Chapter 20
Twenty
always eat your fruit and vegetables
Dylan
I study the buffet, acting like I might choose something other than exactly what I eat every single morning. Just as I’m about
to grab the final pear in the basket, an arm reaches past me and takes it.
‘Oh!’ I can’t help but exclaim.
Fiona looks at me in alarm. ‘Sorry, did you want that?’
Yes, very much. ‘No, it’s fine. You take it.’
‘Are you sure?’
On today of all days I desperately wanted a pear actually, because I need a reminder that everything is fine and not entirely thrown off-kilter by a tall man with a wicked mouth and cheekbones that I frequently fantasise about slicing me in half, in a very uncharacteristically horny way.
And I just really love pears. ‘Absolutely. It’s all yours.’
The customer-service smile I send her way must seem genuine, because she sends one back to me immediately. Glad I still have
that, at least.
Max tried talking to me when we crossed paths in the cabin after our moment in the sea, but after a few one-word responses, he seemed to get the message.
God, I wasn’t thinking straight. Not during the kiss, and definitely not after. Not when I got in the shower and my hand drifted
between my legs, my brain still stuck on the scratch of his scruff against my jaw, on his teeth tugging my bottom lip, on
his fingers gripping the side of my neck.
A buzz from my phone jolts me back to the present and I loosen my fingers from the spoon I’ve been gripping. And of course,
it’s the man of the hour’s sister, sending me a photo of the limited-edition vinyl I was eyeing up a few weeks ago.
Ava: sold out SO fast
Ava: but luckily I am a professional and managed to get two
Ava: soooo surprise, I got you one too
Dylan: WHAT, thank you so much!
Dylan: How much do I owe you?
My quota for spending money on non-essentials is already at its peak right now, after buying stuff for this trip, but Ava
went to the effort of buying it for me, so I’ll find a way to make it work, like I always do.
Ava: consider it payment for spending 6 weeks with my brother
My stomach drops. Her brother who I kissed this morning, in what may have been the hottest moment of my generally very tepid life. The brother who I’ve been regularly having
dreams and thoughts and feelings about that I absolutely should not.
Guilt pricks at my insides. Ava’s always been good to me. Our friendship feels stable, but is it? Would it disintegrate at the slightest pressure? Pressure such as, I don’t know, getting with her brother
after she explicitly warned me to stay away?
I won’t slip up again. I need to get my head on straight and pretend this morning didn’t happen.
And yet, my cheeks blaze when I look up to find Max making a beeline for me. Messy hair, dark-green flannel open over a rumpled
white T-shirt, a shadow across his jaw. Tired looks good on him. And as usual, he strides through the world like he’s certain
it’ll move for him. I could practise every day and I’d never be able to take a single step as surely as he does.
He’s looking at me like he wants to talk, and I would really rather not. Because for him, kissing someone the way he kissed
me isn’t the precursor to a relationship. It’s not the first of many kisses in a pre-planned order of events; one that culminates
in a grey-haired couple sitting in matching rocking chairs on a weather-worn wooden porch. For him, it’s the beginning of
the end. For him, today is just another Friday.
He sets his breakfast on the table, a cup of coffee balanced on the side of his plate, and pulls out the chair opposite without
asking if it’s free. ‘Are you done giving me the silent treatment?’
‘It was the quiet treatment,’ I manage. At the raise of his eyebrows I say, ‘Yes. I’m done.’
‘Good. Why did you give me the quiet treatment after what happened earlier?’
‘Nothing happened earlier.’
‘Sure,’ he says flatly. ‘Well, I have a peace offering.’ With that, he places a pear next to my half-finished bowl.
The sight of it very nearly brings a tear to my eye. ‘That’s a pear.’
‘Shit, really? Peace offering, pears offering; I always get them mixed up.’ He surveys me over the lip of his mug and whispers,
‘Dyslexic.’
‘Where’d you get it?’
‘Dyslexia? The womb, probably.’ I clench my jaw and he sets his coffee on the table with a theatrical sigh. ‘Oh, you meant
the pear. I got it from Fiona.’
‘What?’
‘I was a few people behind you in the queue and saw your little exchange. I can be very charming when I want to be. She gave
it up with no issues.’
I grab the pear and push my chair back. ‘It’s fine, she can have it.’
‘She said she doesn’t even like pears that much.’
‘I don’t want one today.’ I do. But Fiona should have the fruit. She wanted it.
As I get to my feet, Max leans over the table and holds my wrist. ‘Stop being annoying.’
I squirm out of his grip and mutter, ‘I’m being nice.’
‘And that’s annoying.’ He waits for me to sit back down, amusement in his eyes. ‘Just take the fucking pear.’
I drop into my chair, grumbling, ‘This is a terrible apology.’
