38. Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Eight

L aura

I slam the UTV into park and yank the key out of the ignition. The quiet of the compound feels oppressive after the whir of the engine. My hands are shaking, and I ball them into fists, trying to get a grip on the storm of emotions swirling inside me.

“Damn it, Varro,” I mutter, kicking at a loose pebble, although it does nothing to relieve my roiling emotions.

In the common room, I pace back and forth, my mind replaying our conversation on a loop. The way he looked at me, his eyes dark with desire. My stomach still cramps when I recall the way he said “service you,” like I was just another impersonal job. Like a john—or jane—who propositioned him on the street corner.

My chest tightens, a mixture of anger and frustration threatening to overwhelm me. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart.

“Get it together, Laura,” I tell myself, running a hand through my hair. “You’re overthinking this.”

But am I? The attraction between us is undeniable. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t imagined what it would be like to feel his calloused palms roaming my body, to have his mouth on my sex, to taste his essence and welcome him into my private spaces. But every time I get close, every time I think maybe, just maybe, we could make it work, something happens to remind me why it’s a bad idea.

I rummage through the supplies left in the compound, more to keep my hands busy than out of any real need. My fingers brush against a half-empty bottle of lotion. I’d wondered where that went. Goodness knows, between the cold weather and the manual labor, my hands are like sandpaper.

The animal part of my brain, which hasn’t been satisfied in well over a month, shoots me a picture of the rabbit, and then taunts me with the huge monster jerking and leaking under Varro’s gray sweats. The rabbit comes in a distant second place, though I wish I’d had the forethought to have brought it with me. I could take care of business here.

No. I shake my head, pushing the thought away. That’s exactly the kind of thinking that got me into this mess.

“Face it, Laura,” I say out loud, my voice echoing in the empty room. “You’re stuck on an island with the hottest guy you’ve ever met, and you can’t do a damn thing about it.” Not if I want to keep a shred of dignity—or my sanity.

I laugh, but it comes out sounding more like a sob. God, what a mess.

I sink down onto a camp chair, burying my face in my hands. I need to figure this out, need to find a way to coexist with Varro without constantly yearning to do things with him that will ultimately break my heart.

“Okay.” I sit up straight. “Let’s break this down.”

Fact one: I’m attracted to Varro. No use denying it.

Fact two: Varro’s attracted to me. Also, pretty obvious.

Laura, stop picturing the little wet spot that was growing on his sweats before you ran out of the cottage .

Fact three: Varro’s past trauma makes it impossible for him to be emotionally present during intimacy.

Fact four: I refuse to be sexual with someone who’s not fully there.

I nod to myself, feeling a little calmer now that I’ve laid it all out. It’s not a great situation, but at least I know where I stand.

“So that’s it.” My tone is firm. “We keep things platonic. No more mixed signals, no more lingering glances. Not even any more cucumber jokes. Just two friends, trying to survive on a deserted island.”

It sounds simple when I say it like that, but I know it won’t be easy. Still, what choice do I have? I can’t change Varro’s past, can’t magically heal his trauma. And I won’t compromise my own needs and boundaries, no matter how tempting it might be. In the long term, it’s a recipe for disaster.

I stand up, once again full of resolve. This is the right decision. It has to be.

As I gather a few useful items to take back to the cottage, I make a silent vow to myself. No matter what happens, no matter how hard it gets, I’ll stick to this plan. Varro and I will be friends, nothing more.

I climb into the UTV, my heart heavy but my mind clear. It’s time to head back and face the music. Whatever happens next, at least I’m clear about what I want, and why.

The engine cranks to life, and I point the vehicle toward home. Toward Varro. Toward whatever the future holds for us on this forsaken island.