Saint

27

Stepping into the house, I’m even more floored by the interior than the exterior. This is one of those houses people dream about and see on display on HGTV, but never think they’ll get the chance to actually walk through in real life. The high ceilings are all wood planks and exposed beams, and the back walls are mostly windows that look out over the beach and gently rolling emerald waters.

I wander through the massive foyer, marveling at how the place feels like a medieval castle, but with a modern, airy twist. Saint moves past me toward the spacious living room, and I follow him because what the fuck else am I supposed to do?

“This place is amazing,” I murmur, my eyes sweeping over the grand, marble fireplace dominating one wall of the room.

“Trust me, it’s not,” he growls, dropping down into a cream-colored chair that looks too fancy to sit in.

My brows shoot up nearly to my hairline. “What do you mean by that?”

He shrugs. He’s not looking at me, which typically means he’s doesn’t want to talk to me about something. I gingerly sit on the edge of a long sofa that matches his chair in design and fanciness.

“You’re being weird, Saint. Why’d you bring me here?”

He leans forward in his chair until his face is inches from mine. “Isn’t it obvious? I was bored and wanted my favorite girl to play with.”

I scowl at him. “I’m not your damn toy.”

“Okay, Mal.” He claims my lips with his, and before I fully comprehend what’s happening, he’s pulled me from my seat into his lap. I’m straddling him, clutching his hair as his kiss consumes me.

“Oh, Jesus Christ, Saint. What do you think you’re doing?”

I startle, tearing my lips from his and spi

“Fuck, Marybeth, can’t you see I’m busy?”

“Yes, I can see you’re busy trying to give this poor girl an STD. It’s the middle of the day when there are people around. Where’s your sense of decency?”

“Where’s your sense of wanting to keep your fucking job?” he snaps back. I’m still in his lap, trapped by his hands on my hips. This is one of the most awkward things that’s ever happened to me. I want to dig a hole, crawl into it, and die right here and now.

At last, I scramble off of his lap, despite his firm hold on me.

“I, uh, need to use the bathroom,” I mutter, my face burning with embarrassment.

He scowls, but points toward a hallway off the living room. “Three doors down.”

“Thanks. Be right back.” I shoot an apologetic smile toward Marybeth and hurry from the room, so mortified that I don’t even care if it looks like I’m ru

“Poor kid, getting left behind like that,” one voice, a woman, says. “It’s no wonder he’s been in such a mood these last few days.”

I pause in the bathroom doorway. Are they talking about Saint? What do they mean he was left behind? I inch my way down the wall, getting closer so I can hear better.

“What kind of parents forget about their son’s fall break?” the second voice, which I’m pretty sure is a guy, spits. “If the pay here wasn’t so good, I’d never work for assholes like them.”

The woman sighs. “I’m right there with you, Kevin.”

The two move further down the hall and out of earshot. I don’t follow because that would be just a little too creepy. I turn back and walk into the bathroom, my mind racing.

Saint’s parents left him behind? They forgot about his break?

My heart aches for him. I know what it’s like to have a parent that doesn’t give a shit about you. Who treats you more like a burden than anything else. From the little I’ve seen of Saint’s parents, especially his father, I’m guessing this isn’t the first time he’s been forgotten.

I quickly do my business and wash my hands, then make my way back out to the living room. He’s still sitting in the chair I straddled him in, holding an unlit joint between his fingers. His brow is furrowed as he stares down at it, and he looks lost in thought. What’s he thinking about? His parents? Liam?

Me?

For some strange reason, I hope it’s me. I hope I consume his mind half as much as he’s been taking up space in mine lately.

He looks up at my approach.

“You good?” he asks.

Is my emotion showing on my face? Can he see how sorry I am for him?

I slip back into his lap and wrap my arms around his neck. He looks baffled, and I can’t really blame him. Outward displays of affection really aren’t our thing. Still, his strong arms wrap around my waist, as though he just can’t help himself.

“So, I, uh, I overheard something on my way to the bathroom,” I admit in a soft tone. I’m not sure I should be telling him this, but something in me wants to offer him comfort because I can truly empathize with what he’s going through.

His eyebrows slant up impatiently. “You go

I hesitate a moment, but then forge ahead, throwing caution to the wind. “Did you really decide not to go with your parents, or did…did they leave you behind?”

He tenses and something dark and dangerous flashes in his eyes. Shit. Too late, I think I screwed up. Me and my damn big mouth.

“What the fuck are you doing, sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong?” he growls, releasing his hold on me. His lap is no longer a hospitable place, so I quickly push to my feet.

“I wasn’t sticking my nose, anywhere,” I say quickly. “I just heard someone say it when I was in the hall—”

He surges to standing, towering over me, his growing rage radiating from him like heat off asphalt.

“Who was it?” he snarls. “Who was saying this shit?”

I raise my hands in front of me. “I don’t know, I didn’t see. That doesn’t matter, Saint. Look, I understand what you’re feeling right now—”

“Oh, you do, do you?” His voice is sharp and cruel, meant to slice me open and make me bleed out on the expensive ass marble floor. “You think you understand what I’m feeling? You’re so fucking naïve. You’ve got no idea what my life is like.”

Anger bursts in me so suddenly, it steals my breath. How dare he say that to me?

Balling my hands into fists, I shout, “You know what? I don’t need this. Fuck you and your spoiled rich kid problems. My mom’s on the run for selling meth, so don’t tell me what I don’t understand, you sonofabitch.”

His eyes widen, but I don’t bother to wait for him to respond. Turning, I storm toward the opened wall of windows and out onto the house’s wide terrace. I dig my phone out of my pocket, determined to find a ride back to campus. No one’s around, but I bet an Uber wouldn’t be terribly expensive at this time of day. In the meantime, I’ll hide out on the beach and avoid his arrogant ass.

“Mallory!” his voice booms behind me, and I jump, startled. He’s following me, great.

I glance over my shoulder and spot him charging after me. I gasp, but don’t stop walking. The soft sand tries to swallow my feet, but I trudge ahead and try to ignore Saint calling for me. I pull up my Uber app and start to arrange for a car.

“Mallory, for fuck’s sake.” His fingers wrap around my arm and he tries to hold me in place, but I struggle to break free of him.