You’re being ridiculous. First of all, because Aiden isn’t a douche. He’s Hawk’s CFO, he’s loaded, he’s hot, and he’s a really nice guy.
I just don’t see how a fling with someone is in her best interest.
Aiden’s in Boston for work all the time, so it wouldn’t necessarily be a fling. You’re just jealous I’m not trying to set you up too.
She’s half right.
I’m tempted to say something implying that Easton’s more vulnerable than she appears and this just isn’t the time for it, but it would be a lie. She seems better without Thomas, and she’s improving by the day. A fling with this douche who isn’t from LA might help her see it for herself—but it’s going to kill me to witness it.
Easton climbs into the passenger seat, shooting me an uncertain glance, which probably means my grandmother started shit with her at the grave. Jesus, I’d truly thought there was a limit to it.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
She looks at me a moment too long before she answers. “Yeah.”
Something happened. I’ll get it out of her later.
Once my grandmother climbs in, I steer us back toward the beach. Everyone’s quiet, preoccupied. Easton and my grandmother are both staring out the window unhappily. Betty’s still on TikTok, oblivious to it all.
“So, will you two be ready to head to New Orleans tomorrow?” I ask, looking in the mirror.
Betty shrugs. “What’s the rush? The activities don’t even start until Thursday.”
Yeah, I guess. But Kelsey tends to let my mom call the shots, when we need her resting up until Saturday. We’ve gotten so lucky, with the timing of her remission, but we’ve been here before. It would just take one bad fall to turn what should be an amazing day for Kelsey into everything I don’t want it to be: my mom on display, embarrassed, while my sister frets.
We drop Betty and my grandmother off at Paul’s, agreeing that I’ll pick them up after lunch the following day—New Orleans is only four hours away and with any luck, this will spare us all the regular morning stops.
At our rental, Easton goes upstairs, then returns a few minutes later in the bikini I jerked off in.
I still can’t believe I did that and at the same time, I sort of want to do it again. It’s for the best that we each have our own bathrooms here.
“Hold on,” I say, dropping the newspaper on the table. “I’ll go with you.”
“You can’t go in,” she warns. “There’s no way that wound is completely healed yet. In fact, let me look.”
I’m instantly stiffening at the idea of her unbuttoning my pants, the way she started to yesterday. I have to fight it off as best I can.
I choke. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
She rolls her eyes. “As we’ve established, you’re not well-placed to decide that.”
I wonder if she knows that her hips sway when she walks. That I can see the faint outline of her nipples beneath the bikini top.
Jesus. I really need to notice less about her. Especially right now.
I make a concerted effort to think of anything else as I unbutton my shorts and push them down, adjusting myself as I rise.
She pulls the bandage off. “It’s actually healing really nicely and it doesn’t look infected, but you still shouldn’t go in the water just to be on the safe side.”
I laugh. “If you think going in the water with a mostly healed wound is something I would consider dangerous, you clearly have no idea how much dangerous shit I do at my job every day.”
“Fine,” she says. “When you’re dying of sepsis, don’t come crying to me.”
“I’m pretty sure that if I’m dying of sepsis, the last person I’m crying to is a girl who has already promised that she won’t call nine-one-one for a kindly grandmother.”
She laughs. “Kindlyis a stretch, but I’m glad you finally believe me about that.”
Once I’ve got my swim trunks on, the two of us proceed to the beach, not bothering with flip-flops this time, our feet sinking into the powder-soft sand.
