17. Drake
CHAPTER 17
Drake
“Did you have to bribe someone to let you use their yacht rental slot?” Mimosa asks, looking out at the harbor. At night, from our current place in the ocean, it’s nothing more than an array of bright lights. Even the Ferris wheel is barely visible.
The wind whips through Mimosa’s new, gradient blue hair. It suits her. It’s colorful and creative, and it’s attention-catching.
Just like her.
“Nah.” I step in closer and wrap and arm around Mimosa’s shoulders. “They had an open slot. Apparently luxury yachts don’t get booked full all the time.”
Mimosa snorts in amusement. “Too expensive for even the ultra-rich. What’s this economy coming to.”
“I know, right?” I agree, squeezing her shoulders. “It’s a travesty.”
Out here, where there’s no one to interrupt us, it’s peaceful. There’s no place for thoughts of work or even casual cruelty. It’s just something romantic and… Well, utterly beyond my usual sphere.
It’s not that I wouldn’t mind hurting her, or that I couldn’t — the yacht crew wouldn’t step in, and I could pay them well enough for their discretion — but there’s something about seeing her relaxed that appeals to me.
Relaxed, and maybe even a little content .
I like it.
I like her .
“Irene would probably kill to be here,” Mimosa says softly. “She always daydreamed about luxury cruises. Or maybe one of her johns already took her on a trip like this.”
It’s hard to tell how Mimosa feels about that. There isn’t any vitriol in her voice, but I know she still blames her sister for…
For me.
It’s only then that I remember I promised her information on her sister, and I feel a little guilty for not having shared it sooner. She’d put up with the wax and the party for it, and even though she hadn’t technically had a choice, she’d behaved anyway.
I bite back the memory of my jealousy at the afterparty, the strange way I’d felt when other men had laid eyes on her and imagined doing the sorts of things only I’m allowed to do to her.
“She’s doing okay,” I mumble. “For what it’s worth. She’s not at the best place to work, but she can come and go.”
Mimosa lifts her head to look at me, her eyes strangely soft and vulnerable. “Really?” She catches herself and turns back to the ocean view. “Good for her, I guess. She can have fun whoring herself out.”
“I could buy her out,” I blurt out.
She tenses, then lowers her head. “I don’t know. Do whatever you want with your money.”
If there was ever a time where I wished I could read somebody’s thoughts, it would be now. I hadn’t really meant to make the offer, and if I wasn’t so selfish, I would’ve just offered to free Mimosa instead.
But I’m too fucking selfish. I won’t let her go.
I can’t .
The realization is a hard one to swallow, and I don’t like it at all.
“Sorry,” I say. “I…”
I wish I could offer to let you go , I almost say.
Mimosa lets out a long sigh, then turns around to lean against the yacht’s railing. “It’s fine. Whatever. I’m sure you have more plans for tonight than to listen to me be melancholy.”
“My plans tonight include listening to you in general,” I tell her, stepping behind her and wrapping my arms around her again. I kiss her neck, wishing I could express this mutinous series of thoughts—and that she’d welcome them. “I know you have really mixed feelings about her. And you know I couldn’t give less fucks about what happens to her. I’d rather spend my money spoiling you, but I want to give you a gift that means something.”
“Start a scholarship,” Mimosa says.
I lean away so I can look her in the eyes. “What?”
“You could fund a lot of students, right?” Mimosa waves her hand dismissively. “Never mind. It was just something I was thinking. What I would do if I had your kind of money.”
“Students of what?” I ask, unwilling to let it go. This is the first time she’s really expressed anything like this, any sort of want that I never would’ve thought of, and I find that the idea of it appeals to me. Chase donates to all sorts of charities, and he harps on me about doing the same. I guess I’ve just never really found something to be passionate enough about.
“I don’t know. Psychology? We need more mental health professionals.” She runs a hand through her newly-blue hair. “Maybe some sort of mental health charity too. There are so many people who can’t afford the help or medications they need.” Then she laughs. “I guess that’s my soapbox. Anyway.”
I take a deep breath, touching her cheek. “And that would make you happy?”
I don’t know why I care. I don’t know why I feel so vulnerable, like her approval somehow means something. It makes me want to lash out, makes me want to hurt her, and I don’t know how to handle the conflicting feelings.
Mimosa meets my gaze. “You can’t buy approval, Drake.”
I flinch, looking away from her. That’s not what I wanted to hear, and I feel heavy. Tired.
“You should do something positive with your money because it’s the right thing to do. If you don’t care about mental health issues, then find something you do care about. It shouldn’t matter whether I’m happy about this.” She squeezes my hand. “But everybody, not just me, would think you’re a nicer person if you’re willing to do something for others with no benefit to yourself. ”
“I don’t really give a fuck about what everybody thinks,” I mutter, looking down at the water instead of looking back up at her. “I don’t know why I give a fuck what you think.”
