ANA MIGHT JUST TOP THE LIST of my worst mistakes, and I’ve made a shitload, so that’s saying something.
We met at The Ramshack, a rundown bar not far from the pier, when Conor was busy chasing after his soon-to-be fiancée, Vivienne. During the first hour or so, Ana was into Colt, batting her eyelashes and trailing her fingers down his chest.
I was stuck with Ana’s friend, Gracie—not my type in the slightest. She drove me insane with how forward she was, licking my ear and grinding into my lap.
Girls like her are much more Colt’s type. He likes when they give him attitude. When he can tame them… and Ana sure wasn’t that. She oozed obedience—my type—so it seemed we both ended up with the wrong side of the stick.
The evening was doomed from the start with Conor’s head in the clouds and my foul mood, but after a nose-powdering break, the girls switched places.
One loaded look between Colt and me was enough to say we preferred it that way. Ana took Gracie’s spot on my lap, her personality exactly what I enjoy. Snappy, confident, but moldable like clay. I don’t mind a sharp tongue in an effortlessly submissive girl, but the brat mentality oozing from Gracie’s pores was an immediate turn-off.
Not for Colt though. He loves when they give him shit.
Once the switch happened, Ana and I spent the evening dancing, drinking, talking, and making out like a pair of hormonal teenagers. She was amazing. Easygoing, funny, pliant. She checked every box on my mental list, and for the first time, I tried Colt’s approach: keep one longer than one night.
And that was a mistake despite precautions.
I laid my cards out right away. Honesty is key. I learned a long time ago that certain questions have to be asked and certain information has to be divulged so both parties can make an informed decision whether to go ahead with the night.
Taking the new approach with Ana, the last thing I needed was to accidentally give her false hope. I told her exactly how I wanted our no-strings deal to go down.
Zero romantic dinners. Zero late-night strolls down the beach. Zero conversations. Zero expectations. Zero phone calls. Zero texts. Nothing.
Just sex.
Ana was fun but not the kind of girl I’d consider dating—no ambitions, clueless with kids, no passion, no knowledge besides the basics. Kind with a big heart, but that’s not enough for me.
She agreed, and added a rule of her own: no sex in bed. It boded well, but I still made her confirm she understood we were both agreeing to a no-strings and no-feelings deal. Just good fucking whenever the mood took us.
Things were running smoothly for about a month before she caught feelings. I sat her down, reminded her of the rules we set in place, explained that a relationship was out of the question, and we went our separate ways.
She took it like a champ. Kept at a distance for a while, but two weeks ago, my brothers and I ventured into The Ramshack again to see Vee’s friend, Abby, perform with a band she joined recently. She plays electric guitar, and as an amateur guitarist myself, I was curious.
Ana was there, hanging on some guy’s arm. I mentally cheered that she’d moved on. She seemed perfectly fine. Drunker and writhing more expressively than usual around the guy on the dancefloor, but overall fine. She gave me no reason to worry and even stopped by our table for a drink. Not a trace of those feelings she caught, as far as I could tell.
It all went to shit when we were leaving the club. Me with a long-legged surfer girl, Ana by herself. God knows what happened to the guy she was with. He was MIA, unable to stop Ana making a scene. A jealous hissy fit. She screamed at me for being a heartless jerk who promises the moon and stars then takes them away. Needless to say, she scared off the surfer girl.
And it only went downhill from there.
The next day, Ana arrived at Nico’s doorstep, apologetic, tearful. She blamed her behavior on too many drinks.
We all do stupid things when drunk so I believed her. Until she texted me later that night, saying she saw how I looked at her. Whining that she missed me…
No matter how many times I explained or pleaded, she wasn’t getting the message. She kept showing up at Nico’s unannounced, but I was moving out soon, so didn’t worry much.
I should’ve known she’d figure out my new address.
Now she’s veering into stalker territory and I’m seriously debating calling Shawn for advice.
The thing is, Ana isn’t throwing herself at me. She’s not causing trouble. She’s just… annoying, so I’m trying not to be an asshole. I keep telling her she should move on, hoping it’ll stick.
If push comes to shove, I’ll ask my Chief-of-Police brother for help.
“You can’t keep doing this,” I tell her, pulling out of the parking lot, barely keeping my temper in check.
