18. Reed
When I wake the next morning, it takes me a moment to remember where I am.
And when I finally do, I immediately wish I didn’t.
I’m still on the leather sofa from last night, with Matteo stretched out beside me, and most notably, I’m still naked.
Okay there is a towel tossed over my waist, giving me some semblance of modesty, but when one part of my first ever threesome is grinning down at me widely, I still feel a little bare.
My throat is dry, and I’m so hungover that I genuinely feel like I might die, and when I push myself up into a seated position, ensuring the towel stays in place, Matteo tips his head at me in greeting.
“Good morning, mi pequeno artista,” he beams, sipping on what I can only hope is a cup of coffee. “How did you sleep?”
I open my mouth to respond when something clangs loudly behind me, and I whip around to find half the crew milling across the deck in the morning sunlight.
Some of them are cleaning, some are doing safety checks, and a couple are at the bar laying out fruit platters, as panic threatens to swallow me whole.
I’m naked, my hair is still blue, and I was sleeping that way beside two very openly queer racers.
It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to realize what we did last night.
If this got back to my father he would make my life a living hell, and not even being fucked by Wilder would be worth that.
Fuck. Wilder.
Where the fuck is he?
“Shit,” I curse, clutching the towel to me now like it’s a damn lifeline. “I need to get ready, I can’t be seen like this, people will talk.” I’m rushing the words out in a ramble, and Matteo’s smile drops off his face, his hands coming out to gently rest on my arms.
“Relax, Reed, we’re off shore, there is nobody around and everyone on board has signed an NDA,” he tells me firmly. Gone is his playful demeanor, and in its place is mild confusion, as he assesses me closely.
I know why, he’s only come to know Reed, not Prescott Lamont, and the words that just came from my mouth sound just like my father.
He is the one who cares about our family image, he is the one who wants to keep our secrets hidden, and he is the one who will come down on me if the details of last night ever see the light of day.
Dread is thick in my stomach, as the contents of last night’s alcohol intake threaten to dispel themself completely.
Matteo is still watching, still looking as if he wants to peel back the layers of my fucked-up life, and that would only be more dangerous.
He isn’t like Wilder, his family exists in the same world as mine, and even though I know I could probably trust him, I find myself not wanting to be honest with him.
“Where is Wilder?” I ask, knowing for some reason I would feel better if he were here right now, but my question only has Matteo’s smile returning.
“Who knows, he never sticks around after,” he tells me with a casual flick of his hand, still smirking.
“That’s just Wilder though, sex is like racing to him, he goes hard, fast, and then when it’s done, it’s done.
” He says it in a completely detached manner, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world, or any concern for Wilder.
“That’s why he and I get along so well, we know when we fuck that it never means anything. ”
I nod, having already come to that conclusion myself after seeing them together.
I knew they had a history of fucking, but you would never think it if you didn’t know.
Sure, Matteo flirts with him, but Matteo flirts with everyone, that’s just who he is.
They seem to have more of a friendship than anything else, probably why he wasn’t concerned with Wilder manhandling us last night.
God, last night.
I still can’t believe I did it. Not just fucking them, but all of it.
The clothes, the hair, the club, I never usually do any of it unless in trusted circles, and I know they won’t tell anyone, but I still feel a little panicked.
Anyone could have seen us, and what if they did?
How far would my father go if he knew the truth?
How much would he hurt me?
“Are you okay?” he asks, once again looking concerned, and I force myself to look out to the horizon casually, as I clear my throat and nod.
“I’m fine, just a little hungover.” I don’t meet his stare, too worried about what he would see in mine, but of course he pushes on.
“You seem nervous,” he states firmly, and I almost laugh.
Nervous? I’m on the verge of a damn panic attack, just like the ones I used to get as a young teen.
The ones I thought I had a handle on and escaped long ago, but here we are.
Not that I can tell Matteo that, he wouldn’t understand, and how could he?