“That’s fine.” Mimosa lets go of my hand and leans against the railing again. “Your self-worth shouldn’t hang on other people’s opinions. But you also can’t expect anyone to like you if you only think about yourself.”
But I only care about myself.
Myself, and Mimosa, and I don’t understand it at all.
“Yeah.”
My mood has plummeted, and I move away from her. I need a drink.
I need something stronger than a drink, really, but I don’t have anything with me. I hadn’t planned on spending the night out.
I stalk off toward where the dinner has been set out on the deck, but I’m not hungry. I’d only ordered one bottle of champagne, trying to be fucking courteous to Mimosa, but I know there’s got to be more booze on board that I can add to my tab.
She follows me to the table and sits down. I can barely stand to look at her right now.
“I hurt your feelings,” she says flatly. “Did you want me to lie?”
“No,” I snap.
I’d wanted her to be appreciative.
Supportive , even.
I signal to the lone waiter on deck. “Rum and coke. Make it a double,” I say brusquely.
“Please,” Mimosa says to the waiter’s retreating back.
“He doesn’t need a please . He’s doing his job.” I sit down at the table, glaring at her.
Mimosa’s eyebrows—also blue—go up. “So it’s okay to be rude to him?” She smiles at me. “This is what I meant.”
“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” I demand. “What you meant by what?”
“How you treat others dictates what they think of you.” She picks up her fork and stabs her salad with it. “It isn’t a one-and-done, Drake. You have to know that. You have a lot of issues, but you aren’t completely emotionless.”
“Obviously,” I say.
If I was emotionless, I wouldn’t care so much that she’s being so stingy with her gratitude.
That’s probably what she means, I realize.
I sigh, giving a pointed, “Thank you,” to the waiter when he returns with my drink. “Did you want something other than water or champagne?” I ask Mimosa. Maybe if I try…
What? What do I really expect is going to happen? That she’ll somehow learn to like me?
“I’m good, thanks,” she answers.
The waiter goes to stand away from our table, ready to be summoned but not so close that he can eavesdrop on our conversation.
Mimosa takes a few bites of her food before she says, “I did enjoy today. It was nice to get out of the condo. And I love my new hair.”
I nod to her, then down half my drink in one go. It’s not going to have any effect on me, but hey, there’s plenty more where that came from. “I’m glad,” I say. That’s true, at least. I did want her to have a good day. “I enjoyed it too.”
“I got to experience a lot of fun new things today,” she continues. “And I got to see a different side of you.”
She’s smiling now, a real, legitimate smile that makes my heart skip a beat.
It makes the urge to drink a little less urgent, somehow, but I keep sipping on it because I’m not sure what to say to that. Finally, I tell her, “You’re the same deadpan smartass you always are.” But the words lack vitriol. It’s just part of who she is, and it’s part of what keeps drawing me to her.
“Yeah. I’ve heard that assessment before.” She keeps eating and sipping at her champagne. “Did you have fun today?”
I finish off my drink and set the glass down, but I don’t signal the waiter for more. I start to eat, buying myself another few seconds to think. “Yeah,” I say, a little surprised to find that the answer is genuine. “We’ll stay out on the yacht in the morning, then we can walk the boardwalk. Maybe go shopping or whatever it is people do out here. ”
I don’t think I’ve ever been here for anything but the casino, though, chasing that adrenaline rush that comes from the thrill of the game.
If Mimosa hadn’t been with me, I would have spent the entire day at the casino.
“Do you think they have surfing lessons?” Mimosa asks suddenly. “I’ve never done it, but it looks kind of fun. I think. Maybe I’d get scared and hate it.”
I blink at her. It’s not what I’d have expected of her, and I don’t like the idea. “Um.” I try to recover. “Do you think it’s okay to get your hair wet? Maybe we should come back for that.”
She reaches up for her hair, nodding. “Probably not. I should give it another few days. The sun and salt wouldn’t do it any favors either.” She gives me a strange look. “I thought you’d be fully into the idea.”
I shift uncomfortably, and this time, I do wave the waiter over with a lift of my glass. “I am,” I say. “I just… thought you might care about the hair and all. I mean, we could get it redone, if we needed to, though.”
But the thought of being stuck in another salon for half the day while she gets it redone any time soon is hellish, to put it lightly.
“You’re right. I do.” Mimosa keeps staring at me. “But you were very quick to find an excuse.”
The waiter comes back with a refill, and I thank him, grateful for the excuse to stall yet again.
“I don’t like surfing,” I finally admit, taking another big swallow of my rum and soda.
What I really mean is that I don’t like making an ass out of myself where people can see it. There’s nothing particularly exhilarating about other people watching me fail to do something so spectacularly.
For some reason, she giggles.
