Page 7 of Seven Rules for Breaking Hearts

Lost in thought, I hoisted my suitcase to load it into the back of the golf cart and stumbled beneath the weight. A pair of large hands caught me by the backs of my arms and steadied me. I caught a hint of a clean, woodsy cologne—pine and crisp seaside air and maybe a hint of spearmint, like a day hiking the redwoods beside the coast.

“Here, let me.” Declan let go of my arms to help with the suitcase.

I relinquished it, but my mouth was less compliant. “I don’t need help. I got my stuff this far.”

“It’s no problem,” he said with a disinterested shrug. My cheeks warmed, but I didn’t try to explain myself further. He tossed his own bag onto the pile and hopped into the front seat. Peter leaned over and muttered something to him, and Declan laughed. My blood boiled. There was nothing I hated like being the butt of a joke, and while the logical part of my brain was screaming you don’t know what they’re laughing at, an insecure part was convinced they were laughing at me.

The golf cart might have been a bit clunky, but our sponsor had spared no expense when it came to the hotel. Okay, maybe it was kind of worth selling out. I trailed through the elegant, white-tiled lobby of the Santa Catalina Resort and Spa behind my luggage, which had been loaded onto a rack and was now being pushed by a bellboy in a crisp linen shirt. This wasn’t the tacky island resort I’d imagined. There were high ceilings, tastefully upholstered furniture, and glazed ceramic planters filled with frilly palm trees that I was almost certain weren’t native to California. The bellboy pressed the button to call the elevator. “You’re lucky,” he said. “The fourth floor has the best view of the water.”

The elevator doors slid open, revealing beveled mirror paneling. My reflection served as an unwelcome reminder that I looked like I didn’t belong here. Short, broken hairs had sprung loose from my sloppy bun. I tried to make it sit in the middle of my head, at the very least, but it was intent on slumping to the side. No matter. I could freshen up in the room before dinner.

The elevator doors were closing when a well-muscled arm shot in to stop them. Declan wedged his way inside. His only luggage was the small gym bag slung across his shoulder. Our eyes met in the reflection and I averted my gaze, fidgeting with the beads on my bracelet. Peter and Jo had disappeared to their own rooms to freshen up, which meant it was just me, Declan, and the bellhop. Before either of us conjured up any small talk to fill the uncomfortable silence, the bellhop asked, “What floor?”

Declan looked at the printout from the front desk. “It says here room 403. I don’t know what floor that is.”

I glanced at my own paperwork. 402. I folded it and tucked it into my back pocket with a twinge of annoyance. The ride was short and suffocatingly quiet, and then the elevator spat us out on the top floor. The bellhop led us to the right, to a pair of doors about fifteen feet apart from each other. “Here we are. 402 and 403.” He made as though to unload my luggage for me, but I stopped him with a hand.

“No, no, it’s fine,” I said, wanting this whole interaction to end as soon as possible. “I’ve got it, just—” Just what? Leave the empty cart for housekeeping to retrieve later? I hadn’t thought this through. Rather than disappear into his room, Declan was watching our exchange with a look of mild bemusement.

“I’ll send someone up to get the cart,” the bellhop suggested.

I forced a tight-lipped smile and nodded, and with that, we were left alone. Me, Declan, and the luggage rack blocking my door. I reached between the metal bars and waved my keycard around until I heard the robotic chirrup of the door unlocking. Then I jostled the cart, trying to steer it out of the way. Or maybe steer it inside. I hadn’t figured that part out yet, but I needed to get myself inside at minimum, to find refuge from the sheer awkwardness.

Declan made no motion to head to his own room, but he wasn’t exactly offering to help, either. “So,” he said, “neighbors.”

I had no idea why he was bothering right now, considering he’d spent most of high school ignoring me—when he wasn’t tricking me into eating mayonnaise pudding or stuffing my tuba with shaving cream. But I didn’t take either of those occasions as any real acknowledgment of my existence, either, since he pulled those stunts on everyone. Anything for the sake of attention. “Looks like it,” I grunted. Steering the luggage rack was kind of like steering an overfilled grocery cart with a wonky wheel. I really had to put my back into it, and even then, it wasn’t being very cooperative.

“I can ask them to move me to a different room, if you want,” he offered.

I parked the rack off to the side. “What do you mean, ‘if I want’?” I jiggled the handle, but in the interim, my door had relocked itself. I tried to use the card again, but went all butterfingers and dropped it, like the protagonist in a horror movie who panics so bad she starts fumbling everything. If my life were a movie, I would 100 percent be yelling at the screen right now.

“I don’t know, just a …” His eyes darted over my stooped form as I retrieved my card, and he frowned. “Body language thing.”

“Glad to know you’ve been staring at my body.” Another chirrup, and I was finally admitted to my room.

He laughed dryly. “Yeah, the flailing arms and the whole ‘someone-pissed-in-my-Cheerios’ expression. Real sexy.”

I stopped in the doorway and turned to face him. “If I was trying to be sexy, believe me, you would know.” The words had barely left my mouth and already warmth was flooding my cheeks. What was I even trying to prove here? My best bet was to shut the door. Go hide beneath the Egyptian cotton duvet before I embarrassed myself any further.

Declan shrugged. “If you say so.”

“Not that I need to try.”

“Right.”

“Glad we’re on the same page,” I said, praying my face wasn’t turning as red as it felt.

His brow was knit in concern. Maybe for my well-being. He tossed a thumb over his shoulder. “So, should I be seeing someone about moving rooms, or—”

“Nope. We’re cool. Bye.”

Before this painful moment managed to drag on any longer, I retreated into my room and shut the door. With a groan, I slumped against the print wallpaper, all moody jungle and flashes of colorful feathers. If I thought our interactions were cringeworthy in high school, it was nothing compared to now. And did he seriously just imply that I wasn’t attractive? Please. One episode of the podcast—the one from back in Season Two about how to give a good blowjob would probably do the trick—and he’d be begging me to jump into bed with him.

It was only after I released a breath and straightened up, banishing the thought from my mind, that I realized I’d left my luggage in the hall.

CHAPTER4

I waited a solid ten minutes before I worked up the courage to retrieve my suitcase and tote bag from the rack outside. Once I was officially settled in, I stepped out on the balcony to take in the view.