Chapter 17
Seventeen
it’s me or the shark tooth, honey
Max
‘Hello?’ Jude waves a hand in front of my face. ‘You’re so inattentive, Maxwell.’
‘I’m sure whatever you were talking about was extremely important. Also, not my name.’ My chair creaks as I lean back; one
of the same wooden ones from the dining room. I release a sigh, flipping my cards over, and mutter, ‘I won.’
The table’s marginally too tall, so Jude’s sitting on a cushion on her chair. ‘Best two out of three,’ she says, grabbing
the cards from the table and shuffling and dealing with a finesse better suited to Vegas than a games room in the middle of
Pembrokeshire at eleven o’clock in the morning. ‘What I said was that I’m getting somewhere with Toby. We had a very interesting
conversation about the local flora and fauna on our walk back up to the cabins a few days ago.’
‘Fascinating.’ I analyse my cards and she picks up hers to do the same. ‘Are you forgetting that on that walk, you were accompanied
by an inebriated nineteen year old who kept trying to make out with you?’
‘How did you even know about that?’
‘Arun was bragging about it the next day,’ I admit, rearranging my cards into suits. ‘I think he even mentioned it on his story.’
‘Ugh, I’ll let him. Maybe it’ll help his confidence.’ She picks out three cards and lays them face down on the table. ‘Speaking
of people our loins are alight for—’
‘You really need to stop picking up the romance novels from these shelves.’
‘—I noticed Dylan getting cosy with Bertie earlier. Must be humbling that your competition is a man who wears a shark-tooth
necklace.’
‘As always,’ I place all nine of my cards down in three sets, ‘your observations are received and ignored.’
She doesn’t know there’s been a change in the wind recently. A shift in the way Dylan and I manoeuvre around the cabin, around
each other. She’s stopped trying not to touch me when she passes by. She watches me when she thinks I’m not looking. And sometimes,
I meet her gaze, and she has this look on her face I can only describe as hungry. I’m not about to ruin things by telling Jude about any of it.
We flip our first sets and I smirk when I win, which is probably why Jude continues shit-stirring about Bertie. ‘He’s really
not bad, you know,’ she says. ‘Creative. Kind, if a little . . . peculiar. Brought his awkward friend along on a trip just
to be nice. No wonder Dylan’s interested in someone with a decent personality. All your good genetics went to your height. Six feet and however many inches of ego.’
‘Really, Jude? Ego? Have you ever looked in a mirror?’
‘Frequently. It’s one of my favourite pastimes.’ I win the second and third hands, and she demands, ‘Best of five.’
‘Nope. Ask Fiona and Greg. They’ll play.’ I lower my voice to sing, ‘Mondays with the Mayweathers,’ elongating the final syllable.
Jude blinks. ‘Now what was that?’
‘They have a jingle for their weekly games night.’
‘Retirement sounds amazing,’ she says through a sigh. ‘I’m not even being sarcastic.’
‘I’m sure it’d be such a change from your current gallivanting.’
‘I don’t gallivant, I wander. I’m a flaneuse.’
‘I genuinely have no idea what you just said.’ I stand up and stretch. ‘I’m heading back to check on Dylan.’
She scoops the cards back and says, ‘Give her my love.’
For me, stepping into a whole new life is rejuvenating, but I can imagine that for someone like Dylan, who loves familiarity
and a schedule, it could be exhausting. So when she told me she was feeling a little run-down, I didn’t question it, and left
her alone in the cabin to sleep it off for a couple of hours.
Which is why, when I turn the key in the lock after a detour to Eileen in the kitchen, I’m extremely surprised to find Dylan
sitting on the sofa, very much not alone.
‘The pink tourmaline is an aphrodisiac,’ Bertie says in a gravelly voice, leaning in to drop a crystal into Dylan’s palm and
wrap his fingers around hers. The sight of it tightens my jaw.
The moment Dylan catches my eye in the doorway, she hands the crystal back to him, scuttling backwards and alerting me to
the fact she’s wearing those tiny workout shorts that haunt my every waking moment.
‘Please don’t stop on my account,’ I say, making no attempt to close the door quietly; partly because my energy is entirely
focused on calming my thoughts instead. ‘I’ll be out of your hair soon.’
