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X has valid points, but… “I don’t understand why she’s suddenly so insistent about tossing away her V-card.”
My friend shrugs. “None of my business. She asked me to help out. As a friend, I said yes. I don’t see the problem. But if you want to dig for her motive, go for it. I’m going back to bed.”
“Alone?”
Xavian scoffs like I’ve got to be kidding. So he’s going to nail Ms. Hawaii again before he nails Echo?
Over my dead body.
* * * *
Sleep was a long time coming.
After Xavian took off, I stripped down to my boxers and settled next to Echo in bed. Well, first I cursed a blue streak at my pal for going back on his promise not to touch her, then I slid onto the mattress. The king-size bed should have been plenty big for us both. Not with her so close. I tried to drift off, but Echo’s scent was in every breath I took. Her body filled my stare, especially where her short skirt lay precariously, barely covering her ass and exposing a hint of her thin lace panties.
With a groan, I turned away, hard as fuck.
No way was I masturbating in the shower to thoughts of my best friend. So I tossed and turned, finally dropping off around five a.m.
Prying my eyes open now, I stare at the clock. Quarter after noon? I jerk upright. How the hell did I sleep so late?
The other side of the bed is empty. The sheets are cold. Echo has been gone for hours.
Fuck. I scramble for my phone.
Where are you? I text.
The message goes unread.
Lying here won’t help me find her—or get the answers to my burning questions. Did she sleep? Is she still upset? What is she thinking? What is she doing?
After charging out of bed, I rake a brush across my teeth and my fingers through my hair, throw on the first pair of shorts and tank I find in my suitcase, then grab my phone—texting Xavian as I leave the room.
Seen Echo this morning?
No reply.
Goddamn it. I hope like hell she hasn’t done something rash.
In the hallway, I see Xavian’s door propped open by the housekeeper. When I poke my head in, the maid is making his bed and tidying his room. No sign of X.
No matter how many times I press the button to call the elevator, it doesn’t come faster. Finally, I reach the lobby and bound down the stairs, scanning the pools on either side of me. Honeymooners? Check. Parents with little ones? Those, too. Teenagers hang out, and retirees look damn glad their days of keeping up with kids are over.
But I don’t see either X or Echo.
Retracing the garden path I trekked last night, I search the adults-only pool. But it’s so well hidden, the sucker is virtually empty. A senior citizen in a swim cap glares, silently warning me not to interfere with his laps.
Crossing back to the expansive lawn, I scan every visible inch of the property, including the balconies where brunchgoers are feasting. Nothing.
Next, I scramble to the walkway and down the steps, avoiding a screaming passel of kids and a pair of lovers holding hands while eye-fucking. Past a riot of tropical flowers, I reach the end of the cement path and zip my stare over the resort guests hanging out at the hotel’s private beach to the soundtrack of someone’s too loud radio blasting Nelly’s “Hot in Herre.”
No sloppy bun or ugly yellow one-piece, which is all Echo has ever worn since her swim team days in the tenth grade. Maybe she’s in the water. Maybe she’s avoiding me. Or maybe she’s with Xavian, who’s “comforting” her.
He fucking better not be.
Then a woman’s ass in a two-sizes-too-small orange bikini snags my attention. This isn’t just any ass. Holy Kim-Kardashian booty. Every golden inch of it is wide and round and juicy perched below a teeny, tiny waist. I shouldn’t be distracted when I’m looking for Echo, but this might be the most epic backside I’ve ever laid eyes on. I’d like to lay a lot more than my eyes on it. She’s also got curvy thighs that make me want to run my tongue down one side before I settle my mouth between them.
A glance warns me I’m not the only guy fixated on her long, loose braid swinging from one lush hip to the other, swishing against her pert ass with every slow, barefoot step she takes across the warm sand.
Wait. She moves like… Holy shit. No. That can’t be. But this woman is the right height. She has the same shade of caramel brown hair. I know Echo said she’d bought some bikinis…but that can’t be the body she’s been hiding under ankle-length skirts, too-big shirts, and comfortable sandals.
Right?
Xavian pops up from the ocean and starts chasing her. A giggle sounds above a crashing wave, and before the woman even turns her head, the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach warns me that the bikini babe with the most fuckable, bootylicious ass I’ve ever seen is my best friend.
