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CHAPTER 11

Owen William Rhodes

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This is check, Owen thought. This game was his first small victory, and he could turn it into a checkmate if he played it well.

He had to play it well. But Goldie was not making it easy for him. Upturned eyes that held his stare, unkempt hair begging to be pulled back, and those lips... She was packed into a tight dress with sheer mesh fabric on top, adorning her in wildflower embroidery. His hand aimed to trail over the delicate fabric but stopped and went for her hand instead.

"Let's start with shots," he said, leading them to the kitchen.

Everyone stared, but no soul dared to get in their way. Goldie shook her hand free, and the cyng hung his arm around her instead. Keeping skin contact was imperative to seducing.

"Pick your poison," he said once they were in the kitchen.

"Alright, it's your demise," she replied, eyeing the alcohol.

"Demise? Who speaks like that?"

"Shut up. It's a normal word, Owen."

The cyng of the East had a grin that could rival his sister's madness. He rolled up his dress shirt sleeves and went straight for the vodka without waiting for an answer. Filling six shots for them, he handed Goldie a glass. His touch lingered, but the girl snatched her hand back. Her knuckles were scarred like his.

"Shall we?" Owen asked.

"Get ready to lose."

"To losing then," he chuckled, clinking their glasses together and downing the burning liquid. Smooth fire slid down his throat, and he winced at the feeling. The burn dropped and settled in his stomach, warming his whole body. When he checked how his opponent fared, his jaw dropped. Goldie already downed all three shots like it was milk.

"Drink up," she smirked.

Owen did just that, but he was not grinning anymore.

"Let's play beer pong," he suggested, leading them back out.

"But how would we match our drinks?"

"Beer pong will be the exception."

"I don't know. Sounds like cheating to me."

"I don't cheat, Goldie."

In the dining room, God-awful music threatened to destroy Owen's hearing, and the floorboards beneath him vibrated.

At the sight of them approaching the table, the guys who played immediately apologised and refilled the cups. They stepped away and made room without a single word needed. The girls, on the other hand, were less cooperative. They undressed him with their eyes and glared at Goldie. He wanted to take them down a peg, but glancing back, the girl did not seem to notice or care.

Just because they're wearing clothes more fitting as lingerie doesn't mean they're sluts, he reasoned.

"I'll go first!" Goldie suggested over the music.

The girl took a neon green ping-pong ball and squinted her eyes as she aimed. Owen was about to tell her to hurry the heck up, but the ball shot out of her hand. It plopped in his front cup. Whoa.

"Drink up, pretty boy!" Goldie laughed.

This girl... he told himself. He needed to be careful.

Owen downed his cup before grabbing the ping-pong ball and tossing it. Goldie's smile fell as the shot landed perfectly.

"Drink up, pretty girl!"

Goldie cussed and downed her beer. When she looked back at him, her eyes were different. Wild. Competitive. The two of them went on like that for a few more rounds. Score, miss, score. Until they each had one cup remaining. Owen's plan failed horribly, but at that point, it was not about getting the girl drunk. With the massive crowd gathered and cheering for her to win, much more was at stake than his bloodline.

"Your move!" she laughed.

Owen grasped the ball, his thumb brushing its plastic surface. He could barely feel the tips of his fingers anymore. Three shots and five cups of beer ought to do that to a person. He took as much aim as he could and threw his shot.

It missed.

Goldie caught the ball before it could bounce past her. Those kissable lips twisted into a smirk, and Owen gulped. She did not aim this time, and he wondered if she ever needed to in the first place.

It landed perfectly.

The crowd instantly exploded with cheers and laughter. 'Oh my God, she won!' and, 'Oh my God, he lost!' filled the room. Owen downed his drink and, as a last-ditch effort, chucked the ball her way.

It fell in her last cup.

As the crowd erupted again, she lost her smug expression.

"Here's to getting lucky!" Owen raised his cup.

Goldie rolled her eyes while she downed the drink, and they left the chaotic room. She explained she had to pee and disappeared, while Owen returned to the quiet kitchen. Matt swaggered in with a chuffed look, and poured himself two drinks.

"I'm glad someone's having a good time," Owen commented.

"A delicious dessert caught my eye," Matt said, making his cyng shake his head. He added, "The West is here, by the way."

"Figured as much."

"How's things with Amber?"

Owen leaned against the counter, picking at his knuckles.

"Not as smooth as I'd hoped."

"No surprise there," Matt snickered. "The girl's so your type."

"What's that mean?"

"You have a soft spot for blondes like your mom."

"No, I— That's a baseless statement."

