Docked by Wade Rachael

Author:Wade, Rachael [Wade, Rachael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance
Publisher: Rabbit Hole Press
Published: 2014-05-21T04:00:00+00:00

EIGHT

Curses pound my brain and I break into a sweat. I can’t get my legs into my jean shorts fast enough. I tumble into the bathroom and cringe when I get a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My skin is bright red, mascara blotchy beneath my eyes, my lipstick smeared over my chin. My bed-head hair is positively ghastly. I look like a five-dollar hooker on the strip.

I hurry and rinse my face off, then run my fingers through my hair, struggling to look at least somewhat presentable. How in God’s name am I supposed to march out there and face this woman? Not just any woman; Tanner Christensen’s mother, for fuck’s sake! Not only have I crossed the line professionally by sleeping with the owner of the ship I’m reviewing, but now I truly see myself for what I am: just another one of Tanner’s playthings. God only knows how many women his mother has found in his bed, just like me, clueless and tacky. Oh, God.

So, so tacky.

My lungs inhale a deep breath as I position myself at the bathroom door. I compose myself and step out.

When I walk through the bedroom door, I find her studying the shelves above the entertainment center, running her finger along the white wood, collecting dust. She scoffs under her breath. “Filthy.”

I lightly clear my throat and she spins around, assessing me from head to toe. I adjust my t-shirt hem and tuck my hair behind my ear. I lift my chin and force myself to greet her head on. “I’m sorry for that introduction, Mrs. Christensen.” I step forward, my bare feet noiseless on the tile. “I’m Anya Banks. A friend of Tanner’s.”

“A friend?” Her gaze lowers to my outstretched hand. She doesn’t accept the shake, just stares at it as if it’s disease ridden.

I recoil my hand and smooth it over my jean shorts. I change the subject. “Do you live here, on the island?”

“Oh, heavens, no.” She swats at the air, shooing away my attempt at conversation. “Now, would you please tell me where my son is?”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not sure.” I pick at my belt loop. “I just woke up, so…”

She groans in protest and turns back to the shelves, waving me off like hired help. “Very well. I’ll wait. Go about your business.”

My mouth hangs open as I stare at the woman’s peach-colored back. My dignity is fried on the spot, and every bone in my body tells me to retreat back into the bedroom and crawl under the covers.

But I don’t.

I buck up, square my shoulders, and count to ten. Then I walk around her and station myself in front of her, blocking her view of the shelves. “Perhaps you’d like something to drink? Some coffee or tea?”

Her eyes widen.

“I can make you some breakfast, if you’d like. There’s plenty of food in the refrigerator.”

“How would you know how my son stocks his refrigerator? Surely you haven’t been around him long enough to be acquainted with his domestic habits.

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