Page 10 of Fierce Love
I climb into my car in the parking lot and turn toward the hospital. Hollyn Davis needs to get out of my head. With my mother sick and this new TV show to produce, I have bigger things to worry about than whether my teen crush is back on the island. We knew each other for a few months, and I have to finally let the past go. I rub one hand along my face.
For the next week, I just need to avoid any places Hollyn would logically go or visit, and then she’ll be off the island again, back to the life she built when she left here. I can return to mine, content never to think of her again.
Chapter Five
Hollyn
Fourteen years ago
The Drunk Raccoon is packed with tourists, since the cruise ships start arriving in droves at the beginning of May. It’s the closest bar to where the ships dock—smack-dab in the middle of nowhere. You’d think the island would have built up some tourist things here, but it’s just us, a scooter rental place, and a tacky tourist shop for shirts, keychains, and other things you probably have five hundred of already.
We’re everyone’s first and last stop, and we just reopened for the season two weeks ago in mid-April.
“You alright?” Franny asks as she slides her round tray beside mine at the edge of the bar and then rattles off her drink orderto the bartender when he comes over, sliding some of the drinks I need onto my tray. Two more to fill, and then I’m back out in the weeds.
“They’d better tip well,” I say. “If one more guy grabs my ass, I can’t guarantee he won’t get a drink dumped on his head.” Though, I’ve always been more talk than action. Besides, the tips have to supplement my scholarship to art school next year. The art degree wasn’t my first choice, but I couldn’t turn down the full tuition offer.
“Theyarea grabby lot,” Franny agrees. “Worst ones we’ve had so far this season.”
The ship docked right now is due to leave in the morning—only the fifth cruise ship departure I’ve worked—and this one seems to have been carrying a boatload of frat boys or maybe even a bachelor party. A few have tried to talk to me, but it’s so loud I can barely hear them. Every one of them seems to believe they are irresistible, and they’re looking to lay their pipe in a foreign girl before they go home.
“Did you see who was here, though?” she asks, glancing over her shoulder into the crowd.
“Everyone?” I suggest with a laugh, not even following her gaze. The place is wall-to-wall people.
“Callahan Tucker.” She splays her hand over her chest and leans over a little, like she can’t catch her breath.
“Ugh,” I say with a grimace. “A Tucker? Please.” I roll my eyes. “I avoid anyone with that last name—which is half the island and definitely all the rich people. But any time Ihaverun into one, they’ve been shitty humans.”
“He used to come into the bakery I worked at last summer to grab the stuff they sold at the campground, and he’snota typical Tucker. His two older brothers fit the mold, but Cal doesn’t.”
“If you say so,” I say. “Anyone can pretend they’re a good person in short bursts.” My parents are excellent short-termactors. Some of the best. I’ve learned to never accept anyone at face value or first meeting.
“Order up,” the bartender says, practically in my ear after I don’t grab the tray immediately when he sets down the last two drinks.
I glare at him and slide the tray onto my palm. As I wade through the crowd, the tray balanced above my head, hands are all over me, as though I’m an object to be fondled on the way past. The soft touches I can pretend are accidental, but the ones who squeeze hard are asking for the tray to be dumped on their head. If Franny wasn’t here tonight, I’m not even sure if I’d feel safe.
After I’ve given out the drinks to the booth at the back, I check on my other tables to see if anyone else needs an order. The night continues on like that—orders, waiting, fondling, delivering, repeat.
When the last call is nearing, there’s still a few groups of people huddled around. Most of them are men, which causes a little frisson of worry to snake down my spine. Men and alcohol are rarely a good mix, and if the tips at The Drunk Raccoon weren’t legendary, I’d never have vied so hard for this job.
As I circulate, one of the frat boys loops his arm around my waist and draws me in close, his lips close to my ear. “What are you doing after this?”
“I’m going home,” I say, keeping my voice light, and I don’t try to wiggle free, even though his grip is firm and annoying. Sometimes it’s easier to play along.
“Ship doesn’t leave until dawn. Come take a tour.”
“No, thanks,” I say, throwing him a smile. “I’ve got plans.”
“Change them,” he says, a sloppy grin on his face that’s probably meant to be charming but comes across as creepy.
“Can’t. Sorry.” I twist away from him to head behind the bar to ring the bell for the last call. As theclang, clangechoes throughthe rooms of the bar, most of the people start to leave or come to order one last drink.
Ship guy and his friends are lingering, and I wonder if he told them I was up for what he proposed. Drunk guys are the worst for understanding when a “no” is firm, as though their brain can’t process the word. He starts to swagger toward the bar, and I scoot around it to the group Franny has been serving all night—the ones who look like they came from the campground.
I only hesitate for a beat before I press my hand into the lower back of the one closest to me, a touch too intimate when I don’t know him. He’s tall and lean but broad shouldered with shaggy dark brown hair under a ball cap. When he turns at my touch, his blue-green eyes are stunning—the kind you can’t stop staring at. He meets my gaze, and the air around us is charged in a way I’ve never had happen before with a stranger. Very slowly and deliberately, he leans down, his lips near my ear, the brim of his cap skimming my shoulder. But unlike the last time, a shiver of pleasure races across my skin. The difference in my reaction is so stark that I can’t help sucking in a surprised breath. He smells like fresh air and cedar blanketed by bourbon, and I’ve never smelt anything so good.
What the hell is happening to me?