‘Great.’ The crystals clink together as Bertie digs through them. ‘This one is—’
‘Anyone want tomato soup?’ I ask, looking over my shoulder as I set the tin on the counter with a clunk.
Bertie peers over the back of the sofa in my direction. ‘Is it organic?’
‘Close,’ I say, lifting the tin to show him. ‘It’s knock-off Heinz.’
‘Max,’ Dylan says, a pleading what are you doing? in her expression.
‘Dylan,’ I reply breezily, leaning against the counter and crossing my arms. ‘You made a quick recovery. Must be the fresh
coastal air.’
Guilt flashes across her face and she stumbles over her words. ‘I don’t—Bertie dropped by to show me his crystals.’
‘That’s a euphemism, right?’
Her eyes widen at the suggestion, but then she squares her shoulders and says, ‘You’ve got the wrong idea.’
I glance over at Bertie, now turning over that pink stone in his hand like he’s doing some fucked-up love spell on her. ‘I
doubt it.’
‘Don’t turn this into something it’s not,’ she says carefully. ‘Bertie dropped by and I was happy to chat–that’s all it was.
Not that it’s any of your business.’
A muscle ticks in her jaw. I should probably be ashamed of how much I enjoy what she looks like when she’s not tiptoeing around
her feelings to be palatable for other people. I want to see more of it.
‘Bertie,’ I say, without pulling my eyes from Dylan’s, ‘do you have any crystals that make people tell the truth?’
She exhales sharply. ‘Do you have any that stop people judging others by their own standards?’
Bertie clears his throat, but my and Dylan’s gazes stay locked. His voice cuts the silence. ‘I’m kind of getting negative
vibes here.’
‘So perceptive,’ I say tonelessly. ‘Are you an empath?’
‘I am, actually,’ he replies. ‘It’s one of my best qualities.’
Reading the room is evidently not, because he keeps trying to catch Dylan’s eye and shuffle closer, until eventually she offers him a small,
forced smile. After a few more loaded moments, I can’t take it any more.
‘Jesus Christ,’ I mutter. ‘Get out, Bertie.’
His voice turns to a whine. ‘But Dylan—’
‘Out.’ I head to the door and pull it open. ‘Don’t forget your rocks, bud.’
Bertie looks between us once more, collects his silk drawstring bag, and leaves. His goodbye to Dylan is cut off by my slam
of the door.
‘Anyway.’ I go to the counter, my back to Dylan. ‘What was the verdict on the soup? You want some?’
The sofa huffs as she gets up, and I feel the irritation rolling off her in waves. ‘You can’t barge in here giving orders.’
‘I just did, though.’
‘You have far too high an opinion of yourself.’
‘Have you considered the possibility that it might be warranted?’
‘I knew you’d get like this,’ she says, voice dangerously, enticingly quiet. It stokes the fire burning low in my stomach.
I turn slowly, finding her with her hands resting on the back of the sofa, watching me carefully. ‘Get like what?’
Her knuckles turn white as she clutches the cushions. ‘The second Bertie arrived, I knew that if you came back while he was
still here, you’d act like you and him are in some kind of competition with each other. He was sharing his hobby with me because
we’re friends. I’m not interested in being part of this absurd love triangle you’ve made up in your head.’
‘I’m not interested in a love triangle either. Glad that’s settled. Soup?’
‘Please stop asking me if I want soup,’ she gets out through gritted teeth, eyes blazing, mask slipped. God, I’m ravenous
for this. Come on, Dylan, show me what you’re really thinking. Be messy for me. I’d clean you up.
‘Were you or were you not feeling rough before he showed up?’
She releases an exasperated sigh. ‘No, okay? I was never feeling run-down. I just wanted to be alone for a bit. Is that allowed?’
‘So why didn’t you tell Bertie to piss off when he got here?’
‘It’s called being a good person. Showing interest in other people’s interests.’
‘It’s called ignoring your own wants. You didn’t have to let him in.’ I run a hand through my hair. ‘And don’t act like it’s always entirely selfless. You do
it because you don’t want to rock the boat, and being amenable is easier than being honest.’
Her eyes burn with indignance. ‘I am being honest.’
‘Yeah? Okay then, be honest: are you attracted to him?’ It’s a simple question, but she doesn’t answer. Instead, her eyes
hold my own, something stormy in the dilated pupils. ‘Are you attracted to him the way you’re attracted to me?’
