Traveling makes her happy. She was in her element as she threw out amazing idea after amazing idea. I think she even likes taking photos and editing them, crafting captions, and talking about the highlights of this resort—or whatever other resort she’s trying to sell her viewers on.
But the engagement? That brings her down, and that’s the thing that she thinks is most tied to her worth. I don’t care so much that she’s always on her device. It’s her job, and I’m working hard to understand that.
I saw her eyes light up as I told her how impressive her ideas were. I saw the way her hunched shoulders stood a little straighter. I saw her transform before my eyes.
Social media pulls her under.
She’s bright and sparkling when it’s just the two of us, but it dulls the moment she checks how many comments her post from this morning got or how many views her story is at.
And somehow it feels like it’s my job to help her see that. To help her stay sparkling all the time. Her worth is so much more than those goddamn numbers, and maybe she couldn’t find an open table on her first night here and plopped down at mine because I was sent here to save her.
Christ. I’m not sure where these intrusive thoughts are coming from, but this doesn’t feel like me. I haven’t even known this woman for two weeks, but given the amountof time we’ve spent together, it feels like I know her better than I knew Tatum.
And it feels like in a lot of ways, she’s starting to know me better than I’ve ever allowed anyone to see. Including Tatum.
“Let’s go have some fun,” I suggest.
She glances up at me. “Doing what?”
“Get your swimsuit on. I’m taking you on an adventure.”
She narrows her eyes at me, but she relents. A half hour later, I swing by her room to pick her up for our afternoon date.
She’s in that red bikini with white polka dots again, and it takes every ounce of my willpower not to strip her naked and throw her on the bed.
I mean…I said I wanted to have some fun. That would count.
But I have a different idea.
We head down to one of the outdoor excursion desks after she grabs her waterproof lanyard that’s already holding her phone.
“How can I help you?” the man behind the counter asks.
“We’d like to rent some snorkel gear,” I say.
Millie snorts beside me. “Snorkel gear?”
“I thought you wanted to snorkel.”
“No, I toldyouto go snorkel, remember? The idea of fish brushing against my legs is…” She shivers and pulls a face.
I laugh. “The lagoon here is supposed to be incredible. Brightly colored schools of fish and your chance to explore the coral reefs,” I say, reading off the brochure counter mat with the information for this particular excursion.
She grits her teeth together as she glares at me.
“Come on,” I goad. “It’ll be fun. And then you can pick what we do next.”
“What’s the one thing you most don’t want to do?” she asks.
I laugh. “Like I’d really confess that to you.”
“It’s the vertical slide drop, isn’t it?”
It’s my turn to pull a face. I’ve heard that if you don’t cross your legs on that slide, there’s a situation where the water pressure goes straight up your ass. “I don’t need an enema today, thank you very much.”
The dude behind the counter laughs at my assessment.
“Then cross your legs, you goose,” she teases.
