Page 9 of Shipwrecked

“That’s why I like hanging out with you so much,” Darren continues. “You’re chilled out and sweet.”

Oh. Apparently I’m still convincing.

“Are you guys in for another round?” Charles asks, gathering the empty glasses. “All on the beautiful champion here.” He kisses Mary’s cheek.

“Sure,” Darren says. “More shots?”

At the end of the night, I slip upstairs with Mary and Charles, talking to them passionately about God knows what until I’m at my room, where I dart inside and shut the door before Darren has a chance to try to kiss me.

I throw myself onto the bed, the ceiling hurtling above me. I hold tight to the memory of Jules kissing me back.

Chapter Four

Jules

Daylight cuts through my skull as we shuffle out of the resort lobby. I feel hollowed out and seasick, and I’ve not even seen the yacht yet. My only respite is that, going off Darren’s irritated vibe, he didn’t score with Mathieu last night. I had a vivid, manic dream I was the one doing that.

“You look fresh,” Seán says, as we walk down the wooded path towards the dock.

I grunt, swaying a little with the effort of it.

“Are you still drunk?” Darren asks from behind.

I don’t dignify that with a response. Because I am.

Mathieu trots to catch up to Seán and me. “I’m not sure I’ll manage parasailing. Why did I drink so many shots?” Despite his complaint, Mathieu looks unfairly fresh.

“We’re celebrating the end of an era,” I say. “A last get-together before we’re all scattered in the wind. Drinking is required.” Mathieu’s shoulder brushes mine, and the dream of his tongue in my mouth rises like a wave: a greedy mouth on my pulse, a firm hand on the back of my neck.

“What were you talking about with the manager?” Mathieu asks. Darren squeezes in at his far side, and Mathieu moves closer to me to make room.

“The manager was saying there are free rooms tonight if we want to extend our holiday. The discount he offered was insane. I don’t want to know how much we spent at the bar last night for him to offer it.”

Mathieu smiles, dimples appearing. “Another night would be fun.” His fingers brush against my lower back, and I shiver, recalling what his hand felt like lower down. I try to remember any rumours about Mathieu playing the field, but I draw a blank.

“Let’s decide later,” Seán suggests. “Arthur is joining another group from here, and my next booking isn’t until next week, so I have plenty of time to work with. If everyone bounces back, no reason we can’t take them up on the offer. That sound alright to you guys?”

Tired grunts answer him.

At the dock, everyone shuffles onto the yacht. Cillian is organising ropes at the back. I peel away from the group, following Seán into the equipment room. Seán gives me a questioning look when he notices me on his heels.

“Cillian helped me up to my room last night?”

“He said you crashed and needed to lie down.”

“He didn’t say anything else?”

Seán’s brows creep up. “Did something else happen? And fair warning, ‘hot cousin’ ”—he makes air quotes—“just broke up with his girlfriend. He’s straight.”

“I feel like I owe him an apology?”

“He’s twelve feet in that direction.”

Seán goes to move past me. I step into his path, flushing. “Can you tell him I said I’m sorry for…a situation that may have made him uncomfortable?”

“You can tell him.”

“I really, really can’t.”