She’s quiet for long, heavy seconds. I catch the brief indent of her teeth in her bottom lip, and she whispers, ‘You’re doing
it again. Trying to psychoanalyse me.’
‘That’s the thing, I’m not trying at all, Dylan. I’m interested in you. This you. And I see exactly what you’re doing. You show everyone around you the version of yourself that you think they want to
see. Which means that version of you that Bertie wants isn’t even real.’
She gives a mindless shake of her head, cheeks pinkening. ‘How many times . . . it’s not like that. Not everyone is like you,
Max.’
‘Not everyone, no. But he is.’
‘He’s not.’
My eyes drag from her socked feet up legs that last a mile, eventually landing back on her face. Impossibly thick eyelashes,
defined Cupid’s bow, rosy lips. ‘I don’t understand how you can’t accept that he’s into you. Why is it so hard to believe
he sees you that way?’
She gestures to the length of her body. ‘I’m, like, half a foot taller than every other woman here. I stick out like a sore
thumb. That’s the only reason anyone looks at me.’
An incredulous, breathy laugh escapes me. ‘You think people only pay you attention because you’re tall? Fuck, I don’t know how to make this any clearer.’ I close the distance between us, and she tips her chin to hold my stare,
our breaths quickening. ‘You draw attention because you’re consistently the most beautiful person in any room. That’s not
me conflating Bertie’s behaviour with my own. That’s us having the same reaction to you, because we both have eyes.’ She gives
a tiny shake of her head, and it pushes me to forge ahead, dragging a hand down my face in frustration, because how can she
not get this? ‘Jesus, he was looking at you like . . .’
I trail off, because I don’t trust myself not to blow this, but her quiet voice asks, ‘Like what, Max?’
A few moments pass. The boiler whirs, a floorboard creaks. The cabin itself is settling, preparing for this moment. Her breath
catches when I set my hands on the back of the sofa, fingers digging into the cushions on either side of her hips.
‘He was looking at you like being near you in those shorts was a severe test of his restraint,’ I say softly.
The very tips of my thumbs skim over the fabric.
She shifts, and a shock of static passes through the millimetre of our skin that touches.
‘Like he was wondering how much more time you need to think things through before you give him the green light. Because he knows it’d be so fucking good between you, Dylan.
’ I drop my voice and my head, and her hair shifts with my shaky exhale, a single strand sticking to her lips.
‘Like he was realising that it’s getting to be a problem, how often he thinks about letting you do anything you wanted to him, any way you wanted it.
’ My next words are a quiet rasp. ‘Yeah. I bet he’s lost sleep over that. ’
Her throat bobs, and our short breaths mingle between us. And when her gaze lowers to my mouth, it doesn’t move away. It lingers
there, while my frayed restraint burns to its final threads.
There’s a knock at the door, and Bertie’s muffled voice comes through the wood. ‘Can I grab my selenite? I left it on the
coffee table.’
Dylan tucks her hair behind her ears, pulling that one strand off her perfect fucking lips, and weaves out of the cage of
my arms. I move back to the kitchen counter and watch how she attempts to level her breathing before she pulls open the door.
The wind whistling through does nothing to appease the weight of the air in the room. If anything, the atmosphere in here
is even more noticeably stifling by sheer contrast.
‘Thanks, D.’ Bertie steps over the threshold and makes a beeline for whatever the fuck is on the table. ‘I need the selenite
for my afternoon aura cleanse.’
‘Actually, would it be cool if I joined you? I think my aura could use a cleanse as well.’ Dylan looks over her shoulder at
me before turning back to an eager Bertie. ‘In your cabin, if that’s all right?’ She bends down to put her shoes on and when
she stands, she doesn’t meet my eye. ‘Hope you find a fun way to spend your afternoon, Max.’
‘I think we both know how I’ll pass the time waiting for you to come back.’
Her mouth pops open in a tiny gasp that I’d miss if not for the fact my eyes are clinging to her lips. Then she grabs her
keys from the shelf and leaves the cabin, taking care to gently close the door behind her.
The latch hasn’t even clicked before I head to the bathroom for a shower so long, I might singlehandedly put the country into
a drought.