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USA Today & International bestselling romance author, S.E. Rose lives near Washington D.C. with her family. When she's not wrangling her cats or keeping up with her kids, she's plotting her next story.
She loves all things wine, coffee, and cats. In her non-existent free time, she enjoys traveling, going to concerts, binging on her favorite shows, and reading, especially if it's a good mystery or comedy.
Learn more about upcoming books from S.E. Rose at www.seroseauthor.com.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This is an extended epilogue for the novel, The Decoy. While it’s not necessary to read The Decoy prior to reading this short story, the reader will get more out of Lured by the Decoy if they have read the characters’ full stories in The Decoy.
1
REAGAN
Grant is alreadyat the bar as I toss my oversized beach hat on the tabletop and take a seat next to him. My body sinks onto the hard wooden stool next to him as I prop my elbows on the countertop and lay my head down on the cool stone surface. After the horrendous last few hours, I slightly regret agreeing to this New Year’s trip.
“Damn. Was the flight that bad?” he asks as he shoves a margarita over toward me.
I turn my head, eyeing the delicious goodness with its condensation dripping down the sides of the cup. Grabbing it, I down it in a single gulp.
“You have no idea,” I mumble as I hold up a finger to the bartender and motion for another margarita.
Grant places his head in his hand and turns toward me, his elbow resting on the bar top next to a beer. He gives me a hand gesture to proceed.
“I thought I was upgraded to first class. But, when I arrived, my ticket was all screwed up and I ended up in business class. Which is fine, whatever. That was until the woman from hell sat next to me. She complained nonstop for three hours. Count them, three,” I state holding up my fingers to emphasize the number. “Every passenger was glaring at me like I knew her or something. Then, when we arrived, my luggage didn’t show up. Apparently, they forgot to put it on the flight in the confusion about my ticket. And when I got here, guess what?” Grant’s hand motions for me to continue. “The freaking shop is closed at the resort and so are the closest shops because of some national holiday.” I groan and place my forehead back on the hard stone surface in front of me.
I feel Grant patting my shoulder awkwardly because lord knows that man isn’t one for public displays of affection, even amongst friends.
Grant Pierce is one of my best friends. And before I was dating my boyfriend, Zach, I used to be his decoy. For years, he didn’t share his sexuality with his family, but all that changed a year ago when I accompanied him on the most epic disaster of a destination wedding in the history of the world. However, I wouldn’t change that week for anything because that’s how I met Zach.
I already feel Grant judging my leggings and t-shirt. My sweatshirt is tied around my waist and I’m still wearing my running shoes because I was the idiot that packed her flip-flops in her checked luggage.
“Reagan, Reagan, Reagan. Have we not learned about the extra clothes in our carry-on?”
I glare at him, set my shoulder bag on the counter, open it, and pull out a thong, a bra, a bikini, and a cover-up.
“See…you have options,” he says as he examines the clothing. “Go change into the bikini. At least you can spend some time by the pool…or…I have a better idea. Let’s get a massage. You don’t need clothes for that.”
Before I can protest, Grant is downing his drink and the fresh margarita that was just placed in front of me.
“Grant!” I say in disbelief, trying to grab my beverage from him.
“Come on, massage time,” he announces, placing my hand through the crook of his arm as he tosses some money on the counter. He picks up my bag and leads me in the direction of the spa.
“Grant…I don’t know,” I state as we approach the spa, memories of the time I mistook Zach for Grant during a spa treatment come flooding into my brain.
With a roll of his eyes, Grant gives my back a small shove through the open double doors. “It’ll be fine. Don’t be such a diva.”
I glare at him. “That title is already taken,” I retort, as I poke his chest.
Grant gives me a wink and saunters toward the spa’s front desk as if he’s the queen and this is his palace.
“Good afternoon,” he says, his voice practically dripping with sugar. “My partner and I were hoping you might be able to squeeze us in for a couples massage.”
He gives her puppy dog eyes and the woman quickly taps away on her keyboard. “If you don’t mind waiting thirty minutes, I could squeeze you in. Now, it won’t be our full couples package, but we can certainly accommodate a massage.”
“You are a miracle worker. Yes, we will absolutely take it.”
“Great. You can wait in our lounges if you like.”
