“I warned you what would happen if she got hurt,” he snarls at Darren.

“It’s not Dar–Gerard’s fault,” I tell him, my voice sharp with pain. “Here,” I say, and it sounds a little like a whine, even to my ears. “I’ll fix it.”

I dangle my hand, and thereby the lobster, into the salt water, choking on a curse as the salt hits the open wound. The lobster grips hard, and I suck in a breath.

“Do something,” Luke growls at Darren.

“Leave him alone,” I mutter, somewhere between wanting him to really be this upset about me being hurt and wanting to kick him in the shins for pretending so well. “He’s not the one pinching me—”

No sooner have the words left my mouth than the lobster decides he’d rather be nowhere near me and scuttles off.

Red blooms around where my hand’s still in the water, and I hiss as a fresh wave of hurt hits me.

“Right,” Luke says efficiently, hauling me up and into his chest so quickly that it makes me slightly nauseous. “We’re going to the hospital.”

“I don’t need to go to the—”

“You don’t know what you need,” he says to me so coldly that it burns away any lingering feelings.

I can’t stand Luke Wolfe.

Of all the overbearing, mean, hypocritical assholes.

I glance down at my hand and immediately wish I hadn’t.

“You’re right,” I say wispily. “I think I do need to go to the hospital.”

And then, embarrassingly, I faint.

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