Just for a few seconds, and she’s back to her deadpan, neutral expression afterward, but I heard it. I bristle, not understanding what’s funny about my admission that I just don’t like it.
“Okay,” she says, like she hadn’t just laughed at me. “Some other time. Maybe when we come back, we can hire a very attractive surf instructor for me. ”
Jealousy blazes through me, erasing the irritation. “A woman,” I say firmly.
Her eyebrows lift. “Might not be a bad idea. I’ve never seduced a woman before, though.”
I stare at her, unsure of whether or not she’s fucking with me. Usually, I’d be all into the idea of being with two women at once, but I don’t particularly want to share Mimosa with anyone. “Well, you’re not going to start now,” I tell her.
The waiter brings the next course, a nice medium-rare steak, and my stomach rumbles from the aromas wafting off the plates. This is much, much better than the salad.
“But you like threesomes. Orgies. Gang bangs,” Mimosa says once the waiter is out of earshot again. “I remember the day you… The day we met.”
The day I bought her.
My mood threatens to darken, but I focus on cutting my meat instead of looking up at her. “Yeah. I used to like to watch,” I say, hoping the finality in my voice will keep her from asking more questions.
“Interesting,” she replies.
I wait for her to elaborate, but she starts eating, making a few appreciative sounds about how good it tastes.
Interesting .
What’s so fucking interesting ?
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I finally ask, stabbing my piece of steak but only staring at it instead of eating it. “Don’t psychoanalyze me and give me bullshit like ‘interesting.’”
“I didn’t say anything,” Mimosa points out. “You’re reading a lot into a single word.”
The corners of her mouth twitch.
“And I shouldn’t put extra stock into you saying something like, ‘fine’?” I retort. “Women don’t say things are fine unless something is wrong. So no. Tell me what’s so interesting about that, Mimi.” I take a savage bite as I stare at her.
“Nothing at all, clearly.” She takes a sip of her champagne. “What were your plans for the rest of the evening? ”
“Mimosa!” I say, agitation building in my voice as I set my fork down onto the table before grabbing my drink. I don’t understand her at all. I don’t understand how she can be so contrary one minute, then almost nice , then come back to trying to drive me utterly crazy.
“I suspected the hot tub might feature, although we’d have to veto that on account of my hair.” Mimosa glances toward the yacht’s main cabin. “I haven’t had a chance to look at the bed, but I assume it’s very nice. Hopefully firm enough that we don’t sink into it while doing something acrobatic.”
I grit my teeth, downing half of the second drink in one go. “Why are you doing this?” I demand, frustration making my voice harsh. “We were having fun, weren’t we?”
Now she meets my gaze. “Doing what? Don’t you want to have sex later?”
“I want to know what you found interesting about me not wanting to share you,” I say hotly. “Because if you want, I’m sure I can find someone to fuck you while I watch. Maybe the waiter, or another member of the crew. Maybe the whole fucking crew. Goddamn it, Mimosa. Why do you have to fuck with my head like this?”
I slam my glass down onto the table and get up.
Mimosa stands too. She doesn’t look intimidated, but then, she never does—until I’m torturing her. Maybe that’s what she wants, what she needs , to stop doing this shit to me.
“If you want to do that, I’ll do it.” She inclines her head slightly. “But you just said you don’t want me to fuck anyone else. I’ll believe you on that.”
“Which you find so interesting ,” I snarl at her. “But you won’t tell me why. What psychobabble bullshit are you just not saying? Huh? Don’t I at least deserve to know?”
I’m obsessing, and I know I’m obsessing, but the way she’d uttered that word — like I was just a bug under a microscope — has me agitated and on edge.
“Drake, you don’t want to hear my opinion,” Mimosa says calmly. “And you just said you don’t care what other people think about you. Let’s just go back to enjoying the meal, and you can plot out the terrible ways you’ll punish me after. ”
“You don’t know me half as well as you think you do, Amber ,” I snarl at her. “Or you’d realize that you are the exception to every fucking rule. I’ve been trying to get you to be honest with me, but no. No, you don’t want to be honest. You just want to bait me, and mock me, and act like you know so much more about me than you actually do. So fuck off. Go eat your dinner. You can have the main bedroom downstairs. I don’t want it.”
I don’t want you .
But that’s not the truth, is it? The truth is that I do want her, more than I can stand.
“Okay,” Mimosa answers, just as calmly as ever.
“Okay?” I ask in disbelief. “ Okay? That’s all you have to say?” I make a disgusted sound. “I should throw you off this fucking boat.” I should do something. I should hurt her… as much as she’s hurting me.
Instead, I turn on my heel and stalk off, leaving a startled-looking waiter behind me.
“Bring me a bottle of vodka,” I bark at one of the crew members nearby. “I’ll be in the guest room.”
Funny, he doesn’t look surprised.
I guess this isn’t the first time he’s seen a romantic date night go to hell.