Page 8 of Troubled Water
“Honey, your friends made it my business when they screeched down my hotel room after they kicked their livingvibrators out. That’s before they held the world’s longest monologue about what bikinis they planned on wearing today.” He lifts the bottle to his lips again.
“It wasn’t me.”
“And I’d believe that because…”
“I missed the plane.” I gesture my arm out to encompass the concertgoers. “You know the plane from Houston to here so I could be here on time?”
“Oh.” He turns his back on me. Dismissing me because, why? I’m not some hapless being willing to indulge in his tantrum?
I think not.
A powerful kick of fury leaps into my veins. At least that’s what I tell myself it is. I snap, “I missed the plane. They told me it would be okay and that they would pick me up at the airport. Do you see anyone else here?”
He snickers. “I could probably give you their damn itinerary if you want it.”
At that moment, a screech can be heard as a cooler filled with water is dumped on top of the perfectly coiffed hair of some girls bouncing up and down in the pool. Seeing it happen to Naomi, I point in her direction before giggling. “I’ve got a good view right here. Thanks.”
A reluctant grin crosses his face. He holds out a behemoth hand. “Thorn.”
I take it and shake it firmly. “Bethany.”
He gives me a head to toe perusal. “So, Bethany, what caused you to miss the plane?”
I shake my head. “I can’t tell you.”
“Oh, but, darlin’, you really can. I know lots of secrets.”
Thinking of the secured compartmentalized facility I was helping my father’s crew outfit for a US government contractor for a small mint, I lean on the metal balustrade that separatesour balconies and tease my neighbor, “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”
Something deep flashes in those silver eyes. “Well, well, well. We have something in common after all.”
I hold myself perfectly still as he leans forward. When the alcohol blasts off his breath and almost knocks me off my feet, I gasp, “What’s that?”
“That’s my line.”
It turns out laughter is a good repellent from alcohol fumes. Thorn leans back and winks before saying, “You’re not as annoying as your roommates.”
“Thanks. I think?”
Magnanimously, he offers, “Pull up a chair.”
Still unable to pinpoint what makes me want to spend time with him instead of joining my friends, I accept his offer.
Two hours later,Brendan Blake is wrapping up his set, crooning away his number one song, “Broken Boots,” to the adoration of the crowd while Thorn and I proceed to get progressively more drunk. Well, at least I have. I’m not certain if Thorn’s body build causes him to process alcohol differently. Regardless, his smooth as dark chocolate voice hasn’t betrayed him a single time, whereas I hiccup every few seconds.
I’ve also told him all about me to the point he’s cracked a joke, “Mata Hari, you’re not.”
Stifling a burp, I lift my drink to tap it against his bottle. “I still haven’t told you what I do.”
He ticks off, “College student by day. Construction worker by night. I’d ask if you dance in leg warmers in a strip club, but that would check off too many of my fantasies for one woman.”
It takes me a minute, but then I whack him on his biceps for referencingFlashdance.“You think you’re cute, Thorn.”
His lips curl. “So, my mother’s told me.”
There was something about him that felt different. The way he’d been looking at me, the way his hand brushed mine as we stood close, overlooking the crush of people. It made my skin tingle with awareness. His silver, intense eyes held mine every time I opened my mouth to speak. It was like Thorn could see inside me, past every wall I’d built up.
Though I tried to act casual, my heart was racing. The more time we spent together tonight, the more I realized how much I was drawn to him. His confidence, his strength—even though it often came off as brash and overbearing—made me feel both intrigued and safe at the same time.
