Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Phoebe
T he night before remained a blur the next morning, no matter how hard I tried to bring it into focus, with only fragments of memories flashing through my mind as I stared up at the bright white ceiling of my bedroom in our apartment.
A welcomed breeze blew in from the balcony doors, but even the fresh air forgot to bring any clarity with it.
How the hell did I get back here, and at what time?
I remembered illuminous shots that tasted like diesel.
I remembered the beach bar and the dancing.
I remembered feeling free.
I remembered Henry’s intense gaze, followed by the weird conversation we’d had before I’d thrown his own words back at him and walked away, unable to look at him for a second longer and keep my anger in check.
The rest of the night became fuzzy. There’d been a handsome guy trying to get my attention—one I should have run into the arms of had it not been for my rule of no men.
He’d seemed nice. Too nice. The kind of ‘nice’ a woman loved to swim in, feeling safe, happy, and desired.
Not the kind of ‘nice’ that made you want to throw the rule book out, bend over, and let him spank you into next Tuesday.
Despite all that, we’d danced.
We’d flirted.
It had been… nice.
“What happened?” I whispered, pushing my hands through my hair and forcing myself to concentrate as an uneasy feeling tore through me.
There were flashes of Henry’s face from a distance, his eyes cast my way only for him to turn away the second I spotted him, like he didn’t care.
Bailey and Rhea checked in to see if I was okay with the handsome ‘nice’ guy whose name I couldn’t remember, and then…
I sat up in bed as another memory came to life—one of Bailey and Rhea glaring up at Henry, telling him to back off.
I’d charged over to them to ask what had been going on, only for Henry to lock himself up tightly, once again, his body rigid to the point of him looking ready to break in two with a simple push of my finger.
He hadn’t dared to look down at me, instead keeping his gaze up over my head as though I hadn’t even existed.
I’d been so angry. So fed up. So done with his shit.
Then…
Nothing.
I remembered nothing else from that moment on.
No lucidity, no blurred visions, not even a whisper of how I got home buried deep in my mind somewhere, waiting for me to dig it out.
I only knew one thing with any degree of certainty: Henry Cohen was a prized prick, and I’d just about had enough of him after only two days.
With a shove of my bedsheets, I got out of bed and marched into Bailey and Rhea’s shared bedroom, wearing nothing but my pink pyjama shorts and camisole.
Their curtains were still closed when I got there, so I yanked them open with a dramatic flair, letting the stream of sunlight pour into the room.
“What the hell, Phoebe,” Rhea grunted, throwing her arm over her eyes.
Bailey slept with a silk eye mask on every night, and she slowly raised her head and pushed the mask up off one eye, taking a slow blink in my direction before she let the mask fall back down and her head hit the pillow again. “This had better be good,” she groaned sleepily.
“Someone had better be dying, you mean,” Rhea countered.
“Someone is dying,” I said in a rush. “Me.”
They both sat upright in their beds, Rhea squinting against the harsh light, Bailey pushing her sleep mask up to rest on the top of her head before she rubbed at one eye.
“Okay, that sounded worse than I meant it to,” I said, holding up both hands as the girls stared at me in confusion.
“I’m not actually dying; I’m just dying inside over what happened last night.
I’m trying to piece this shit together, but my mind won’t work properly, and I can’t remember things after a certain point. ”
“That’s because you were wasted,” Rhea grumbled, falling back onto her bed with a thump and closing her eyes.
“How… wasted?”
Bailey sighed. “You were behaving like a regular twenty-three-year-old. You were carefree. There’s nothing wrong with that, despite what dickhead Rob drilled into your head for far too long.
It’s not illegal to enjoy yourself, you know.
You don’t always have to be ‘ladylike’”, she said, mimicking Rob’s demeaning tone on the last word.
“I know that. I do. But why do I remember Henry arguing with you two after I’d been dancing with that guy last night?”
Rhea turned on her pillow to glance at Bailey—a silent conversation passing between them.
Bailey sat up straighter, patting her hands down on her crisp, white bed sheets. “Let’s just say Cohen seemed awfully concerned about your wellbeing for someone who pretends his face doesn’t know how to smile.”
“Pretty sure there’s no pretending involved there. His looks are wasted on his personality.”
“Phoebe, you’ve heard of boys pulling the pigtails of the ones they want, right?”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
She raised her brow at me and waited.
