in my stomach bubbles, and I don’t try to fight it. It’s futile at this point.
Hearing him get ready for work this morning—the soft steps of his feet down the hall, the gravel of his voice answering a call, the clatter of his dishes in the kitchen—made me want to get up too. I fought with myself to stay in bed and not make a fool out of myself.
I escaped the night before and maintained my dignity—mostly. It was not the easiest thing I’ve ever done. Especially when I ended Nana’s call and looked up to see him standing in the doorway with that look in his eye. It was a glimmer of concern, presumably about something to do with his phone call, but also a predatory sheen. And while I was totally on board for being his prey, I knew that he needed to address work. I couldn’t be a distraction, so I took myself to the guest room like an adult and locked the door.
For his own good. And mine.
He didn’t come for me—pun sadly intended.
My phone rings in my hand, and I jump. “Hey, Sienna,” I say.
“Hey! How are you?
“I’m good. What about you?”
“I’m great. Walker is great. Family is good. Now talk to me.”
I can’t help but laugh at the mischief in her voice. A bench sits at the entry of the park, and I make my way to it.
“What do you want me to say?” I ask, playing coy.
“Oh, my gosh, Blaire. Holt. Talk to me about Holt Mason. I know you’re not this dense.”
My cheeks split into a grin. I sit on the bench and feel a warmth spread throughout my body.
As much as I don’t want to admit it—to Sienna or myself, for that matter—being able to talk about this with her is … nice. I’m not sure how much to say or what I should say or if I’ll regret it in a week when I’m back home and Holt is nothing but a memory, but it’s fun for now.
“I’m still in Savannah,” I say.
“Nana told me. I mean, I guessed as much, but she said she talked to you last night and confirmed it.”
My jaw drops. “You didn’t tell Nana about Holt, did you?”
The idea of my grandmother knowing I was sleeping with a man I just met is horrifying. My sweet little Nana would probably burst into flames.
I slink down on the bench and wince.
Sienna sighs. “I know this girl thing is new to you, but the first rule in the Girl Code is no snitching.”
“That’s also the first rule in prison.”
She scoffs. “See? That’s your problem right there. You know more about prison dynamics than you do having a friend.”
“You might be right,” I say, sitting back up. I shove that idea from my brain and focus on the task at hand. “You didn’t tell Nana, right? I need a straightforward confirmation.”
“No, Blaire, I didn’t tell your grandma that you were seeing a well-to-do, wealthy, kind man while you’re on vacation. The horror.”
“Well, thank you. That was nice of you.”
Her laugh is embedded with disbelief. “Okay. Let me guide you through this process.”
“What process?”
“The process of gossip!” She laughs. “This is the point when you tell me all the sordid details from last night. And don’t leave anything out.”
My face flushes at the idea of Holt doing sordid things to me. Lord, how I wanted him to. But my body settles down at the reminder that he didn’t do anything of the sort.
I sigh.
“Why are you so invested in this, anyway?” I return a nod to a woman and her son as they walk by. “Don’t you have better things to do?”
“You’re being serious?”
“I’m always being serious.”
“Good point.” She blows out a breath. “I … I like this side of you. I like getting to know you like this. Sure, we’ve chatted about Walker’s broodiness and Nana’s fried chicken, but that’s on a familial level. I like getting to know you like girls get to know girls. We bond over boys.”
“Huh.”
I get to my feet and mull over her words. We bond over boys. That sounds tragic. That sounds like quicksand under the foundation of a friendship.
“Surely, you’ve had one friend before,” Sienna says. “You can’t have been on this island your whole life, right?”
“I had a sleepover or two growing up.”
“Or two?”
“The girls I went to school with were …”
I struggle to find the words to describe them. I’m afraid she’ll take it personally.
The girls were obsessed with