My Killer Vacation(31)

Perspective.

Both good things.

Which must be why I’m standing at the window and looking down at where Myles slept last night. On the porch of the house with a gun tucked into his waistband. He’s still there now, looking at something on his phone. A notebook rests on his thigh.

On your back, Taylor. Panties off. I swear to God, I’m going to fuck you sideways.

My sex squeezes at the memory of what we almost did. It would have been wild. I would have been wild, welcoming his strength, begging him to use it on me. And he would have. I can’t help but be grateful toward Myles. For once, a man not treating me like I’m good for introducing to mom and nothing more. I was a sexual being last night. A woman.

Unfortunately, I didn’t just feel physically close to the bounty hunter. So much more went into giving him my trust. More than I realized. And when he didn’t come back last night, he left me exposed. A kite in the wind. I didn’t realize he’d have that kind of effect on me and I don’t think I should let it happen again. Not when he’s spelled out very clearly that he spits in the eye of love and tradition and everything I’m looking for.

As if he can feel my eyes wandering over the thick breadth of his shoulders, Myles tilts his head back and our gazes clash in the window. His expression heats, his mouth pressing together in a grim line. When the fluttering in my stomach begins to spread lower, I step back hastily, reaching for the hairbrush on my bed and raking it quickly through my hair. I dab on some moisturizer with SPF and apply some crushed apple lip balm before leaving the bedroom. When I get downstairs, my brother is sitting at the kitchen table in front of his plate of untouched waffles.

“You should have started without me.”

“Hey.” He ignores that, passing me the boysenberry syrup as soon as I sit down. “How are you feeling?”

We both turn to look at the first floor guest room. Glass has been swept into a corner and thick, construction grade plastic taped over the window. “Fine. Do you think I should call Lisa and explain what happened with the window? I hate to bother her about something so stressful when she’s grieving her brother.”

Jude chews on the tines of his fork. “Myles probably already called Lisa. You mentioned he’s only doing this job as a favor to her boyfriend, but he still has to keep her apprised of happenings. And a buoy through the window was most definitely a happening.”

“Yeah,” I sigh. “You’re probably right.”

We’re silent while spreading butter on our waffles and dousing them in syrup. “Speaking of the private investigator…” Jude squints an eye in my direction, lowers his voice. “When you told the police you and Myles were ‘just talking’ in the bedroom during the buoy incident, you were doing that rapid blinking thing you do when you’re lying.” His lips twist to hide a smile, fork digging into a bite of waffle. “I’m not prying. Just…you know. I’m surprised by your choice of vacation hookup. Not in a bad way. Just in a surprised way.”

My face is the color of a stop sign. “I mean, there was talking while we were in the bedroom. That wasn’t a total lie.”

Jude looks at me while he chews, amused and saying nothing.

“I, um…” I fumble with my silverware. “Well—”

“You don’t have to tell me, T.”

“I want to. It’s just that you’re usually the one telling me about your love life. It’s not usually this way around.”

He smiles around a bite. “You’re too kind to call my meaningless hookups a love life, T.”

“Have you spoken to Dante lately?” I ask before I can think better of it.

Jude stops chewing, quickly looks down at his plate. When he finally swallows, it’s like he’s ingesting a fish hook. Why on earth did I say that? How stupid of me to bring up his best friend in the same breath as his love life. Now it seems like I am lumping in one with the other and that is definitely not the case. Probably. I don’t know. “No. He’s filming, I think?” He laughs, but I can tell it’s forced. “Last week he was in Singapore. This week he’s in New York. I don’t know. I can’t keep track of him anymore. I stopped trying.”

Just let it drop.

I’m having a lot of trouble doing that lately. “He used to call on Sundays. He doesn’t do that anymore?”

Jude hesitates. “He does. I’m just…usually in the middle of something. Or he fucks up the time zones and I’m asleep.” He rolls a shoulder. “We’ll touch base eventually.”

I nod. “Good. Tell him I said hi.”

“I will.” Jude tips his head toward the porch where Myles is now pacing back and forth, speaking in a low voice into his phone. “He camped out there all night. Guarding you.”

“Guarding us,” I clarify, licking syrup off the tip of my pinkie. “And I think he’s just lying in wait so he can catch the perp if they return to the scene of the crime.”

“Are you sure about that?” I’m glad to see the characteristic amusement back on Jude’s face. Just not about this. “Dude seems kind of smitten.”

A skeptical laugh bursts out of me. “What is your definition of smitten? Because last night, I’m pretty sure he called me a spring bridezilla waiting to happen.”