Touch

Emily

Having Nicole and Alex at my place last night was the best thing that could have happened. I do have the best friends. They kept my mind off Liam for the most part.

I’m glad my butt-on-the-ground-after-sex episode wasn’t mentioned.

Nicole would eye me every now and then, hinting that she thought Alex should know. Alex would sometimes fix his eyes on me as if he were waiting for me to say something.

I did ask him about Amelia. I knew she wasn’t exactly his favorite person.

He had once threatened to ban her from the club when she verbally attacked every single woman that spoke to him, including Nic and me.

And I know for a fact that she’s not the type of girl that he occasionally hooks up with.

“Yeah, that happened,” was all he said, never taking his eyes away from the TV.

I woke up before the alarm clock went off and got up after revising all my chores for the day in my head.

Basically, I’m getting paid to be the third wheel for a couple while I talk about my boss’s business to them... Isn’t that fun?

I chose to leave my hair down, despite knowing it might get windy on the yacht.

I have a love-hate relationship with my curls. I have come to accept that they won’t get any prettier, and there’s no way I can tame them, so why bother spending an absurd amount of time trying to hide what they are naturally?

I wore an appropriate dark blue skirt, a loose white T-shirt, and flats.

If there’s one thing I love about my job, it’s the fact that my boss doesn’t care about how I dress as long as it’s not promiscuous-looking and the job is well done—his words, not mine.

I decided to take Mr. Torres’s black Chevrolet Silverado HD myself. I usually do that when I take a couple on the tour unless they specifically ask for the limousine.

In that case, I have to ask Elliott to come along because I’m not driving that thing.

As soon as I get to the Pascoal Villa, I am greeted by Anne, the housekeeper. Anne is the sweetest, most hardworking sixty-year-old you will ever meet.

She gives me a kiss on the cheek and tells me the guests are about to leave the house.

“How unexpected! Mr. Torres should surprise us ladies like this more often, right?” she says playfully.

I don’t quite understand what she’s talking about, but I imagine it’s one of her lively comments about the tenants that I will only get after meeting them.

I hear the front door open, and my jaw drops to the floor when a fresh-looking young man is walking toward the car. His hazel eyes meet mine, and that smile wipes away any doubt I might have had about who he is.

“Fuck,” I whisper-yell.

“Quite a feast for the eyes, isn’t it, Emily?” Anne says with her hand on my arm.

My mind is boiling with questions. He’s Mr. Harding? Where’s his wife? Was she at the club last Friday? Did I ignore her? Does he recognize me?

“How I wish I were your age again!” Anne fakes a cry as she heads to the house.

I’m panicking right now and hoping Ryan doesn’t recognize me. Feeling quite uncomfortable, I can only look at his feet, which are moving in my direction.

Then I see another pair of yachting shoes. What? My eyes move up. Brown shorts. Blue T-shirt. Friendly smile. Brown eyes. ~It’s Ethan, isn’t it?~

He lightly bumps Ryan’s shoulder with his own as they’re approaching me.

Jesus Lord Almighty! They’re the couple?

“Mr. Harding?” I ask Ryan, still hoping he doesn’t recognize me.

“That would be me, but you can call me Ryan.” He stretches his lips across his face, and I do my best to pretend this is not awkward at all.

I then smile at Ethan, who seems to enjoy the situation. He looks at Ryan and then back at me.

“Emily, right? We met last Friday!”

I can feel my face heating up, and I’m pretty sure I’m as red as a stop sign.

“Yes, Emily Rhodes. And you are Ethan, right?”

His nod is followed by a charming smile, and his right eyebrow goes up, giving me a look as if he’s expecting me to say something.

Shit, okay, just say what you always say when you meet with the tenants.

“I hope you are both enjoying your time so far. The Pascoal Villa is particularly romantic this time of year, and I’m sure you won’t regret your stay. Now, shall we go?”

They look at each other and burst out laughing. Ethan puts his arm around Ryan’s shoulder, and they both seem to be making fun of me.

“You think we’re a couple!” Ethan says in between laughs.

“Well, aren’t you? I was told by Mr. Torres that a young couple was staying at the villa.” My words come out uneasily.

Right now, I do want them to be a gay couple so that it doesn’t look like I haven’t got a clue when it comes to doing my job as a hostess.

“Mr. Torres gave you the correct information,” Ryan says as his expression becomes stern. “I had planned to come here with my fiancée. It turns out she’d rather fuck one of my employees. So here we are.”

His honesty and seeming straightforwardness are both surprising and heartbreaking. His words are filled with hurt and anger.

“I’m so sorry,” is all I can say.

“So am I.” Ryan gives me a fake smile and shrugs. It’s clear that he’s still suffering from a fresh wound.

Ethan, who still has his arm around Ryan, gives his friend a light punch on the chest with his other hand.

“You’re better off, dude,” he says as if that were the best comforting comment any man could hear.

As I’m about to open the passenger door for them, I hear the front door of the house slam.

And of course, the universe cannot give me a fucking break.

“This is going to be an interesting day,” Ethan smirks as he gets into the back seat of the car. Ryan follows him after softly caressing my shoulder.

“No doubt about that. Now scoot over,” he tells Ethan.

I’m just standing there, watching that panty-wetting machine walking toward me.

What. The. God. Forsaken. Fuck.

Liam.

His walk slows down, and I see his chest going up and down at an unnatural speed. It would match mine if I could actually breathe right now.

He’s so freaking well-built. I can’t even. Is there such a thing as tailored T-shirts? Is that a thing? And he’s wearing khaki shorts, which would be a turnoff, but somehow, they fit him perfectly.

He runs his hand through his already disheveled hair. Oh my god, that towel-dried hair is killing me.

“Hi,” he says slowly. His husky tone makes me melt all over, and I shiver.

I feel my scraped shoulders itching as the goosebumps travel to my back, and that reminds me of how much of an asshole he is.

His eyes roam my body from head to toe and back up till they meet my eyes. He puts his hands in his front pockets and breathes in.

“Can we talk?”

Oh, now the fucker wants to talk!

I turn my back on him and get into the car, turning the engine on.