His mention of Rhode Island reminded me to ask, “When do you think you’ll be going back to Rhode Island?”
And let me get on with my life, I silently added.
Chen shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. To tell the truth, I didn’t expect the boss to keep us here this long. We were only supposed to be in Hawaii for about a month when he brought us out last August.”
“What happened to make him change his mind?”
Chen jabbed a thumb into the elevator up button. “He says he found some new opportunities….”
Chen trailed off, forcing me to prod, “But you don’t believe him?”
Chen threw me an unreadable look. “You really asking me this?” he asked. His Rhode Island accent, which sounded like a muted version of the one Boston was so famous for, came out a little thicker than usual.
“Yeah, I’m really asking,” I answered, scrunching my brow because I didn’t understand why he was so confused about me asking him these questions. Of course, I wanted to know when they were leaving and why they had decided to stay in the first place.
Chen just cast me another significant look and said, “The water in RI’s cold as…whatever’s the opposite of hell—even in the summer. Can’t say I’m looking forward to that.”
It was such an obvious change of subject. But the surfing teacher in me couldn’t resist making suggestions for some full-body wetsuits he might look into, so he could floss his new skills in relative comfort.
We laughed and joked about surfing in cold water as we rode in the elevator. But instead of escorting me all the way up to the top floor like he usually did, he got off on the seventh, where all eight of Han’s men were staying in shared two-bedroom apartments.
“Sorry, can’t do dinner tonight,” he said as he stepped off.
“Another hot date with the serial killer?” I asked, lifting both eyebrows.
Chen had met a guy during one of my Dawn Patrol classes last week—or I should say re-met. He was the cute, laidback local who ran this Hawaiian BBQ food truck that Chen had become obsessed with after moving to Oahu. He’d even hooked us up with his delicious breakfast burritos a few times after Chen introduced himself and asked him out. He was pretty much perfect, except for one thing. His name was Dexter. So now I had to tease Chen forever about it.
“Yeah, I do,” Chen answered, grinning ear to ear. “He’s taking me on a hike to Lanai Lookout to go stargazing.”
I widened my eyes. “You mean Lanai Lookout, the perfect place to push some guy you just met over a cliff and claim it was an accident? You’re playing with your life, brah.”
Chen just laughed and rolled his eyes. “Okay, see you later, Jazz.”
So, I guess that meant I was on my own for dinner.
I walked into the condo, wondering if that leftover Hawaiian BBQ from Sunday was still good. It looked like Chen wouldn’t be the only one playing with his life tonight—
I stopped short of the kitchen. Not just because the lights were still on, but because Han was still there.
Sitting exactly where I’d left him.
“What’s up?” I asked him, slowing my roll toward the fridge. “You been sitting there all day?”
Han didn’t answer, and I let out an exasperated sound.
“Okay, this is just creepy,” I told him. “If you’re mad, just cuss me out or something, like a normal dude.”
Again, Han said nothing.
I shook my head. “Okay, I’m going to go wash all this saltwater off of me, and when I’m done, we’re hashing this out. I don’t care how long it takes. I did not sign up to star in one of those choke creepy arthouse horror films with you.”
Want to guess how Han responded to that?
Ding! Ding! Ding! He didn’t say a word.
So okay, whatever…I went to my room and took a quick shower. After that, I headed into the walk-in closet to grab some clothes.
Only to stop short for the third time that day as soon as I walked inside.
I stared, then screamed.
17
HAN
Han grinned when the scream issued from the room he had given to Jasmine. Not moving from his place on the couch for hours after he executed his plan might have struck her as creepy. But her reaction made the wait worth it.
“You cut up all my shirts?” she all but screeched at him.
Han scanned his eyes over the result of his handiwork—apparently, she’d tried one on to see if it was truly as bad as it looked before she wrapped a towel around her waist and came out here to confront him.
He had to admit the tee had turned out a bit naughtier than he intended when he walked into Jasmine’s room with the shears he found in the kitchen. The cut hem barely reached below her nipples, and the bottom of her round globes hung like tantalizing fruit, sun kissed brown and begging for his touch.
