The Sea God's One-Night-Stand *Tides of Fate*

7)

"Radioactive" by Lindsay Stirling and Pentatonix
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I was very thankful I had cash on me and that this hotel catered exclusively to obviously wealthy clients. They had personal drivers at the hotel on call, almost as if these guys were a part of an exclusive taxi service. My walk of shame had been embarrassing after I had gotten to the hotel lobby from the ground level. I could feel eyes on me, obviously indicating people were staring due to the form-fitting gown I wore. Thankfully, no one having been working the night before were still on call due to shift switching.

As I got out of the limo after sacrificing almost two-hundred dollars for a trip across town, I felt worse than I did before the gala the day before. I had been so completely hammered from the near two bottles of champagne, she could barely think straight this morning as my head pounded with a massive headache courtesy of the hangover.

Once I got to Isla's floor, I tried not to let too much self-loathing come into play. It was hard where I found myself wanting to cry for doing the exact same thing to some poor unsuspecting girl who feels Ajax cares for her.

After letting myself into Isla's place with my new key, I could smell the sizzling frying pan with eggs, onions, hash browns, and peppers inside. I could also smell fresh baked bread. Glancing at the digital clock on the wall, it was only seven. Isla usually used the days not coordinating weddings for work catching up on some sleeping. Her breakfast fajitas usually waited til mid-day to be made. "Isla...?"

"THERE YOU ARE!" Isla boomed, walking into the living room with a rather harsh stink-eye that could make a grown man cringe. Her fluffy raccoon slippers covered her feet while she wore a rather silly looking Disney top with mismatched bottoms. "Do you have any idea what time it is? I waited up for you to come back! I fell asleep around one, and when I went to the bathroom for my nightly pee at three, you were still nowhere to be found, and....Wait, you have sex hair," she suddenly accused, arching a very dark brow to overlook me from head to toe. Her jaw soon morphed to utter horror. "You had sex!? Mia! You went back to Tate!?" She winced horribly as if this was an ugly scene of a horror movie she didn't want to bear witness to.

The resemblance between Isla and Vivian Greene at this moment was uncanny. Both had the agitated hip-holding move down. Both had the perfect stink eye as well. It was me taking a strand of my dark locks to examine what this 'sex hair' resembled that caused Isla to scowl.

It was then I realized I didn't exactly deny the allegation when accused. Isla started to ramble in Spanish, shaking her jet-black head in what seemed to be disappointment and even pity. She soon returned to English once she seemed to remember that I didn't speak the language. "I mean, I'm not judging, but...Well, yeah I'm judging...He cheated. I mean, you still don't even know how long he was seeing Carly, it could've been months, and it could've gone on all that time, and-"

"It wasn't Tate." I groaned, holding my eyes with both hands before plopping down on the nearby sofa. "It was some guy I met last night," I mumbled, trying hard not to cry.

Isla's bushy brows raised so very high they almost seemed to disappear over her hairline. "Oh."

***

I spent my twenty-minute shower washing away my self-pity and despair. I felt horrible and disgusted with myself, but Isla managed to coax me from my pitiful ball of crying to inform me that things weren't as bad or as dire as I thought. One-night stands happened all the time. She kindly urged me to hop in the shower while she prepared breakfast and coffee before we dissected the previous night. In obvious Isla fashion, she wanted details.

By the time I finished taming my wild mane into submission, Isla had what seemed to be an entire feast at the ready based on comfort foot. Blueberry and almond muffins sat freshly baked as well as some lemon bread. "The carbs," I said, laughing.