Page 64 of Mad Girl

“Whatever,” I said. “He acts like he’s my big brother or something.”

“I don’t know. The way he looked at you wasn’t exactly…brotherly.”

My heart leapt at that, then leapt even harder when you strolled up, dripping wet, and grabbed the towel off your chair—which happened to be the chair beside mine. You sat down. “Hey.”

“Hey,” I said back.

A droplet of water rolled down your cheek, and I tracked its path, watching it slowly slide down your throat, wondering what it’d be like to chase it with my tongue. What the hell was wrong with me?

“Could we maybe have a chat later?” you asked, toweling off. “Just you and me?”

Just you and me. What a tantalizing thought that was.

Seriously, what the hell was happening to me?

“A chat about what?”

“Just—” You cast a glance over at Tinsley, casually lounging in her chair, pretending not to listen to our conversation. “Just…some things.”

“Okay.” I started to say something else, but then my dad was there, standing over me, still in his suit and tie from work.

“What are you wearing?” he demanded.

I tucked both hands between my legs, cheeks flaming hot. “It’s a one-piece. What’s the big deal?”

“It’s inappropriate. Go change.”

“I’m practically eighteen, Dad. Isn’t it time for me to choose my own bathing suits now?”

“Not if they barely cover—” He stopped. Briefly shut his eyes. Tried again. “Not if they leave that little to the imagination, Elliot.” He pointed at the house. “Go.”

Mortified, I tossed my legs over the side of the chair and strutted off without covering myself. Nic followed me, muttering “Jesus Christ” under his breath.

Michael shot me a smug look from across the pool that said, Serves you right. And if my dad hadn’t been watching, I would’ve given him the finger. Instead, I shot him a death glare.

In the hallway between our rooms, I caught Bree coming out of hers. She stopped, gaze drifting over my body, and just like Michael, she said, “Why are you wearing that?”

“I’m not anymore. My dad’s making me change.”

“What?” Bree eyed my hands as I readjusted the bottom half of the suit. Which had…ridden up…in places during my little rebellious strut back to the house.

“My dad,” I repeated. “He’s making me change.”

“Oh,” she said. “Yeah. I can see why.”

Later, you found me sitting on the beach alone, watching the sunset.“You were quiet at dinner tonight,” you said, dropping down next to me. “Are you okay?”

I shrugged, hugging my knees to my chest.

“Is this to do with the swimsuit?” you asked. “I’m sorry if he embarrassed you.”

I stared at the horizon, where the last streaks of pink and gold stretched thin, fading into the dark sea. “It feels like he’ll never let me make my own decisions—not even the small ones.” I slid my gaze over to you. “What did you want to talk about?”

“I’ll be leaving soon,” you said, voice quiet with regret. “Back to England.”

My breath caught. “Wait—like, for good?”

You drew back. “Of course not. Just until school starts back.”