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“Fine. Fine. We’ll take your car. But you’re paying for dinner,” I said with a grin.
“See? There’s the Rhett I’ve been looking for. Good to have you back, brother.”
“Good to be back,” I said.
I was nervous about this trip. I hadn’t even seen Chanel since that night, much less spoken to her. What took place that night was a train wreck. She came prepared for the night of her life, and I broke her damn heart. Hell, I trampled it and left it out on the gutter. I’d replayed that night over and over in my head for years to come, and I still couldn’t come up with a logical explanation for how I ended up under that girl.
I’d held Chanel close all night long. I’d danced with her, and kissed her all night long. I’d planned to take her to that room my brother had rented for us, open that bottle of champagne, and make love to her like she deserved, instead of the sloppy fuck in the back of my car we’d had the week before.
Apparently, sloppy fucks in the back of a car, were my specialty. But with Chanel, it was special. No one else could ever compare.
I’d tried so many times over the years to figure out what had happened. Had I been so careless and drunk to know who I was with at that moment? Had I sabotaged us, and broken us both in the process in some misguided attempt to let her go?
She was the smarter girl I knew. A writer with natural talent, and an A student. I was barely a C student, and I only tried hard enough for those grades so that I could still play lacrosse and run track. I knew college wasn’t in my future, and Chanel had a chance to go Ivy League. I didn’t want to mess that up for her.
But, fuck, could I have let her down a better way?
Apparently not.
Of course, I kept tabs on Chanel since high school. I wanted to know how she was doing at Cornell. If she was happy. If she was moving on with her life. She was amongst the top of her class, running the school newspaper and constantly on the front page with shit that affected their college community. She graduated a semester early and took a paid internship with The New York Times. Now, she had her own blog that generated thousands of views and comments and shares. Now, she was selling her own individual voice to online and paper publications.
She was making something of herself.
I couldn’t have been prouder of her. Even in my darkest moments in combat, her happiness was the only thing prayed for. She was better off without me.
Who the hell was I? Rhett Smith. A fucking jock from the wrong side of town, dating the best thing to happen to him and kidding himself all along.
“Earth to Rhett. You there, man?”
“Sorry. What was that?” I asked.
“Holy fuck, really? I’ve been rambling on for the last ten minutes, and you weren’t even listening?” Tommy asked.
“Let me guess. You were talking about all the pussy you’re gonna eat on this cruise,” I said.
“Well, that wasn’t all of it. I was also asking you about all those island excursions. You picked yours yet?” he asked.
“I thought that shit didn’t happen until we got on the ship.”
“Well, not officially, but I figured you would’ve at least looked this shit up to figure out where on the islands you want to tap some ass,” he said.
“Nope. Haven’t done any intense research on this trip. Honestly? It’s a great deal on a fresh start for me. I’m out of the SEALs. I’m trying to figure out what my next fucking move is. A booze cruise with nothing on but my bathing suit for a whole week sounds nice,” I said.
“Oh, dude. I didn’t even think about that. Yes. Fresh start. Oh, shit. You know what we could do?” he asked.
“What?”
“Get you laid,” he said.
“Was that not already on the agenda?” I asked with a grin.
“And he’s back, ladies and gentlemen! Another round of drinks for my friend here. We’re celebrating the next leg of our adventure together.”
The bar couldn’t have cared less, but I was excited. I didn’t know what seeing Chanel was going to bring, but I knew one thing for sure.
This would be the perfect way to clean my slate and start all over.
CHAPTER 3