He grew up in what sounds like a loving and accepting home.
“I’m fine,” I force out, making myself smile in his vague direction, as I discreetly inhale a deep breath, but still I feel him watching me.
“Was last night your first one night stand?” His question has my attention snapping to him in complete bewilderment.
Why the hell would he ask me that?
I shake my head slowly. “No, one night stands are all I have.” I don’t bother expanding on that statement by telling him it’s all I allow myself to have, but still he cocks his head to the side in wonder.
“Hmm.”
“What?”
“Nothing, you just seem a little,” he trails off as if trying to find the word before he settles on, “Preocupado.”
“I don’t know what that means,” I tell him truthfully, while also making a mental note to start learning Spanish, since he and Wilder keep using the language to communicate.
“I know,” Matteo smirks, sipping more of his coffee, still eyeing me over the rim.
I expect to feel nervous under his scrutiny, especially after last night, but it doesn’t come.
Now don’t get me wrong, last night was hot, probably the hottest night of my life, or at least on par with the first night I shared with Wilder, but it didn’t make me feel anything for Matteo.
“So me and you, we are good, yes? Still friends?” he adds, clearly sharing the same sentiment as I do.
It’s obvious from his entire demeanor that he is more than used to this, considering he does it all the time, and I smile.
“Of course we’re still friends.”
“And what about you and Wilder?”
“What about him?”
“Are you and him just friends?”
I open my mouth to tell him we are, but find myself pausing, because in fact I have made it more than clear that Wilder and I aren’t friends.
We don’t really hang out like I do with the others, and the few times we have, we have hooked up.
Does that constitute friendship? I don’t think it does, and that worries me, because we can’t be anything more.
“I don’t think we’re even that,” I joke, trying to erase some of the tension now swirling around our discussion, but Matteo doesn’t seem to be feeling it the same way I am.
“Come on, let’s go, we need to get dressed,” he replies, finishing off whatever is in his cup and rising to his feet.
“What for?” I know we didn’t make plans today, and though I know we are close enough to dock anytime we want, I was under the impression that we were staying aboard today.
“We need to pick up the two stray sluts that didn’t come home last night,” Matteo tells me, and it’s only now I remember Knox and Beckett didn’t come back to the yacht with us.
Matteo’s fingers are now flying across the screen of his phone, and I can only assume he is texting one of the guys and making arrangements, until his eyes flick back up to mine.
“Chop, chop, Reed,” he adds, hurrying me along.
“What about Wilder? Isn’t he coming?” I ask, once again looking around the deck, still feeling incredibly self-conscious, and Matteo gives me his full attention with a knowing smirk.
“I think he came enough last night, don’t you?” He winks, before his phone rings and he excuses himself to take a call, speaking Spanish to whoever is on the other end.
Shaking my head, I internally groan, gripping the towel tightly around my waist, as I head inside to get dressed, knowing a cold shower and some food will be the only thing to cure my hangover.
Once I was feeling slightly human, I came back on deck to find Matteo waiting for me, and Wilder was still nowhere to be seen.
The two of us took the speedboat back to shore, and headed into town to find the guys.
Even though I showered, my hair is still stained with a tint of blue, so I threw a cap on my head in an attempt to hide it.
I know it’s highly unlikely anyone will care, but as my father violently instilled in me, image is everything.
We picked Knox and Beck up from the apartment of the twins they spent the night with, and then all went for a much needed brunch.
Matteo ribbed them about their nighttime activities, but when they asked about his own he just replied that he doesn’t kiss and tell.
I appreciated his discretion, and the two of them seemed to sense not to ask me about my night, or about Wilder’s whereabouts.
After brunch, we wandered around and did a little shopping, and I took some shots on the way.
Some on my phone of my surroundings to post to my social media accounts, and some of the guys to update theirs.
It wasn’t long until our hangovers got the better of us though, and we all decided to head back.