Shit, now I was hard.
It didn’t help that I could hear Harlow and Rico kissing behind us.
Arousal spiked in my veins.
Skipping dinner was sounding better and better.
Thank God the elevator doors opened, dousing those thoughts. I was just about to step off and find Rico’s Jeep when a familiar voice froze all of us in place.
“Son…Harlow. What thehellare you doing?”
Brock Donovan looked right past me and Soul to zero in on his son and ex-stepdaughter in the back of the elevator.
His jaw slackened and disbelief colored his dark eyes.
Fuck.
Sorry Not Sorry
My father took a long sip of his drink, eyes pinned on us as the brown liquor screwed his face into a grimace.
“Dad, why didn’t you tell me you were in Onyx Cove?”
“You don’t get to ask me questions right now. Somebody needs to explain what the hell I just saw in that elevator.”
We were on the rooftop of Zay’s restaurant, Salt. I still didn’t like the way he flirted with Harlow, but I had to give it to him for agreeing not to seat anybody else up here for an hour so we could talk.
The restaurant was a two-minute walk from Christian’s condo, so we’d come here while Soul and Chris drove around the island in my Jeep until I told them to pick us up.
Harlow’s voice came through soft but clear beside me. “Brock, Rico wanted to tell you sooner. But he agreed to wait until I was ready.”
My dad held his head sideways, his eyes dragging over us in silent judgment before he looked to the water across the street.
The salty ocean breeze rustled through the palm trees surrounding the building. And the familiar, calming soundtrack felt out of place considering the man across from us looked like he was about to have a stroke.
“Until you were ready,” he scoffed. “I should’ve known something was up when you got her name tattooed on your face.”
Clearing her throat, Harlow spoke up. “Brock, I understand our relationship caught you off guard, but?—”
“Your relationship?” my father interjected. “I need another drink. Where’s that damn waiter?” He swiveled his head around the empty rooftop before pressing the button on the corner of the table.
“Dad—”
“Fucking yoursister?” He roared.
Harlow reared back at his tone, and her small hand twitched in mine under the table.
“She’s not my sister. She’s not even my stepsister anymore. So, you can save that.”
“It’s still fucked up.” He exhaled roughly and studied Harlow with his brows knitted together. “Does your mother know?”
“Not yet,” she answered, her voice starting to waver for the first time. “I’ll tell her tomorrow.”
My head swung to look at her.
She shrugged. “Might as well get it over with.”
A disgusted sound floated across the table to us. “You two should be ashamed.”
