“Yes,” she squeaked. “I am worried you might be having a quarter-life crisis or something because you haven’t... you know.”
I stopped and turned to her. “I haven’t what?”
“You know, been with a man.” She whispered the last part, her brown eyes wide.
“For your information, I have.” I couldn’t help but smirk, but at the same time, something deep within me trembled as I thought of Finn and his hands on me.
“Aranare?” Skye swallowed, and her cheeks flushed.
“Finn,” I said casually, but the word was acid in my mouth.
Skye’s hardened expression lit up at the mention of juicy gossip, and her squeal echoed across the bay. Some seagulls pecking at something on the cold cement took off into flight. She gripped my gloved hands with her dainty, manicured ones. “Tell me everything.”
“It just happened.” I shrugged. “But it won’t happen again. Ever.”
“Was it good?”
“Yes.” I exhaled the word, and despite myself, a throbbing heat blossomed between my thighs as images flashed through my mind. Finn’s unbuckled jeans, the length of him, the noise of pleasure he’d made as he slid inside me for the first time, and the need I felt rippling from him.
“That good, huh?” Skye nudged me.
We paused at the bay, where moored boats bobbed on the tide.
“I’ll go home and get some clean clothes.” Skye gestured to my hoodie, now dirty with wet grass stains from all the times she had fallen over in training.
“What about Parker?” My voice cracked.
“He won’t be there. He had to go into Campbeltown for something.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“No.” She shook her head vehemently. “Go to your lesson.”
“Skye, promise me you’ll return to my place and won’t go to his birthday party?”
“I promise.” She leaned forward and gripped my wrist, looking at me with sincerity.
A knot formed in my stomach as I watched her head in the opposite direction from me toward where Parker’s house stood on the cliff.
6
Skye
What would Ineed? Sweatpants, makeup, hair curler (totally essential), and slippers. My hands shook as I shoved the items into the leopard print designer duffle bag Parker had bought for me on one of his business trips. Probably a guilt present.
I sank onto the leather ottoman at the center of the walk-in closet we shared. Tears pricked my eyes as I stared at his suits, arranged from pale gray to midnight blue to black, meticulously ordered by my own hands.
Did I really need to leave?
My gaze drifted to the half-packed bag. If I left, I’d lose all of this and have to return to the suburbs—to the house where my mother was drinking away her beauty, spinning tales of her youth with a cigarette in hand, and my father, worn from days spent breaking roads, came home to be met with her fury.
This was only the second time Parker had hit me. He was probably just stressed from work... But then, there were the other girls. That text message hadn’t been the first red flag. There had been the lipstick smudgedon one of his collars, the lacy underwear that mysteriously ended up in his briefcase (“Just a prank from the boys at work,” he’d claimed). And, of course, the nights he spent “working late” at his place in Campbeltown.
I raised a hand to my bruised eye. It was swollen. The reminder strengthened my resolve, and I padded to the en suite bathroom to retrieve my makeup. My eyes fell upon the deluxe tub. Oh, how I loved reclining in it. What would be the harm in having one more bath before I headed to Morgana’s? Parker wouldn’t be back for a few more hours.
I let my dirty clothes fall from my body and clipped my dark hair into a messy bun. My muscles were aching from the day’s training, and I thought of Aranare as I slipped into the steamy water.
Using a sponge, I squeezed hot water over my stiff arms. Aranare’s trembling hand grazing mine flickered through my mind, and I started to ache somewhere else. Slowly, I moved the sponge lower, from my shoulder to my chest and over my navel.
