“Careful,” another adds, the platinum blonde with triple Ds, lazy and cruel. “You’re standing real close to water.”
My heart jumps before I can stop it. But I don’t give them the satisfaction of seeing it.
I turn and walk away slow, steady, like my chest ain’t been hollowed out. Like my throat ain’t tight.
I don’t look for him. I don’t scan the treeline for that tall shape, that cut, that posture that always looks like he’s ready to break someone in half.
But I feel it anyway.
He’s somewhere out there.
And he has not said a word.
I make it to the dock before my composure cracks.
The water stretches wide and blue, sun flashing off the surface. Boats idle farther out. Somewhere to my left, a prospect calls out grid coordinates like this is a spreadsheet and not a girl’s life.
I sit at the edge and let my feet dangle just above the water.
He don’t keep what he fucks.
I hate that it bothers me.
I hate that it sounds believable.
Because I know his reputation. Everyone does. Club girls rotate like seasons. Bethany never cared, not until me.
And now I don’t know if that was because I mattered.
Or because I was new.
Oaks said it himself. He planned to fuck me out of his system. Maybe it didn’t take long.
Maybe this morning is the truth.
Maybe last night was just adrenaline.
Maybe I was convenient.
That thought burns worse than the insults.
Footsteps crunch behind me.
I don’t turn around.
“You gonna jump in again?” a male voice asks lightly.
It’s one of the younger guys, a prospect named Whip. Barely out of his teens, trying too hard to look hardened. He’s probably my age.
“I’m good,” I say.
He nods and moves on.
Not him.
I shouldn’t want it to be Oaks.
But I do.