It’s not just Ana’s stalking tendencies and selective hearing that got me on edge tonight. It’s Blair. She’s been grating my nerves since she moved in, leaving her condo whenever I leave mine, muttering hey, like we’re best fucking friends.
Every time I see her, my muscles seize. My spine turns rigid, skin clammy, itchy, and my lung capacity halves every second until I can’t draw a single breath.
The intensity is staggering. Unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. It’s been growing, and growing, and gaining momentum, making me feel so raw that her voice, sweet coconut scent, and presence cause physical pain.
“Baby—”
“Enough, Ana. I’m not your baby and I’m tired of repeating myself. I know you’re sensible, but right now you’re acting batshit crazy.”
She pouts, fidgeting her fingers, each short, labored breath bringing her closer to a full-blown sob fest. The thing is, Ana’s not upset. She’s channeling her efforts to manufacture crocodile tears: acting upset.
I fell into that trap one too many times.
She knows I’m a sucker for a damsel in distress. My savior complex makes it impossible to ignore a distressed woman.
“Don’t even start.” I flip the indicator as I stop at traffic lights. “You’ll get yourself in trouble, you know that?”
“How? I didn’t do anything wrong. You should be flattered, Cody. At least I have the courage to act on my feelings.”
“You should also have the decency to understand I don’t have the same feelings. How many times do I have to say we’re done?”
She looks out the window, pinching her lips like she wants to add something but can’t find the right words.
It wouldn’t matter if she could. Nothing she’ll say will change a damn thing. I know she’s having a rough time. Her brother took his life a few weeks ago and she’s mourning, struggling to accept he’s gone. It’s the only reason I give her chance after chance to get her act together.
She’s a little lost, I get that, but it doesn’t mean I should indulge her imaginary feelings and ignore the stalking. She’s not my responsibility. Still, whenever I think about calling Shawn, I remind myself that drastic measures should be my last resort.
There’s still time for cops.
“Can’t we start over?” she finally suggests. “As friends.”
We’ve been through this already. It was her fallback the third or fourth time she showed up at Nico’s house. Seeing how vulnerable she was, I agreed.
Our friendship was a whole ten minutes old when she threw herself at me, shoving her hand in my pants to grab my dick.
Nico, Mia, and Colt were in the room with us…
Not fucking cool.
“Too late for that.” I take another turn, speeding down her neighborhood. “No friendship. No relationship. No sex. Nothing, Ana. Stop coming over.”
“But I love you! We were so good together! Why are you fighting this so hard? I’m not asking for a ring, Cody. We can take things slow!”
Am I too soft?
I think so. Any other guy in my predicament—and I know because I consulted Colt, Conor, and Logan—would’ve taken out a restraining order by now.
The fact she followed me home, lurked outside the building and called me back every time I hung up is enough grounds to worry. She hasn’t shown signs of being unstable enough to do something reckless, but I can’t completely rule it out given how fucking tone-deaf she is to everything I say.
I park by the curb in the sketchier part of town where Ana lives with her mother and two younger sisters. Four women under one roof might be why their house looks the least neglected out of the lineup. Their lawn isn’t as overgrown as their neighbors’, and no broken bottles or discarded trash litter the narrow, paved pathway to the front door.
“Goodnight, Ana. Don’t show up again, or you’ll be walking home. We’re done, understand?”
I might as well be talking to a brick wall. She stares at me with hooded eyes as her tongue peeks out, moistening her lips. She’s turned on. I’ve seen that look before.
I spent the last few minutes rejecting her, and she’s ready to vault over the middle console, pull my dick out and ride me outside her house while her sister peeks through the curtains from the second-story window.
“Don’t even think about it. Get your ass home,” I warn.
Her sultry gaze slides from my lips down my chest until the burning intensity focuses on my groin. The corner of her mouth quirks as her eyes jerk back to mine. “You’re so full of shit, baby. Your dick is hard. Doesn’t look like you’re not interested. I don’t know why you’re fighting me, but I’ll find out.”
She doesn’t wait for me to speak. I’m glad because it’s fucking pointless. She hauls herself out of the car, closes the door, then taps a goodbye against the window.
The second she steps back, I floor it, peeling out of there and tearing through Newport at too many miles an hour toward Tortugo. A few drinks will help me take my mind off Ana’s accurate observation.
My dick is hard.
Though Ana is not the reason.
