He lifted his gaze to mine, then quickly lowered his eyes. Jamie had always been uncomfortable taking compliments.
"That's why I do it." He winked, then tossed another fry at me. That time I deflected, using the palm of my hand as a shield, hitting the fry back at him.
"There she is." Jamie grinned. We both grew silent, and my thoughts wandered to the night before.
"So, do you know a guy named Brando?" I tried to sound casual.
"King's brother? Yeah, I know him. Why?"
"No reason." I shrugged, swirling the straw around in my shake. "Just curious if you knew him."
"Did he ask you out or something?"
"No," I replied immediately. It was the truth. Brando hadn't asked me for a thing. Not even my phone number. Granted, before he had a chance to ask, I told him I wasn't interested in more. A complete and total lie. It just seemed like the smartest thing to do at the time. After a little probing, Jamie reluctantly filled me in on what he knew about Brando. He was the younger brother of the local street racing legend, Mack King. Unlike his brother, Brando wasn't a racer. He was a tattoo artist, so it made sense that his arms and torso were covered in ink. He'd recently opened a tattoo shop on East Street. A sketchy area of town from what I could remember.
Jamie was about to say more when his phone chimed with a text.
"Look, just be careful, all right?" he said quickly, abandoning whatever he had planned to say first, then looked at the screen. "We have a location."
"Location for what?"
"A race. Do you want to come?"
"No." It wasn't really my thing. Not anymore. I'd been the daughter of the island's founding father of racing. Ritchie "Rich Boy" Risto. So much had changed, without him around it wouldn't be the same. Jamie paid the check since it was his turn to treat.
"Next time, we're going out for steaks since you're buying." He grinned, then stuffed his wallet in his back pocket as he stood.
"Be careful out there tonight, Jamie."
"Always." Then he pecked a kiss on my cheek and left.
Weeks had passed since my night with Brando. Seventeen days to be exact. I kind of expected him to come after me, but he hadn't. I wasn't sure how to feel about that. Everywhere I looked, there he was. It was like the universe had gotten a kick out of messing with me. The truth was he'd always been around, I'd just been too trapped in my own world to notice.
Then there was the relationship he had with a girl named Tayia Jones. I'd heard the insane rumors about her. Cable reception was a little shoddy on the island, which meant real-life drama was the primary source of entertainment. I hadn't realized that the "other guy" tangled up in that triangle was Brando. Jamie had warned me the King brothers had a reputation. Apparently, that wasn't a lie. What Brando did with other women was none of my business. I had more pressing things to worry about.
Besides, he had done as I'd asked and kept his distance...sort of.
****
I couldn't believe I'd agreed to come to the party, but it was Harley's birthday. On a whim, I took a job waitressing at Annette's Catch. The help wanted sign in the window of the little beach bar caught my attention. I'd needed the money, and it looked like the sort of place that wouldn't ask a lot of questions. The girls at the restaurant, Harley and Jonna, had been the closest thing I had to friends. Building a social life had been a low priority for me since I'd been back home. It was sad to have grown up in a place where almost nobody knew me.
The second I walked onto the back deck of the little house Harley shared with her boyfriend, Fox, I was ready to go home.
"Have fun, dammit," Harley yelled over the loud music and handed me a beer. I took it and looked around. There were lots of familiar faces. Some were restaurant staff and others were customers. Some of them I'd recognized as racers. Sea Whisper Island was a seven-mile stretch of land just off the coast of South Carolina. It was a semi-isolated community that could only be accessed by boat from the mainland and had a ferocious street racing culture. Like my brother, Fox was also a racer. I was surrounded by laughter and car talk. I felt worlds away from that kind of life. Every time Harley caught my eye, I put a fake smile and pretended to be having fun. Just biding my time. A few more shots and she wouldn't notice me sneaking out of there.
The house was situated right on the beach, and a fire pit had been lit several yards from the wooden deck. The night breeze held a little bit of a chill, and I regretted not bringing a sweater. Pushing through the crowd, I moved down the stairs toward the warmth of the fire. On the last step I removed my sandals and let my toes sink into the soft sand. Flames flickered in the darkness and waves crashed in the distance. I was far enough away from the commotion. Out there I could think a lot better, which wasn't a good idea. I hated obsessing over about things I couldn't control. It was a helpless feeling.
There was an uproar of loud voices behind me. I turned and saw that a new group of people had arrived. A tall, lanky man with longish dirty blond hair was giving out bro hugs and laughing at something. I didn't know why, but I couldn't look away. When the crowd began to shift, Brando was standing there. He had lifted his head as if he were searching for something, then his eyes found mine. He held my gaze briefly, then looked away when someone approached him. A woman. The cute brunette handed him a beer, then stumbled and giggled. Brando reached out to steady her. She wrapped an arm around his bicep as she spoke in his ear. Brando leaned over and lowered his head to listen. I didn't know who she was to him, but the familiarity with which she touched him made me feel a little stabby.
It was time for me to leave.
I took the long way around the deck, hoping my exit would go unnoticed. When I reached the stone path on the side of the house, I dusted my feet off and slipped on my sandals.
"Carina?" I turned around to see Brando jogging toward me. "Wait up. Where are you going?"
"Home," I answered, searching my purse for car keys. "Where's your...um...friend?" I wasn't even sure why I'd asked him that. Like I'd said, it was none of my business. When he didn't respond, I lifted my gaze. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?" His mouth had curved into a small smile.
"No reason." Then he reached for my hand. It took a second for me to realize he was drawing something on the skin of my inner wrist. His shadow had blocked the light, so I couldn't see what he was doing. It didn't hurt, and for some reason, I let him do it. When he released my arm, I saw he'd written 'Brando' vertically along the center of my inner wrist in a thin, neat script. I'd forgotten he was a tattoo artist.