7. Reid
Ican’t fucking escape her.
Nova.
I should have hopped on the ferry after this afternoon and gotten the fuck out of here, but then something pulled me right back in. Something I can’t fucking stand.
And it’s currently staring me down with a scowl.
“Ladies,” Manto greets, sliding up to the table after planting a kiss on who must be Tara’s lips. He told me all about his fiancée on the way over and while I’m not one for meaningless conversation, I like listening to people. Especially people that talk. Lets me stay quiet.
“Oh, not you, again.”
“Nova!” another woman scolds, shooting her a look while I’m forced to take the seat next to the object of my annoying, infuriating, newfound obsession. Nova disregards her, turning to me and fixing me with a scowl.
“I take it you missed me,” I drawl, taking the beer Manto hands me and taking a sip. Tastes like ass, but I drink it anyway.
“Like a toothache,” she grumbles, swallowing half a glass of what looks like chemical warfare. Her skin heats under my gaze and I don’t miss the way she licks her lips after she sets her glass back down. Unfortunately, neither does my cock. “I’m starting to think you like me more than you let on.”
Luckily, the rest of the table has dissolved back into their own conversations. It gives me time to play with my little bird without them hovering over us. From the looks of it, she’s had a few of those nasty blue drinks she’s got in front of her.
“Yeah?”
She narrows her gaze on me, probably mad at the amusement in my eyes.
“Yeah,” she snaps. “You always seem to end up where I am.”
Not by conscious choice, I think to myself, but I decide to change the subject before she can psychoanalyze me any further. The last thing someone as sweet and innocent as her needs is a peek inside my fucked-up head.
“Why are you drinking Windex, Nova?”
She rolls her eyes dramatically. “It’s not Windex. It’s blueberry beer. Made with blueberries.”
“Who would have guessed?”
“Listen,” she says, turning in her chair to face me. It’s entirely too close. I can smell her perfume wafting toward me and the thin little top she’s got on pisses me off. It’s innocent, with flowers and shit, but it’s got these straps, right over her chest that make her tits look like heaven on a silver platter. “We’ve got to come to an agreement if you’re going to be living under my roof.”
“So, I’m coming to stay with you in your ivory tower, princess?”
“Don’t call me that and no.”
I try not to think about how I can make her blush with a single glance, but it’s fucking impossible.
Shit can get addicting to a man.
“Okay, so what do you propose?” I’m only humoring her because she’s stammering and something about it is enjoyable to me. I like that I can get under her skin too much, but I also have no plans to stop.
I have at least three weeks on this hellish island. Why not have some fun?
“Who are you?” she asks suddenly, finally meeting my gaze head-on.
Either the beer is a little too strong—not likely—or that gaze almost knocked me off my seat.
I haven’t really noticed them before now. Deep blue, a touch of green like the Atlantic. Beautiful and fucking haunting at the same time.
“Reid Morrison.”
“You know what I mean,” she scoffs, voice quieter than before. No one’s paying attention to us, but it feels like all ears are trained this way, as if they’re all secretly eavesdropping. “Why are you here?”
“You mean what is a girl like me, doing in a place like this?”
“Yes,” she rolls her eyes, again.
That’s strike two of the night.
“I told you. Boat broke down. This place is the closest I could get to a shop.”
Her delicate brows furrow, like she expected me to say something else.
“Tell me,” I murmur, and she inches back from me. She’s not looking at me, again, and I find that pisses me off for some reason. I want those pretty ocean eyes to see me. “Where is your date?”
“He’s a friend,” she corrects, nodding toward the front of the room where I spot Crusty, sure as shit gearing up with a guitar and a constipated look on his face that can’t be normal. “And he’s getting ready to go on stage.”
This should be interesting.
Just as the announcer calls his name, everyone in the room cheers for him. My guess is that he does this often, judging by the way everyone quiets down when he takes the mic.
“I wrote this song for someone very special and she’s here tonight . . .”
“Oh no,” Nova grumbles.
“Oh yes,” I can’t help but chuckle, just as Crusty dissolves into the love ballad to beat all love ballads.
Romeo starts up, strumming his guitar and singing about his lost love and how beautiful she is. If I was someone who cared, which I’m not, I would say it’s a good song. If you’re into that sort of shit. And if someone named Crusty wasn’t singing it.
Nova looks absolutely mortified, like she might dissolve into a puddle on the floor and I can’t help but snicker.
Serves her right. Fucking with my head and shit.
“Boats in the harbor, fish in the sea, oh, carry my love home to me . . .”
“Not very original, is it?”
“Stop.”
I hadn’t realized I’d said it out loud, but when I peek at Nova, she’s peeking at me and she shakes her head, turning back to the stage. Still, there’s a glimmer of humor there that wasn’t there before.
“I’m guessing he doesn’t realize you’re just friends?”
No response to that question.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” I chuckle.
As soon as Crusty’s done putting everyone to sleep, the crowd erupts in cheers for the local Johnny Cash. He grins ear to ear, thanking everyone and tipping his hat like he’s at the Grand Ole Opry and not Tom’s in dusty little Port Nova.
When he makes his way across the room, guitar in hand, I can practically feel the hostility rolling off Nova.
“What did you think?” he asks, stopping in front of her.
“You sang really well,” she says, but the underlying tone of I’m going to murder you makes it lack enthusiasm.
“You did so good,” Katelyn beams and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say Katelyn is more apt to take Crusty up on his offer than Nova ever will be.
Good.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go get another drink.”
Before any of us can say anything, Nova’s up and storming to the bar without a glance back. In my head, she should have told him to stop fucking around. If she doesn’t want love songs written about her from the boy with the carrot-colored hair, maybe she should actively work to stop it.
But . . . she’s told me herself, she’s afraid of hurting his feelings.
Not me, though.
“Is she okay?” Crusty asks, looking to Katelyn, but I slide right in.
“I think it’s safe to say she’s embarrassed.”
Katelyn’s face goes beet red, but she doesn’t say anything. Crusty hangs his head for a moment and his eyes find Nova. That lovesick puppy dog look.
Jesus Christ.
“Crusty, why don’t we dance?” Katelyn interjects just as Tara and Manto arrive back to the table from God knows where.
“Uhh . . .” Crusty stammers more than a middle schooler at his first dance. “Yes, ma’am.”
They leave the table, and Manto turns to me, curious.
“What was that about?”
I just shake my head. “Be happy you missed it.”
He chuckles, wrapping his arm around Tara’s back. “We’re going to head out. Can you make sure Nova gets home safe?”
I look to where she’s sitting at the bar, frowning and toying with her cell phone.
Bad idea.
But then, as I’m about to decline, a man in a pair of fancy jeans and a too-expensive sweater slides up to the bar beside her.
“Yeah, I will.”
Manto and Tara leave and I watch the new addition to Nova’s growing line of bachelors. He’s young—probably around my age—but it’s the way he towers over her . . . I don’t like it.
She doesn’t look happy to see him and when she takes a step back, he takes a predatory step forward.
Fuck no.
I rise from my chair, making my way across the bar toward them just in time to see Nova storm off and bolt for the door.
Fucking hell.
“Nova,” I snap and she pauses, hand on the door and her eyes shining.
“I’m leaving.” Then, she turns and goes, letting the door fall shut behind her.
Guess that means I’m leaving, too.
Something tells me tonight is going to end well.