Page 46 of Special Delivery

I sit up and she scoots in behind me, moving my hair from my back. The lotion is cold when she squirts it over my back, but she quickly massages it in.

“So… tonight’s the last night here,” Jordan comments, lying back on her bed.

“Yes.” Thank God.

“We’ve made no progress with Kim. If we don’t stop this now, who knows if we’ll ever get a chance,” she continues.

“I know,” I mutter.

“Is it Ryan?”

I lean forward harshly, messing the work Emma’s doing on my back. “What?”

“You haven’t said anything bad about him for days. And the way he rushed to cater to your wound yesterday was weird.”

“I think he’s just… nice.”

“See? That’s what I’m talking about. You’re making nice with the enemy.”

“Enemy?” My voice raises. “You’ve been nice to him, too.”

“Yeah, but I’m not interested in fucking him.” Her lips pull into a skeptical side smirk.

“I’m not… it’s not.” My mind blanks as she stares at me with suspicion. Finally, I sigh, forming a coherent thought. “I’m not attracted to him.” The words barely leave my mouth. “I get flustered because I’m still embarrassed by the way we met. More importantly, I’m not comfortable doing this to Kim. She seems like a good person who doesn’t deserve us acting like spoiled brats.”

She rolls her eyes in her practiced sisterly manner. “We’re not actually doing anything to her. It’s not like we’re planting whoopee cushions on her chair or mixing her shampoo with shaving cream.”

Emma gives a dramatic gasp. “Where are you getting your ideas from?”

Jordan jokingly throws a shirt at her, but it falls to the ground sooner than it reaches us. “As I was saying… We’re just trying to show Dad they’re incompatible. You used to love doing that with me.”

“I know.”

She releases a sigh but doesn’t press further. I get where she’s coming from, but having any hidden motives toward Kim doesn’t sit right with me. Besides, I need to focus on escaping the temptation that is her son, because, so far, I’m failing spectacularly at it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Ryan

My fingers button the white linen shirt over my chest. The resort was kind enough to wash and press it. Back home, I have a closet full of office clothes, suits, ties, and fancy shirts, but my wardrobe is seriously lacking in vacation attire. Pretty much everything in that category was packed into my suitcase.

Tonight’s our last night in the resort. The last night that this weird, sort of family, is together. My stomach churns with mixed feelings. Mom loves it here, and I’m sure she doesn’t look forward to going back home.

Even though the girls have tried to stir up some shit, she isn’t bothered by it. She and Roger are genuinely in love, and it will take more than Paige and Jordan to burst their bubble. Paige has also seemed to warm up to her. I notice how her lips tip when Mom tells her a story or gives her a compliment. It’s Mom working her magic, making everyone around her believe they’re special, but it also reassures me about my emotions toward Paige.

Not that I’m sure how I feel. It’s not something I can put into labels, or even words. But as I stare at the sun lowering on the horizon, painting the sky with a million colors, I know that a part of me will miss being here. It might be this paradise island, or the amazing resort, yet I’m pretty sure it isn’t. I’m pretty sure that I’ll be missing something else entirely. Maybe my brain associated her with my headache disappearing. It could have been a total coincidence, but she’s like a highly addictive painkiller, and my body is now craving more.

It’s also the stubborn part of my personality, wanting to prove to her that she’s wrong. I know she wants me. I know she wants to explore this, whatever the hell this is, but she acts like she doesn’t, saying shit like, ‘This can’t happen again.’ I rub pomade into my beard and hair, spray some cologne, and head out to our last dinner.

The restaurant for tonight is the epitome of romance. It’s set right on the beach, with tables reaching all the way to the rising tide of the ocean. A giggling couple in front of me slips their shoes off, dashing toward their table. Tiki torches line their way, softening the fading daylight.

I spot Paige first and almost stop in my tracks. The sea breeze is dancing in her hair, sending a few strands across her cheeks. Her white dress is loose and off the shoulders, revealing the smooth plane of her neck and collarbone. She presses a glass of wine to her lips, and my gaze catches on the movement. After a sip, her tongue darts out to lick off the excess liquid.

For a second, I forget where I am and why I’m here. For a second, I imagine she’s waiting for me. I imagine us on a date, getting to know each other before getting tangled up in sheets.

Mom’s voice breaks me out of my stupor. “Over here.”

My gaze finally flicking away, I notice two more tables to her right. The tables are round and big enough to seat only two people, solidifying this place as a couple’s paradise, but they have pulled three tables together for us. Still, it doesn’t make it less couplish when I sit down across from her.