“Seriously. I… woah.” I glanced between Bailey and Rhea, who were both looking at me now expectantly, and my heart pounded heavier in my chest. They thought Cohen liked me? I released a nervous laugh. “No. No way. Absolutely not.”
“He couldn’t stop staring at you, Bee,” Rhea said. “All night. Wherever you went, his eyes followed.”
“That’s because I irritate the shit out of him, Rhea. He literally cannot stand me.”
“Can’t stand you, or can’t stand what you do to him?”
“What the hell do I do to him?”
“Make him want something he probably thinks he can’t or shouldn’t have. It’s always one or the other with brooding guys like him.”
There came that barely-there laugh again, masking the way my stomach swirled with a modicum of excitement at the mere thought of Henry wanting me like that. It couldn’t be true. I didn’t even want it to be true, did I?
No men. No men. No men.
But then I remembered the way he’d looked at me on that beach while I danced, the way his teeth sank into his bottom lip, the intensity in his gaze.
My smile suddenly faded. “No,” I sighed. “He even said so himself: I’m the last thing he wants right now. Plus, we’ve known each other less than three days, Bailey. Three days .”
“You’re telling me you’ve never seen a guy in your life you’ve just had to have. One you haven’t been able to get over until you get under?”
“I’ve been with Rob for so long?—”
“You were with Rob. Past tense. You’re not with him now,” Rhea reminded me, and even though those feelings I had for my ex had changed completely in light of his extracurricular activities, the sting of us not being a thing anymore still, well, stung.
“I know that.” I shook my head, pushing Rob to the back of my mind only to be slapped up the side of the head with the memory of Henry’s intense gaze on my heated skin. “But you’re wrong about Cohen. I mean nothing to him.”
“You don’t have to mean anything for him to want to fuck you.” Bailey smiled. “You’re gorgeous, single, and you just so happen to be on holiday for the exact same two weeks as he is. Makes sense to me.”
“Well, it doesn’t to me.”
Bailey and Rhea looked at each other again as though there were more to this story than they were letting on, and I didn’t dare ask. This conversation hadn’t gone the way I thought it would.
“That doesn’t even matter, anyway. Regardless of what I think of all… that, none of what you’re saying explains why you guys were arguing with him. Care to explain?”
Bailey’s smile turned into a smirk. “He made the mistake of trying to tell me what to do, and it backfired. When that gorgeous guy you were dancing with let his hands fall to your peachy cheeks, Henry stepped in and decided it was time for me to break the two of you apart.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. Why get you involved?”
“Couldn’t exactly do it himself, could he? That would have been too obvious.”
When my gaze drifted between the two of them, I saw everything they weren’t saying out loud.
And I hated it.
Closing my eyes, I waved their stupid opinions and ideas away. “You’re wrong. So wrong. You’ll see. I gotta go. I’ve got to… yeah. Go.”
Before either of them had the chance to argue, I left, making my way back to my room to get ready for another day by the pool.
Only this time, I took a little longer to get ready than usual, lying to myself the whole time about who I was really making the effort for.
“Cocktail?” the barman asked with his thick accent when I approached his poolside hut.
“It’s barely ten a.m.,” I said with a smile. “What’s wrong with you?”
“You’re on vacation.” He threw his hands out to his sides. “Every hour is Happy Hour. There are no rules here.”
No rules. If only that were true. I had a very strong one in place, and I intended to stick to it.
“Thanks, but I think I should invest in a little H2O. For now, at least.”
“Rough night?” he asked as he bent down to retrieve a bottle of water from one of the fridges under the counter, never taking his eyes from mine.
“Wish I could remember.”
“That’s what holidays are for. Making memories and mistakes.” He handed me the bottle and offered a friendly wink before taking my money.
“I’ll stick to the memories. I've enough mistakes waiting back home.”
The barman’s eyes drifted to something beside me, and I didn’t even have to look in the same direction to know what and who it was.
His domineering form brought the same cloud of oppression with it as an approaching thunderstorm, shifting the atmosphere and sucking the air out of my lungs.
That intoxicating scent of his aftershave, shower gel, and sun lotion drowned my senses far too quickly.
“What mistakes are those?” Henry asked, his voice intimate enough to send an unwanted shiver across my neck and shoulders, bringing goosebumps to life that I prayed he didn’t notice.