‘Probably because it’s not an apology.’ He watches me bite into the pear with a satisfied nod and continues, ‘An apology would
imply that I’m sorry, and I can’t honestly say that I am.’
I remember how it felt to have my legs wrapped around him, to have his wet hair under my fingers. I push it all aside. ‘It
doesn’t matter if you mean it. You’re supposed to lie, like everyone else does.’
‘But why?’ He props his chin on his hand. ‘Why would I make it seem like I didn’t enjoy it? More to the point, why are you pretending you didn’t enjoy it?’
‘I didn’t.’
He lets out a disbelieving laugh. ‘If I close my eyes, I can still feel you grinding against me. I’m decently certain you
did.’
’Keep your voice down,’ I hiss, neck nearly snapping as I check no one’s listening. ‘I wasn’t grinding. I was getting comfortable, and you were . . . there.’
‘What can I say? I’m a very accommodating man.’
I slide down in my chair as the embarrassment takes over. ‘We need to pretend it didn’t happen.’
‘I don’t know if I can do that,’ he says, his voice quiet.
Until today, his flirting has always felt passive, like something he does without thinking.
But now, with the full force of his attention, and intent sharpening his gaze, I realise with a jolt he’s been offering up only a fraction of what he’s capable of.
‘Because now I know how you sound when you want something. And that’s not going to be easy for me to forget. ’
‘Well, figure it out. You kissed me, and I accidentally reciprocated.’
‘You know you can’t will yourself to stop feeling like this, right?’
Maybe not, but I’m inclined to try. I dab my mouth with a napkin before speaking. ‘It was a mistake. For the sake of our living
situation, I need you to stay away from me.’
‘Gonna make another contract?’
‘You can’t touch me. You can’t flirt.’ He’s smirking like this is all some hilarious joke, but it’s not, because he doesn’t
understand that he is unmanageable, and this is the barest semblance of control I can muster. ‘I don’t want you to even think about me.’
‘Got it.’
‘Turn your eyes off, too.’
‘Turn them off?’ When he meets my gaze, I swear he’s increased the voltage. It’s like strobe lights at a nightclub, disorienting
and hypnotising at the same time. ‘What if we’re in danger and the only way to communicate is by giving each other The Eyes?’
‘Then I’ll die.’ He laughs, and I try to ignore the rush of dopamine it provides. ‘Have I made myself clear?’
‘Don’t worry.’ An eyebrow raises in tandem with the corner of his mouth. ‘You’ve never been more transparent.’
He leans closer and says, ‘I know you said the other day that you’d kayak with me today, but I wouldn’t be offended if you
went with Jude instead.’ He nods over my shoulder, and I turn to see Jude collecting her breakfast from the buffet.
‘Bold of you to think I worry about offending you.’
‘You worry about offending everyone.’
‘Not you, though.’
‘I mean this so sincerely, Tiny,’ he puts a hand to his chest and bows his head, ‘it’s an honour.’
My only job now is to pretend as hard as I can that my blood doesn’t buzz when he’s too close. Which is difficult when I can still feel the burn of his stubble on my cheeks.
‘I think I will go with Jude, actually. At least I know she’s capable of keeping her hands to herself.’ Under his stare, I
feel a little too aware of myself, a little too perceived. It’s like being forced to look in a mirror while stripped entirely
bare. ‘I told you, stop looking at me.’
‘Sorry. Just wanted to do it one more time.’ He runs a hand through his hair and adds in a low voice, ‘But when you’re ready
to be looked at again, in whatever way, just say the word.’
‘Hello again,’ Jude says, dropping into the seat next to me as if out of nowhere.
‘Good morning!’ I say, a little too brightly.
Jude flinches and Max snorts, and she asks, ‘How long did you two spend in the water in the end?’
‘Too long,’ I reply, while Max says, ‘Not long enough.’
‘Maybe the pair of you could skinny-dip next time,’ Jude suggests, and my face goes hot at the thought. ‘I’m kidding. Sort
of.’
Visions of Max in even less clothing than today sear across my brain, and I have to take a sip of coffee to distract myself.
‘I’ll be honest, freezing water humbles my penis in ways that only Dylan’s constant rejection can rival,’ he says solemnly,
then glances my way. ‘I promise, there’s more down there than you think.’
‘Luckily, I’ll never have to find out.’
‘You wound me, Tiny.’
Jude grins at me. ‘I love watching this. Please never stop rejecting him.’
‘I don’t intend to.’
Her eyes flick to Max. ‘How does that make you feel, Maxton?’
‘Oh, I’m fine with it.’ He shoves his sleeves up his arms, exposing those silly, pointless tattoos that I want to analyse
with my eyes and my fingertips and, if I’m being honest, my tongue. ‘I’ve ceded control. Everything is entirely in Dylan’s
hands.’