"Then why am I your first kin?" Matt asked with a wink.

"What about blondes?"

Goldie walked into the kitchen, and Owen nearly choked.

"Nothing," he said. "Here's some brandy."

"Uh... Brandy? No thanks."

With the girl looking as sober as ever, Owen raised an eyebrow.

"Why not?" he asked.

She stared at him intently before admitting, "I can't drink the stuff. Does not bode well with my stomach, if y'know what I mean. And I can't even touch tequila because..." She avoided eye contact.

"What's wrong with tequila?" Owen asked.

"It just..." She bit her lip. "I don't like it."

Goldie was acting strange, and Owen smiled. He grabbed a bottle of tequila, ignoring the brandy, and poured them each a shot.

"Wha— I just said I don't drink tequila!" she protested.

Owen downed his shot without a care, keeping eye contact.

"You know the rules, Goldie," he said.

She blushed and looked away again, cussing. Without much of a choice, the girl took the tiny glass.

"I hate you," she said, downing the shot.

Owen leaned in.

"I'll make you change your mind soon enough."

When Goldie looked back up at him, the tequila settling in, her eyes changed from wild to... alluring.

"Holy Hell," she breathed.

"Looks like someone has a weakness."

Instead of scowling, she grabbed his arm and said she felt like dancing. He shared a thumbs up with Matt before getting pulled off.

The dance floor was, without a doubt, the loudest area on the yacht. On the open deck with the bay surrounding them, people still bumped into each other constantly. Goldie led Owen to the middle of the floor and turned to him. The deck was dark with green and yellow strobe lights flashing across her skin, her hair, her lips. Everyone was either grinding or swaying to the deep bass. Not Goldie, however. The girl busted out moves that most certainly did not belong in this decade. She swirled her hips and pumped her arms like she was from the Bee Gees. Only people from his mum's movies danced like that.

"What are you doing?" Owen shouted over the music.

"I'm enjoying the party!" she yelled back, doing a twirl on the spot, her eyes on the crowd around them for a moment.

Feeling the horrible music seep into his bones, Owen got drunk on her eyes. It was the colour of water on a rainy day, like the ocean at his family's vacation home in East Ends. He started to move around, matching her moves with something Patrick Swayze would do. Goldie seemed to like it, and he kept it up. He twirled her around and even braved a dip. Her eyes widened, and he held her there, back arched and clinging onto him. They locked eyes, and everything else blurred away. He knew the cause, but the oceans in her eyes wanted to take the credit. Remembering the point of all this, he leaned in.

"There you are!" someone jumped in between them.

Owen looked up, and his forehead creased.

"Yeah," Goldie said to the girl; Jessica might have been her name.

"I got us some tequila shots!" She handed Goldie a glass.

Unlike before, Goldie downed the shot without hesitation and grabbed the other glass in her friend's hand, giving it to Owen. He drank it but knew he would be screwed if he kept this up.

Hopefully literally.

The two of them continued to dance until it felt like he was sweating too much. Still determined to win the challenge, he grabbed her hand and took her back to the kitchen. She gripped back this time. He handed her another two shots of tequila and downed two himself.

"Woohoo!" Goldie yelled after throwing them back.

"That's the spirit," Owen laughed.

"I have to pee," she said and left again.

Feeling like one more drink would be the end of him, Owen slowly followed Goldie up the stairs. He passed a clock on his way but could barely tell the time. Was it 10 PM?

Waiting in the hallway, he caught Goldie as she emerged from the bathroom. A little off balance, he sent her a smirk and stepped closer. She swayed as well, and the sight did not sit quite right with him. It was an obvious tactic and, yet, reminded him of something he could not recall. He did not want to take advantage of her, but... If he lost this bet...

Owen leaned in slowly, hesitantly.

"You're not going to slap me again, are you?" he whispered.

And as soft as a feather, their lips touched.

The music stopped playing, the hallway stopped smelling of beer, the world around stopped spinning, and all he could think about was the electric touch of their lips. She kissed him back for a moment, her hand reaching for his shoulder... Then pulled away.

And everything returned to normal.

"You're just using me..." she whispered, looking back at him with eyes so pure, he felt his heart wrench. She could barely stand, and he was kissing her. She... She had someone she was in love with. She had someone she was loyal to. Someone like his parents.

He opened his mouth to apologise, but a voice stopped him.

"Well, that confirms the made-up boyfriend."

Owen turned, and from the other side of the hallway, Bowmen glared. When he looked back at Goldie, her expression was exactly the same as his sister's after stealing cookies.

Made-up boyfriend?

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