Shattered a black diamon.., p.5
Shattered: A Black Diamond Novel, page 5
“Whatever. Can we just order?”
I don’t wait for a response, taking charge of this date and raising my hand to let Blondie know we’re ready. His grin widens to a full-blown smile, and he saunters over.
“Hey, there. Name’s Holden. Can I start you with something to drink?” He grins at me and winks. His smile doesn’t slip when his eyes catch Callum’s.
“Mojito,” I answer. “Extra ’jito, please.”
“Uh. Yeah. Sure. Extra ’jito,” Holden says, confusion crossing his features.
“Thanks. And whatever my friend here wants.” I sound like a jerk, and I am winning.
“Bourbon on the rocks,” Cal answers dryly.
“I’m starving, so I’d like to order, too. What would you recommend, Holden?”
“Oh. Hmm.” Holden chews on his lip, looking purposefully thoughtful before declaring that anything with the shrimp is so good.
I swear to God, he moaned as he said it.
“Okay, I’ll have the shrimp pasta, please,” I say, handing him my menu as Cal places his order.
“I’ll have the conch salad.”
Huh?
“Cock salad? What the fuck is that?!”
Holden chuckles. “You don’t really wanna know. Better off just thinking it’s cock.” Then he slips behind the bar to place our orders.
“What did you order?” I question, brows creasing in confusion, wondering what’s so funny about Cal’s dinner.
“It’s a type of sea snail. Not particularly appetizing in its natural state. Although I can’t imagine any food truly is.”
I shudder but totally respect his reasoning and decide not to think about it.
I sip my mojito and nod sagely, peering into the clear water and watching the sea creatures swim around, living their best life completely unbothered and happy.
“You enjoying yourself, doll?”
“Hmm? Oh. Yep. It’s a nice date, huh?” I ask proudly.
“Indeed,” he agrees in his velvety smooth voice, a secret smile on his lips.
After my third drink and chocolate cake for dessert, I ask for the check.
“Oh. Uh. Black Diamond’s all-inclusive, little dude,” Holden replies, “But we accept tips.”
I swing my head around to my date.
“You liar,” I accuse.
“Me? A liar?” Cal says with a patronizing laugh.
“I told you I was taking you out to dinner, and you let me believe I was going to be paying!” I huff in annoyance.
Holden slinks back to the bar, probably uncomfortable with what’s happening. Two strangers arguing over who’s going to pay for dinner at the all-inclusive resort they’re staying at. It makes no sense.
“You knew this whole time that I wouldn’t be able to pay! Is this all some kind of joke to you, Cal?” I chug the rest of my mojito before he snatches the glass from my hands.
“Enough,” he growls.
Whatever. It’s just a bunch of mint leaves and ice now.
“Earlier, you told that asshole Larry my life isn’t a joke. Yet here you are, making a joke out of me wanting to take you to dinner,” I accuse. I can’t help the hurt lacing my tone.
Holden glances at me from the bar as he pretends to wipe glasses. His eyes are sympathetic, and it only makes my mood drop more.
“I just wanted to express my appreciation for letting me have somewhere to stay today. I’ll get out of your way now if you could just do me one last favor and drive me home.”
I dig my wallet out of my tiny shorts. “I can at least tip.”
Cal slaps a hundred-dollar bill down on the table. “I’ve got it covered, doll. Cash only. Thank you for a lovely date, though. Truly.”
I put my credit card back and growl out loud, pushing away from the wooden table and storming out toward I don’t know where. I still need Cal to drive me home.
Before I even make it to the sand, someone shouts at me.
“Mr. Roman!” I spin on my heel to find the man with the shiny bald head, Greg, I think it was, running toward me with a little black circle flapping in his hand.
“I have your wristband. You can enter the villa now and get settled, Mr. Roman. Your manager called the front desk again, and I informed him you were not yet in your room and would call him later.”
