So they are on a date…
I check on her every day. Well, lies—several times a day. Maybe every hour when I’m not in the office. I need to know she doesn’t go around Zion and do anything reckless. We have a deal. Mr. Ortiz now provides me with intel. And I quite enjoy getting to know him behind her back.
Yet, I don’t quite trust her. Especially with myself. I know she’s been getting social, though knowing the snobby nature of the spring-breakers, the elites won’t accept her easily, if at all. So all those nights she spends out are mostly with Marlow.
I stare at the picture, and my blood boils at the fact that they look like lovers.
Is that the reason she doesn’t try to pursue me like any normal girl who’d already be riding my dick on a regular basis?
I was busy this week and trying to get her out of my mind. So, I let her be for a week, and she and Marlow get cozy.
Fucking Marlow!
Because it’s been several weeks since I binged, the drink is hitting me in the head. But I make another one and in half an hour I want to send bolts of fury onto this island. I don’t go out anymore, but this is about to change as I snatch my phone and type.
Me: What are you doing?
Kat doesn’t respond.
Ten minutes.
Twenty.
She is ignoring me.
So I text Marlow.
Me: Are you at Tapas?
Marlow: Hey, Archer. Yeah. What’s up?
My fucking patience is what’s up.
Me: I’ll meet you outside in five. Need to talk.
And I’m on my bike, zooming to central Ayana.
Marlow is outside, smoking in the shadow of a palm tree when I park. The Gigolo is wearing a button-down shirt, his chest exposed, hair all slicked back in a man bun with one strand hanging onto his face.
A fucking date, huh?
There is no one outside. The resort is quiet on a weekday. A dozen nasty thoughts go through my mind, including the image of Kat and Marlow peacefully romancing at a fucking restaurant.
Without waiting, I stomp toward Marlow, who stares at me with amusement—granted, I haven’t been out and about for months.
But I am not amused in the least. I step into him, fisting his shirt, and slam him against the tree trunk.
“Are you fucking her?” I bark.
“Dude! What the hell?”
He tries to push me away, but I’m not having it. I hold him tightly, wanting to smash his face in as I lean over and hiss in his ear, “Are you fucking her? And don’t fucking lie, because I’ll find out anyway.”
“Fuck off, Archer!” He pushes me hard, and I stumble back, my heart pumping like mad. “What’s your problem?”
“Sheis my problem. And responsibility.”
I charge at him, but he pushes me back hard.