“Twenty-four. Jay’s less than a year younger.”
“Irish twins.”
“Indeed.” She paused, looking at me with a gaze I couldn’t work out. “Make my sister a really sexy cocktail. Something that woos her.”
“Your sister doesn’t need wooing.”
Lala’s laugh was deep and throaty. “She does. Trust me. And I think you’d like doing it.” She picked up her drink and held it up in a toast. “See you later, Bartender.”
I watched the crowd.Not for Jameson, although I’d be a liar if I said she wasn’t on the list I was looking out for. Marcus was higher up there, and I doubted he wouldn’t show his face at some point. Aubrey Chad Baker was on there too, although I didn’t think he’d have the stupidity to be there.
The music was lower than yesterday, the vibe more chilled. Some of the guests dived off the yacht to swim, the crew keeping an eye out. I’d poured what felt like my hundredth martini when a soft scent made me turn my head.
Jameson stood a few feet away from my bar, wearing a yellow dress that made her look like a nineteen-fifties movie star. Her blonde hair fell about her shoulders in large curls; her lips painted pillar box red.
She wasn’t looking at me. Her attention was on a couple of people the same age as her, but she didn’t look interested.
We’d fucked last night. There hadn’t been any romantic goodbye or a promise to see her again.
I didn’t do that. Repeats.
Right now, I wished I did.
I’d slept with women who were more beautiful than Jameson, had better bodies, more confidence, and never gone back for more. I hadn’t wanted to.
Now, looking at her with her beauty that was different to what I’d seen before, I wanted to rewrite my playbook. It would be worth another night, worth any awkward conversation afterwards.
I never set my rules to die by them. I knew after Leila died that, at some point, I’d meet someone else who set me on fire the way she did. I didn’t know if that person was Jameson Kearney, or someone else, but I wanted Jameson to look at me right now.
She didn’t.
I made a mojito for someone, then a margarita. Someone asked for a negroni and the lunchtime crowd turned hard. There was a sailing time of three pm, a tour round the island before we docked so people had the freedom to leave. I was on duty until then; a handful of hours to find out more about what I needed to know, both about Marcus and Jameson.
She still didn’t look my way, still fixed on her friends, but I could tell she wasn’t concentrating on what they were saying, her nods were too late, her laughter too delayed.
I waited for the bar to clear and made her a cocktail, tweaking the recipe slightly this time, making it a touch sourer, to match my mood.
I took it over to her, my skin pricking as if just by getting closer to her I was being electrocuted.
“Your drink.” I handed it to her.
She didn’t look surprised, taking it from me with the grace I’d seen her carry every time I’d met her.
“Thank you.”
I got a smile, an acknowledgement.
Then she turned back to her friends, cutting me out with more rapidity than a bulldozer.
I stepped back, my eyes still on her.
That playbook was rewritten at that point.
I would go back for more, even if it came with a contract.
Even if another night with her made everything even more complicated.
She disappeared,but I didn’t know when. I stopped watching her when more friends joined, and I didn’t want to be caught like some sad, obsessed stalker.
