“Good girl?” I squeak. “I’m not a golden retriever.”
“Figure of speech.”
I take another gulp of water just so I don’t have to meet those intense blue eyes. The thing is, Iama good girl. Always have been. The teacher’s pet, the rule-follower. Suddenly I want him to keep saying it.
“Fee must still be out,” I babble. “She had a date too.”
His brow arches. “So you’re both working through Skye’s bachelors?”
“Why shouldn’t we? You’re hardly one to lecture about restraint.”
His head snaps up, eyes narrowing. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
I regret opening my enormous mouth. But the words are already out there, and suddenly I want to open this wound that’s been cutting at me for days.
“Maren,” I say quietly. “The gorgeous surf instructor.”
He goes completely still, and the silence stretches until my skin prickles with nervous energy. “How the hell do you know about that? Have the staff been gossiping?”
A lie would be easier, but the truth spills out. “I saw you.”
“Saw me where?”
Oh God. This is mortifying. “You can... see your ice bath from my bedroom window. I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t purposely watching—but one morning I accidentally saw you.”
“You saw me what?”
I grip my glass tighter. “Both of you. And then you went inside.”
For a long, brutal moment, he just stares at me.
“I wasn’t spying!” I rush to add, face burning. “I was just looking out at the view, appreciating the morning, and suddenly you were there and she was there, and you were both very... there.”
“Christ.” The word rips out of him like something physical, and he drags a hand down his face. “Didn’t realize there was a sightline into my garden. That morning wasn’t meant for an audience.” His mouth hardens. “Especially not you.”
The casual dismissal stings—especially not you—as if I’m the last person on earth he’d want witnessing his morning activities with blonde goddesses.
“Well, you’re safe from my accidental voyeurism going forward. I won’t be conducting surveillance operations from my window.”
He drags his hand through his hair until it stands in frustrated spikes, exhaling roughly. “Damn it, with you, I can’t seem to do a single thing right. If there’s a way to handle this without making everything worse, I haven’t found it yet.”
“I’m not a situation that needs handling, Patrick. I’m a person. With feelings. Inconvenient as that might be for your management style.”
All I get back is a grunt and another long pull of beer.
“Are you dating her?” I hear myself blurt.
“Who?”
“Maren.”
“No.”
One syllable, flat and final, offering nothing else about the naked ice bath porn I consumed.
“She seems nice. Beautiful. Outdoorsy.” I aim for casual observation rather than the jealous gnawing that’s been eating at me since the surfing lesson. “You two make sense together.”
“We’re not together. We fucked a few times. That’s it.” His bluntness makes me flinch. “Leave it. I’m not discussing this with you.”
