I texted my sisters to make sure Papa was okay, that he hadn’t relapsed. They gave me a text full of enjoying my time without worrying over him; he was fine.
I used the bathroom next to the second bedroom instead of knocking on Bane’s door. On the way back out, I stood at her door anyway and scratched my forehead. Well, shit. I needed to get in there for my luggage.
After several knocks, each louder than the last, I announced, “I’m opening the door.”
She wasn’t in the room. I took the opportunity to take a quick shower.
Tugging my shirt over my head and walking out of the bedroom afterward, I saw her.
Bane was sitting on a lounge chair, in the shade, reading that yellow book, her back to the sliding doors and to me, but far enough from the villa that she couldn’t have heard me.
I should probably talk to her. At least say hello.
I pushed aside the glass door. She didn’t budge. I stood over her. Her legs were stretched out on the lounge chair. She was wearing long shorts and a T-shirt, hair in a bun. Very much unlike my friends last night, who’d been all dressed up in flowing dresses, or like a lot of women in passing wearing dresses and floppy hats, as if visiting the islands mandated looking extra nice. But Bane was…Bane.
“Hey.”
“Hi,” she purred.
“Sorry, I forgot to text you last night that I’d probably be getting in late.”
She flipped the page to her book. “Don’t be. Your competition wasn’t.”
“Wait. What?”
She didn’t bother looking up. “I come here several times a year. You think I don’t have friends with benefits on island? Not wasting my time waiting around on you.”
What the hell was she talking about? “Oh. Uh…good.”
I didn’t expect Bane to wait around for me, but I’d genuinely felt bad. Of course, my mouth didn’t know how to formulate those words to tell her so. But she seemed fine. We weren’t a couple. I shouldn’t feel bad, and she shouldn’t be upset. And I definitely should not feel any tinge of jealousy, yet…
“The fuck. How many benefits you got here, Bane?”
She peered up at me from over her sunglasses. “Language.”
“Pardon me.”
She pushed up her shades as if she’d resumed reading that yellow book with two Indian characters on the cover, arms crossed, side-eyeing each other. They were essentially us half the time.
“How many guys do I need to watch out for?” My words came out sharper than I’d intended.
“Why would you care?”
“I don’t care. But if we’re acting in front of my friends, it would be nice to know how many guys might interrupt us by sweeping you away with a kiss.”
Her lips twitched. She wanted to smile and was holding back.
I clarified, “I’m not asking because I’m jealous. Just curious.”
Her lips curled at the corners.
“Don’t tell me.” I turned to walk away but came back. “Are they in this area?”
“Don’t worry,” she finally said. “They’re discreet. But if I have to suddenly leave, then you’ll know why.”
Don’t suddenly leave then, I wanted to tell her.
“Is that an issue?” she asked.
“No. Good to know so I won’t be caught off guard if some guy steals you away. Just try not to do it in front of everyone. My friends might have fallen for this ruse, but they’re not going to believe we have an open relationship.”
She pursed her lips. “Don’t run off with my man-whores in public. Got it.”
I groaned. “Okay. Now that that’s settled—”
“You can’t run off with anyone, either. To be fair.”
“Who am I going to run off with?”
“A certain ex. Unless you want to?” Her tone went up on that last word, baiting me for information that I didn’t want to give. Circumventing our rules.
“You have nothing to worry about.”
“Oh, I’m not worried about anything. I’d just like a heads-up. Should I find out and be theatrically upset or just disappear when it happens? How do you want to play that?”
“I’m not telling you what happened with us.”
“Should I be friendly toward her or cold? A real girlfriend would know the story. And if she didn’t, it would be an obvious point of quarreling between the couple. How should I respond?”
