Every muscle in his body turns to stone before he catches my wrist to stop me touching the long line.
“Sorry,” I mutter, retreating. “How did you get it? It looks like—”
“It’s nothing. Go to sleep, Addie.”
Nothing?That’s not nothing, but he’s obviously not keen on sharing. I’m surprised how much that stings.
Rolling onto my side, I turn my back on him. “Don’t you think I should know in case someone asks? You’re on a yacht. You plan on wearing a tee the whole time?”
“I’m not ashamed of it,” he barks.
A long silence follows. Long enough that I start drifting off, abandoning all hope he’ll explain, but then he shifts closer to the middle of the bed and states without emotion, “Car accident. Aortic valve replacement.”
“Oh...”
“Goodnight, Addie.”
A whirlwind of questions twists and turns in my mind. Did he crash during a race? How bad was it? Was it his fault? Why is he still racing? Despite the nagging curiosity, I bite my tongue, sensing now isn’t the time to prod.
The only sound in the room is the occasional soft rustle of sheets. In the privacy of my thoughts, I picture high-speed crashes. The images drag me along on a rollercoaster ride until sleep finally comes. But even as I drift off, the unease doesn’t fully dissipate, and I realize I’mworriedabout him...
TWELVE
Colt
EXPECTATIONS HAVE A FUNNY WAYof morphing into reality’s most unsuspecting surprises. When boarding the yacht yesterday, I expected a relaxing week with a few island escapades.
A loud, eight-am knock on the door was definitely not part of the plan.
Neither was waking up with a mouthful of Addie’s hair, our bodies jumbled in a less-than-comfortable pile. It’s not cute. She’s not cuddling into my side like I see Mia do with Nico all the time when she falls asleep on the couch while they watch a movie.
No, this is... the wrong way around. My head’s under Addie’s chin, her hair a curtain over my face. It’s uncomfortable and painful thanks to her knee lodged in my junk and her elbow digging into the hollow of my neck.
She’s sprawled all over the place, half on the sheets, half off, half on me, half not, her weight dead center on my now-numb right arm. Another knock reverberates through the suite and I spit out Addie’s hair, rolling her off me.
In the process, I learn a few fun facts about my fake girlfriend. One, her wake-up routine is a symphony of grunts and mumbles. Two, the way she kicks herself free from the sheets would result in a knee to my balls had I not already moved her a safe distance away.
What is it that they say about animals? That they mirror their owners, right? It might be the other way around with Addie. Looks like she channeled her inner animal kingdom, charging at the door like a pissed-off emu, her feet stamping against the wooden floor.
“What?” I hear her snap at whoever’s at the door.
Fun fact number three: she needs to braid her hair in the evening because that nest on her pretty head will forever give me nightmares.
And four... she isnota morning person.
With more grunting and grumbling toward whoever dared to wake her, she slams the door shut, then stomps back to bed. She burrows headfirst under the sheets to end up completely covered, just a few stray locks peeking from underneath.
I wonder if she ever rescued a meerkat.
“Morning.” I lift her pillow, earning myself a kick in the shin. Seriously, what’s with all the kicking lately? “I said,morning, Addie. What gets you going? Coffee?”
“Sleep,” she huffs.
“Breakfast?”
“Sleep.”
“It’s eight in the morning, who was at the door?”