“Thank you, Graham.” Cal slips him even more money, and my nostrils flare. If I would have known about this, I’d have brought cash. They better have an ATM in the lobby. And a gift shop. I need souvenirs.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Callum
“Yes. Thank you, Graham,” Jett echoes in a slightly accusatory and utterly obnoxious tone. He snatches the wristband ungratefully and stomps away.
I grit my teeth, embarrassed by this boy when I have no need to be.
He is not mine.
“Callum! Please take me home!” he shouts over his shoulder.
His rudeness again has me visualizing bending him over my lap while I spank his ill-mannered arse. And I’m worried it’ll only get worse—his bad attitude and my deviant desires.
I catch up to him just before the deck turns to sand, grabbing his elbow and forcing him to a halt.
He spins around fiercely. “What, liar? What do you want now?”
I take a deep breath, sighing at his volatility.
“It doesn’t matter who drove, who paid, or even who tipped, doll. You asked me out to dinner, and I accepted. I haven’t had anyone ask me in a long while. It’s refreshing. Pardon me if my teasing pushed you over the edge.”
“I am not over the edge!” he shouts, clearly having already fallen off. “But thank you. That does make me feel a little better. Can we go home now?”
His vulnerable tone catches me off guard. The idea of us going home together makes my stomach flutter, and I’m not sure whether I’ve ever felt that. It makes me question if the conch was off.
“Of course. After you.”
Jett slips past me and takes the steps a little too quickly in his ridiculous rubber sandals. I reach out, anticipating the catastrophe before it happens.
He doesn’t disappoint. But before he can twist his ankle and fall into the hot sand, I wrap one arm around him, snatching him up and holding him against my chest.
Oof.
The sexy little noise he makes as the air is forced out of his lungs has me imagining dirty things. My cock hardens slightly, and I know he feels it pressing into his ass.
Jett’s soft moan has my stomach twisting again, and now I know it’s not the conch.
It’s my attraction to him. He’s a temptation, and that’s dangerous because it’s also a distraction, and I can’t afford any.
“Maybe you shouldn’t wear those ridiculous flip-flops if they make you so accident-prone, hmm?” I chase away the lust with a prickly statement sure to ruffle his feathers.
Jett huffs, pulling out of my arms and spinning around, making more of a scene. “I don’t need you telling me what friggin’ shoes to wear, Cal!”
“It was just a suggestion, doll. For your own safety.”
He gives me a massive eye roll before twirling back around and strutting his flower-covered arse to the golf cart.
“I’m ready to use my new wristband and go to bed. It’s been an exhausting couple of days.”
“I’m sure it has been. From what you’ve told me, you’ve been quite busy.” I can’t seem to stop myself from pushing his buttons.
Jett side-eyes me, folding his arms across his chest and completely ignoring the snarky comment. “I hope they have nice bath bombs. I need bubbles. And wine.”
“You can call the concierge and make requests anytime. Day or night. But I’m not so sure you should be drinking in the bath when you’re this tired.” Knowing his penchant for mishaps, he’s more likely to drown.
“I’ll be fine, Cal. I’m not your responsibility. You don’t need to worry about me. This is my vacation, and I’m here to relax.”
“Do I need to remind you to call your manager once you get settled?”
“Yeah. Sure,” he mumbles, and I glance over at him. Jett’s eyes are closed, and his head rests against the seat.
I sigh, figuring I’ll need to remind him again and wondering why I’m having such thoughts in the first place. He was right a moment ago.
Jett Roman is not my responsibility.
I park the golf cart, but Jett doesn’t stir one bit, so I let him sleep. This island is the perfect place for him to slow down and relax if he’ll allow himself to. I know his type—the young actor, always go-go-go, taking any drug to stay up and focus, to learn their lines, or even to party and network. He claims the drugs were an accident, but I can’t help but wonder if there’s something else lurking under the surface, causing him to constantly lash out. A hidden pain he’s not dealing with properly. We all have them, and I get the sense that the stressors in his life are coming to a head. The pressure is building, and something will need to be done before he blows. I’m not convinced mere relaxation will be enough for him.
