98. Chapter Ninety-Seven
Chapter Ninety-Seven
Riley
Having the beach to myself isn’t the same without a beer. Xane already cleaned up our garbage since he was on watch all night, so I can’t pretend with an empty. Even the cooler is gone.
Lying down isn’t as relaxing as I hoped it would be. The sand is softer than the ground in the forest, kinda, but I end up sitting and leaning back against a tree trunk instead of lying down.
The urge to take a nap deserts me.
I’m tired, and my body is achy in weird places, but, overall, I’m too awake now to doze.
I wouldn’t say I’m raring to go, but I hope those three horny bastards are getting their asses ready to get the hell out of here.
I want a good night’s sleep in a real bed.
I might not even get out of it for days.
What would the point be, if I’m not gonna drink anymore?
I can’t pretend to lust after the waitresses if I’m sober.
That would just be creepy, and I think I’m done with that persona anyhow.
I haven’t been interested in chasing tail since that stupid teenager broke into my room.
That’s not to say I haven’t had a few female partners since then, but I didn’t go out looking for it.
Some stuff just kinda happened. Flirting that turned into more, and I was able to get in the mood enough to make sure I still could. That was a relief. Finding out my dick still works.
It wasn’t the same, and that always left me with a weird feeling.
A knot is different. It’s way more intense.
It’s more than sex, somehow.
Even when it’s with someone I’m not interested in, apparently.
My stomach churns. I probably should have brought some water with me.
I might feel sick until I eat again, and who knows when that might be.
I look over toward the jet, and I can see someone coming out through the trees.
The blonde. Wearing a dress and sneakers.
Gotta admit she’s got something.
A foxy face. Good body.
So, she’s hot. Who cares?
There are hundreds of hot women in every city.
She just seems special out here because she’s the only one around.
I try to look away, but I can’t do it.
Trick is with her, and she’s dragging him toward the water.
I get up, ready to go over there.
They stop, and I let out a relieved breath.
She lets go of his hand and takes her shoes off.
Why is she taking her shoes off?
“Don’t you dare go in that water, blondie,” I mutter under my breath.
I already warned her about this, and she’s doing it again anyway.
Ugh. Blondes are the worst. I swear to God.
I head over there are she rushes into the water.
“Hey!” I call out. “Hey, get outta there!”
She stops in the water, so she hears me, but she doesn’t turn around.
Oh, this one. She’s trouble with a capital T.
She takes something out of her purse.
I stalk over there, only hesitating for a second at the edge of the water.
She takes another step in and takes a fricking picture!
“I’ll only be a second,” she promises.
“No, you’ll get out before some bad shit happens or I’ll carry you the fuck out of the damn sea myself.” I snap back as I charge toward her.
I should have taken my time. If I had, I would have felt the vibrations under the sand before I stepped on the fucking stingray. But no, I had to go charging after blondie to make sure she didn’t get hurt.
“God fucking damn it!” I curse, as the shooting pain makes my vision blur.
I lift blondie over my shoulder.
She gasps out a breath as I get us both out of the water, dumping her unceremoniously on the sand before falling to the ground beside her, shaking.
It hurts like hell, and there’s practically nothing I can do about it.
“What’s your problem?” Trick asks, clearly pissed that I manhandled his girl.
He’s helping her up while I grit my teeth to keep from screaming.
“Trick, wait. I think something’s wrong.”
Oh, do you now, blondie? Well, no shit. Something’s very wrong and I’m in too much agony to fucking speak about it!
“His foot. I think he stood on a stingray,” she tells Trick.
Trick somehow looks even paler than he usually does.
“Shit. What do we do?”
“Stay here and get him away from the water,” she says, taking off toward the jet. “I’ll get help!”
Good luck with that. There are only five of us out here, and the only one who knows how to deal with a stingray wound is the one who’s in too much pain to talk.
First, I’m told to sober up. Now I’m dealing with this shit?
This vacation is fucking cursed.