Victim of Love Read Online Free

really big dead fish. But as I moved closer my pulse raced. Dead fish didn’t wear clothing. Dead men did.
    He was on his back, feet and lower legs resting on the wet sand. Suit pants, some dark color, blue or black, hard to tell as they were soaked through with seawater. A shirt with a loosened tie. No shoes. Dark hair. Eyes closed.
    I approached cautiously, then stared down at him. The man wasn’t dead, I decided, for three reasons. Firstly, his skin had good color. He was a white guy, but the face—a handsome face, I noted—held a medium suntan. Secondly, his hands were clasped together at his midsection over his belly. While it might have been a coffin pose, I doubted that dead men washed up on a beach would be positioned such. And thirdly, a half empty bottle of clear liquor rested at his side.
    Not dead. Just dead drunk.
    And likely about to freeze to death. A wave crashed gently and water spread over the stranger’s lower body before retreating back into the sea. He didn’t move a muscle.
    “Hey.” I knelt down and touched his cheek. Cold. “Hey,” I said, louder this time, giving his shoulder a shake.
    Like someone had flipped a switch, the stranger came alive, eyes blinking open as his body jerked like an electric shock had run through him. He looked at me, then sprang to his feet, stumbling backward on the sand. Glaring my way, he wobbled slightly. “Who the fuck are you?”
    Pretty eyes pinned me under an irritated scowl, sleepy-looking but also alert now. His body language was defensive, arms curled and chest out, ready for a fight. In my shock at his sudden aliveness, I couldn’t find my voice.
    “Who the fuck are you?” he repeated, moving toward me, a sway in his step. “What are you doing?”
    “I...I thought you were dead.”
    The stranger moved slowly toward me, eyes still narrowed with suspicion. His clothing was drenched, sticking to his body and outlining a fit physique, loosened tie hanging limply to one side. He came so close I thought he was going to bump into me, but stopped himself with mere inches between us. As I stared into his eyes, his frown became a grin, nose wrinkling as he chuckled. His teeth were a little too big for his mouth, but it worked on him, the bright white smile contagious. “You thought I was dead?”
    “Yeah. You were lying the in the water. Not moving.”
    Tossing his head back, he laughed hard. He spread his arms wide, stumbling slightly. “Well as you can see, I’m not dead. So you can...” He flicked his hand at me, shooing me away. “You can fuck off and go about your business.” He turned and headed toward the shoreline again.
    “You’re not gonna lie back down, are you?” I asked. “You could get dragged out to sea and drown.”
    “I’m looking for my bottle.” He stumbled across the sand, head down, eyes searching. “Did you take my bottle?”
    I sighed, approaching him. “It’s right there.”
    He looked at me, then his sleepy eyes followed my pointed finger to the bottle on the sand. His huge grin reappeared. “Ah! My precious.” He scooped the bottle up and uncapped it, taking a long drink. Falling onto his ass, he laughed loudly. “Here’s to not being dead!”
    Okay, Olsen. The guy’s not dead. Leave him be and go back to the resort.
    Clearly the man was of sound mind despite the drunkenness. It wasn’t my job to babysit a stranger. I told myself to walk away. But my feet wouldn’t move. What if I left and this idiot decided to go for a swim? I had visions of waking up at the bungalow tomorrow, heading down to the beach with the gang, only to find the place swarming with cops who’d found the drowned body of this drunk guy. Knowing I could have prevented it. But could I? It wasn’t my business as an individual. But I supposed it was my business as a decent human being.
    “Hey, it’s getting chilly down here and you’re soaked. You should go back to wherever you’re staying and change into some dry clothes.”
    He looked