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“And being stuck on this small island with the problem can’t be comfortable. I get it. You’ve got stuff on your mind. Nowhere to let it out. You should try a Zumba class by the way, relieve some of that stress.”
“You seriously did not just suggest a Zumba class to me.”
“And as much sympathy as I have for you, Kent, you can’t go taking it out on our customers. This is expected to be one of the busiest weekends of the year.”
“I get it, I get it.” I lift my hands in surrender. “I’ll behave.”
“That includes not telling customers you farted on their funnel cakes.” Malik shakes his head. “Seriously, Kent, professionally, what in the fuck? That kind of stuff goes into bad reviews.”
I gaze out at the boardwalk where Mr. Boy Next Door went off in his tiny yellow trunks. “Won’t happen again,” I promise him, turning pensive suddenly. What was it about that guy that worked me up so fast? It’s like I’m so used to the usual shallow flirting and fleeting horn dogs that when something real comes along, I gotta bat and scratch at it like a suspicious, irritable cat until it runs off.
I didn’t even get his name.
But then I remind myself what he called me. A player. You can call that my trigger word, because I sure ain’t no fucking player. Leave the game-playing to my heart-crushing brother Adrian, who has a reputation for doing exactly that: flirting with innocent, visiting cuties, luring them into his muscly trap, then crushing their hearts.
That’s what they call him: the Heart Crusher.
And it’s part of the reason we’re not talking right now.
I’ll be damned if some tourist with an appetite for funnel cake is going to assume he knows me just from a brief conversation through this little window—no matter how damned adorable he is.
Chapter 3 - Jonah
Nope, you’re not mistaken.
That’s me, kicked back in a sweet-ass cabana by the lustrous pool of the Elysian Seaside Resort and Spa, clutching a piña colada in one hand, a book in the other, and a plate of half-eaten funnel cake resting on my belly. I’m dressed comfortably in loose shorts and an opened button shirt with tiny pineapple-shaped smiley faces all over it. The cabana provides the perfect amount of shade, yet I have a full and open view of the water, the sun, and the sky. The pool is entirely uninhabited for some reason, maybe because everyone’s down at the beach, and that puts me completely at ease. No distracting hot bods. Nothing to compare myself to. No judgy-judging.
This is my vacation, and it’s oozing by one lazy, delicious minute at a time.
Until a rather animated individual appears at the other end of the pool, spots me, then starts waving his arms. “What the hell?!” he shouts out. It’s Rico, by the way. Thankfully, as I pointed out, there isn’t anyone here to pay witness to his shameless explosion as he draws closer. “You just up and leave me all by myself on the beach like that? I had to finish my own back, since you only put lotion on half!”
He acts like it was a big deal. He and I know damned well his beach-ready booty was happy to be on his own, sucking in the attention, free to do as he pleased. “I had very, very important matters to attend to. Namely …” I nod at the plate balanced on my belly, lift my drink in one hand, then give my book a wiggle in the other.
“So this is what you ‘forgot’?” Rico huffs as he drops onto the lounge chair next to mine. “Jonah, I really don’t get you sometimes. We’re supposed to be on vacation.”
“I am on vacation. Do you realize how long it’s been since I read more than just half a chapter in a day? I’m already three chapters in and I don’t hate my life. We took today off for a reason. Imagine everyone back at the store right now on this beautiful Friday afternoon, hating their lives. We work too much, Rico.”
“Yes, we work too much, preach, but reading a book is something you can do at home. So is eating crap food off your stomach and guzzling alcohol.”
“But not by a beautiful poolside! Also, piña coladas are not a drink you guzzle, my friend. And this funnel cake isn’t crap food. It’s …”
My heart sighs. I see the employee’s dopey eyes and the cute dimples that appear when he smiles—or rather: cockily smirks. I hear his sultry, playful tone of voice that suggests all kinds of mischief behind a closed door. I feel the way electricity rushed through every part of my body, from the follicles of hair atop my head to the ends of my pinky toes and back, just by holding his attention—Kent’s attention.