Dr. Otahi is an amazing therapist and a dear friend of mine. I’m sure he’s already heard about the brash young man who threw a tantrum upon arrival, refusing rehab in one of the most dramatic shows of resistance I have personally borne witness to. I can only hope Jett will warm up to the idea of speaking with him once they meet. And if not, there are plenty more ways he can get help while at Black Diamond. Although I highly doubt he’ll be open to group therapy and team-building activities. Jett doesn’t seem like a hiker, certainly not with those dreadful flip-flops.
I climb out of the golf cart, walk around, and lean in to scoop him up, bridal style. Jett stirs slightly, mumbling something incoherent before nuzzling his face into my chest and sighing contentedly.
It won’t be hard to carry his small body down the pier. I think I rather like him in my arms and under my protection.
The ocean laps at the pier as we walk toward the small row of private villas.
I slip his wristband off, holding it to the sensor until the light turns green. I walk straight toward the bedroom, setting him gently on top of the soft, down comforter where he curls into a little ball.
“I wanted a bubble bath,” Jett mumbles, half asleep.
“In the morning, doll. You’re shattered and need sleep.”
“M’kay. Thank you, Cal. For taking care of me today.”
“Mhmm,” I hum my acknowledgment, sliding his sandals off and pulling back one side of the bedding.
As I shift his body onto the sheets, effectively tucking him in, I can’t help but notice how tight and unforgiving his button-up is. I know I can’t sleep well in structured clothes. I prefer the nude or, at most, boxers.
Sighing at my own unexplainable behavior, I roll Jett onto his back and slowly unbutton his flowery purple top. My fingers graze soft, supple flesh as I part the shirt, and his belly hollows out at my touch. His eyes partially open, and the dark, half-lidded stare has me pausing.
“You looked uncomfortable in it,” I say, trying to explain myself.
“Thanks,” he rasps with a sleep-heavy voice, then pulls the comforter up to his neck and squirms under the covers for a moment. His arm sticks out, and flowery purple shorts hit the floor before he curls in on himself, mumbling, “Good night, Cal.”
His soft snores alert me that I’m still standing here, watching the boy sleep, for Christ’s sake!
I exit his villa and head toward my own, shaking my head, confused why my thoughts won’t stray far from the infuriating young man sleeping next door.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Jett
I wake to the soothing sounds of ocean waves and the peaceful melodies of tropical birds. I yawn and stretch, enjoying the ability to sleep in and wake when I want to. I never get enough hours, and I think I might actually be well-rested for once. It’s a foreign feeling.
I remember last night. I wasn’t drunk. Just tipsy and exhausted. And Callum is a gentleman, so although I’m naked in bed this morning, I know nothing untoward happened.
I grab a pair of tiny green swim trunks and head to the bathroom to change and do my business.
I know Cal said I can order food to the villa, but I need to call Briggs before he does something drastic like show up and drag me to the other side of the island. To rehab.
I grab a cold water bottle, chugging half before heading out into the blistering morning sun.
I reluctantly click Briggs’ name on my screen, finally calling my overbearing manager to let him know I’m still alive.
He doesn’t even say hello. No greeting. Straight to business like always.
“About damn time, Jett! Where the hell have you been that you couldn’t even call to let me know what’s going on?”
He only cares because I’m his meal ticket, but it’s more than I can say for my parents.
“There was a problem with my wristband.” It’s not a lie, even if that problem was caused by me. “I couldn’t get into my villa until late last night, and I just sort of passed out.”
“Passed out?” He huffs in that cynical, jaded way of his. “I’m sure you did. Was it alcohol, or did you already find drugs on the island, Jett?”
“I wasn’t drunk or on drugs, Briggs!”
“You realize you just told me the same fucking thing two days ago, don’t you?!” he yells at me, raising his voice through the phone. I hold it away from my ear and put him on speaker instead. “I am so sick of your shit, Jett. You’re wasting everyone’s time and losing money we could be making if you would have just stayed sober.”
The greedy bastard always wants more than his contracted percentage and the massive bonuses my accountant sends him for any deals he brokers. He probably makes more than I do.
