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“Do you want to talk about it?”
Hell no! Could anything be more embarrassing than that? Yeah, uh, I only fell into bed with you because my heart is broken and the guy I was in love with is here, possibly with some other chick.
That’d go down well.
I pulled out of his grasp and brushed the front of my lemon-yellow dress, then tucked my hair behind my ear. “Listen, you don’t need to do this. I know how these types of things work. Maybe not super personally, but I know that a one-night stand is a one-night stand. You don’t need to pretend to care just because we’re trapped on the same island.” And I didn’t particularly relish the thought of him whipping off his pants for another bachelorette party tonight, either.
“Huh?” His ran a finger down that slightly crooked nose. “Trapped?”
“Yeah, I’m here until the wedding’s over and you’re here until whenever you and your stripper guys have to, um, leave. I don’t know how it works or how long you’ll be here for, and let’s face it, this is just a –”
He pressed a finger to my lips. “Quiet. Stop overthinking things. Walk with me instead.”
“What, now?” I asked, keenly aware of his presence and the way his gaze swept up and down my body, landed on my chest, and flicked to my face again.
“No, next week,” he replied. “Of course, now. Come.” He held out an arm.
I stared at it.
What could it hurt? This was harmless fun, and I wasn’t some snob that I’d turn up my nose at his profession. It wasn’t a problem for me that he did what he did. I didn’t enjoy watching that, but –
Ramble, ramble, ramble! Just do it!
I slipped my arm through his, and he rewarded me with a toe-curling smile.
“Let’s go,” he said and guided me out across the beach, my camera flapping on the end of its strap.
Chapter 4
Bain
I was the type of guy who always got what I wanted.
The same guy who’d seen that Mustang GT sitting out on the street, boosted and stolen it at the ripe age of sixteen. The one who’d been banished from the fucking family for it, made to look an ass in comparison to my younger brother.
And now, I was the dude who made shit happen.
All of that fell away at the sight of Hazel with tears on her cheeks.
Who the fuck did this to her? Why?
We walked down the beach in silence, the waves brushing the white sand and chasing up it to tickle our toes. She gasped and jostled out of the water, directly into me, and I caught her and laughed.
“You don’t like the water?” I asked.
“No, I do. I just don’t like the cold,” she replied and lowered her head, probably to hide the cute pink flush on the apples of her cheeks.
“So,” I said and slipped my arm around her waist. It was a comfort to do that. She still made my dick unbearably hard, but everything between us felt natural, easy.
Relax, dick, it’s just a weekend with a gorgeous woman. Nothing more and nothing less.
“So, what?” Hazel asked and looked up at me. “What do you mean, so?”
“Are you always this nervous?” I asked.
“Yes,” she replied. “My mom used to call me a worry wart growing up. I guess that was warranted. I worry and I talk too much. That was what she said.”
“That’s a pretty nasty thing to say to a kid.” And I could sympathize. I’d been labeled a couple of shitty things by my parents. Nothing that I’d let fuck with my head, though. They’d always favored my little brother over me. Jacob was the saint, and I was the sinner. “Is that why you’re crying? You’re worrying about something?”
She spun and looked up at me, skin flaming up again so that I wanted to kiss her, make the anger or pain disappear. “I’m not crying, see?” She poked either cheek. “I’m all good. It was a momentary lapse.”
“Over what?” I asked.
“You really want to know this shit?” she asked and rolled her eyes. “Like I said, you don’t have to do this.”
“I don’t do anything I don’t wanna do.” Plain and simple truth, apart from one thing. Serving time in juvie.
“All right,” she said.
We walked up to a spot slightly removed from the beach, behind a rocky outcropping and right up against the trees. The resort was farther down, and the sounds of laughter and music drifted along the sand, audible above the rush of waves.
I helped Hazel onto a rock and took a seat beside her, looped my arm around her again, tugged her tight to my side. I couldn’t not touch her.
“I don’t even know you,” she said, “and I’m about to tell you my sob story.”
“That just makes it easier,” I replied and watched her.
