Chapter 14
Chapter fourteen
Tom
Iwake. Pass out. Wake again. Pass out again. Each time, the dull throb in my skull hits harder.
A dry scoff makes its way out of my throat. I glare at the ceiling. Roll onto my stomach, dragging the pillow over my head.
“Arrggh.”
Maybe Yosh has a crystal for this.
Yoshhhh.
The guy confuses the shit out of me. I don’t understand how I told him all my secrets. Things I buried so deep I stopped trying to dig them up myself. And yet, last night, I let it all out.
And it felt good.
And I hate that it did. Because I don’t get to feel good. Not ever.
My fingers fist the sheets. Jay is going to lose his mind when he finds out I let an outsider in.
I’m sure that wasn’t part of his plan when he decided to ship me off to the blue lagoon.
And then there’s the Emily thing.
I almost told Yosh about that too. Thank God I shut it down before we crossed that line. That door stays locked. Cemented. Bricked over. No exceptions. Maybe he pieced it together, maybe he didn’t. Doesn’t matter. That chapter is off-limits.
Still… I talked about Chris. I don’t know how he pulled that out of me. Or maybe I should stop blaming Yosh and ask myself the real question: why did I let it happen?
And why the fuck am I still thinking about it?
I groan into my pillow, shove it aside, and sit up too fast. My head explodes in white spots and little flashing stars.
I need an aspirin. And something in my stomach that isn’t regret.
I take my usual spot at the loner table, half-hidden behind a fat palm tree.
Secluded, but with a perfect vantage point.
I can see everything happening around the poolside restaurant without anyone noticing me.
Perfect. I’m not in the mood to run into anyone, so once again, I wear the blue necklace.
Scanning the area, I spot only solo tables.
A fine selection of privileged burnouts. They look wrecked behind oversized designer sunglasses, wearing those campy blue necklaces to prevent social interaction. They scroll through their phones out of boredom, chasing tiny hits of dopamine between sips of something gut-cleansingly green.
And here I am, being just like them.
Samira approaches with the lunch menu. Her fingers are free of bandages; there’s only a faint red line on her thumb now.
“Hey, Tom. How are we doing today?”
“Hanging in there, sweetheart. You?”
I nod at her hand. “We could’ve been bandage buddies, but I see you’re healing up already."
“Yes, Doctor Aoki took my stitches out right before my shift. Seems like fixing up hands is all he does nowadays.” She chuckles as she points at my hands. “What happened to you?”
I’m about to say something clever when she notices the blue necklace and steps back.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t see you’re silent today.”
“Please, I’m not that committed. But tell me, what’s for lunch?”
“Today’s special is our famous Arcadia lunch bowl; chicken, baby kale, bulgur, avocado, sweet potatoes, blueberries, and pomegranate seeds, finished with a blueberry-lemon dressing.
” She looks up, a little unsure if she got all the fancy ingredients right.
“Plus, it comes with matcha-infused coconut water.”
Ugh. I can already taste the disappointment. It's the kind of food people pretend to enjoy because it’s good for you. Joan does the same to make up for the weekends, which makes me wonder if she’s even a McKenna at all.
“You don’t serve burgers and fries here, do you?”
She bursts out laughing. “We don’t, sorry. But I promise, it tastes better than it sounds.”
“Right. Could I get a normal glass of water, please?”
“Crystal-infused mineral water. Doctor’s orders.” A knowing grin tugs at her mouth.
As Samira walks off, my gaze goes automatically to the long lunch table across the pool.
I’ve been checking it out for a couple of days now, and apparently only the fancy staff is allowed to sit there.
Office types, therapists, supervisors. They look like the satire of a pretentious networking lunch.
Yosh sits right in the center, looking like he’d rather crawl under the table and disappear.
Erin and some guy I don’t recognize talk over him.
His attention is fixed on a book thick enough to stop a door.
I keep observing him. He’s completely disconnected from the people around him; doesn’t even pretend to be social. Why isn’t he engaging? God, it’s intriguing. I want to know.
He flips a page and lifts a shiny red apple to his mouth. My focus sharpens, drawn to the way his front teeth sink into the crisp flesh, the way his lips press around it, pulling in the juice.
I swear I can hear it; the crunch of the bite, the slurp that follows. My fingers curl over the table as I shift just enough to keep my dignity intact.
Fuck.
Second boner already. This is becoming a pattern.
Not many guys manage that, and I’ve got to admit, it’s…refreshing.
Wait. Last year’s Berlin-basement trip.
I vaguely remember making out with a blond guy who thought he was Icarus, flying too close to the sun on God knows what.
Later, I ended up with some leather-strapped Viking in the bunker’s voyeur section.
My tongue had been down his throat before I realized he was already on his knees.
And then, well, a blue-haired vixen had appeared, and that felt like the more interesting direction to take at the time.
That basement was one endless fever dream of hot sweaty bodies and poor life choices.
Thinking about that orgy isn’t helping the situation in my pants. Neither is that beautiful work of art sitting at the table on the other side of the pool.
As I watch him move, I wonder what the hell this is. I’ve always felt something for men, but I’ve only ever acted on it at parties. Still, that has to count for something, right? Either way, something’s changing, and apparently that change has a name. And a fucking heavenly body.
It makes me wonder if that’s the reason I felt so comfortable spilling my guts to him last night.
I’d been a wreck, and Yosh just held me there in his arms. Strong viking arms.
Yesterday is a haze. I hadn’t thought much of it, but now the smaller details return. The way his hands moved over my back, soft, steady, grounding.
And his scent…intoxicating. Herbal, sweet, like jasmine in a perfect Japanese water garden.
The midday heat is rising, or maybe that’s just me.
Is emotional growth supposed to come with this much sexual tension?
Tom, dial it down. You can't work on yourself and hit on your therapist at the same time.
Who am I kidding? I’m Tom McKenna.
I can do both.
I look around. Sad posh resort guests, sad posh staff, sad posh food. What the eff am I still doing here? I get up and take the stairs down to the beach, heading straight for the nearby dive bar.
There’s no way I’m settling for a plate of leafy greens when a greasy, juicy burger is out there waiting for me.