“Whatever, Briggs. I won’t keep trying to explain what happened at Lotus Lounge. Yeah, I sorta fucked up. But let’s not gloss over the fact that you lied and sent me to rehab against my will!”
“You didn’t just ‘sorta fuck up,’ Jett. You lost us an entire movie trilogy. You realize that, right? The new Resilience saga is gonna be worth millions, and Zander just booked a role in all three films. Congrat-u-fucking-lations to him and his prick of a manager, Yates.”
Jesus, he’s salty and bitter and all the nasty flavors one can imagine.
I catch movement out of the corner of my eye and glance over. My eyes lock onto Cal’s stare from next door.
Shit.
He’s sitting on his deck, sipping what appears to be a cappuccino and lounging in nothing but tiny black shorts. Or maybe it’s his underwear. On the table before him is a beautiful, lush breakfast spread. I can almost smell it from over here.
My tongue gets stuck to the roof of my mouth. I’m hungry for breakfast, and I’m hungry for him. He is so friggin’ sexy with his smattering of chest hair, defined abs, and those sexy-as-ever obliques.
God, do I want an older man to show me exactly how to take his—
“Jett! Are you even listening to me?! I swear to all that is holy, you’re a fucking invalid! I’m finally starting to believe everything your mother tells me.”
I wince at his words, never taking my eyes off Cal’s.
“And I’m a hair’s breadth away from dumping you, kid. Call me when you’re ready to listen.”
The phone clicks off, and I drop my arm and my gaze, sighing in defeat. I run my hand through my dark hair, messing up the already tousled strands.
“Jett. There’s plenty of food here. Why don’t you come over.”
It’s not really a question, more of an order, and his deep voice carries on the wind, finding its way over to me.
I wave, slipping inside my bungalow and into the flip-flops I know he hates.
I’ll call Lucy and Zander later. One shitty phone conversation is enough for now. I need to gather my thoughts and fill my stomach.
I knock on Cal’s door and wait, but not for long. He answers swiftly, holding it wide. He looks even better up close. His confidence and swagger are major turn-ons. As I follow him in, I realize I feel more at home here than in my actual villa. Maybe it’s because I spent so much time here yesterday. Or maybe it’s because of the camaraderie my new neighbor has offered. I’m alone on this island, and it’s nice to have someone nearby that I feel like I can trust. Despite how he gets under my skin.
He’s a good guy. It’s obvious.
“Good morning, doll. You okay?” he asks with that addictively smooth accent, reaching out to trace his fingers along my hairline and caress my jaw.
“Yeah. Fine. My manager is a complete dick. But that’s nothing new.”
“Hmm,” is all he says, and I hate that it makes me feel insecure.
“I don’t mean to be a negative Nancy. Sorry. Good morning, neighbor. Hope you slept well.” I’ll admit the words are hollow as I follow him into his home and toward the back deck.
The breakfast spread looks even more delicious than I imagined.
“Can I order something like this too? For free?” There are plates of scrambled eggs, hash browns, bacon, and toast, along with bowls of yogurt and different toppings like granola, strawberries, and raspberries.
He chuckles. “Well, not exactly free. But yes, it is included. Whatever you want to eat or drink, any time of day.”
I sit at the table, and Cal sits across from me. The ocean breeze cuts through the thick heat permeating the air as the sun blazes down on us.
“Eggs?” he asks, holding a spoonful of creamy, cheesy eggs.
I nod, and Cal serves me amazing scrambled eggs, golden potatoes, crisp bacon, and perfectly browned toast. I crunch into a piece and moan as the rich butter coats my taste buds.
“How can toast taste so good? Doesn’t make sense,” I mumble around a mouthful, crumbs falling out.
I shove a bite of eggs and a whole piece of bacon into my mouth next.
“So friggin’ good,” I say, talking with my mouth full yet again.
“Chew with your mouth closed, please. I’m glad you’re enjoying the food, but that’s quite impolite.”
