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I’m not a romantic person.
I generally don’t get ahead of myself, especially when it comes to men.
But for a fraction of a second, there was an actual spark between us.
I felt it on the dance floor.
“Oh, shoot,” I say when the brightly lit resort comes into view less than an hour later. “My room key is in my purse . . . which is on the bus . . . which is who knows where . . .”
There’s no way the resort’s going to give me a spare key when I have no ID or way to prove I’m even staying there. Even if I had all that, I’m splitting the room with my other cousin, Tiffin, and everything’s under her name. I check the time—it’s not even ten. It’ll probably be another four or five hours before everyone gets back, and that’s if they don’t stop for food somewhere on the way. We have free twenty-four-hour room service here, but knowing Vivi and the gang, they’ll spot a food truck or an all-night restaurant, and they’ll be drunks on a mission.
“You can hang out in my room,” he offers.
“I don’t want to put you out. I’ll probably just hang out in the lobby.” We’re strolling down a palm tree–lined street, getting closer to the main entrance with every step.
“That sounds like something a pick-me girl would say,” he says.
“What?” I scrunch my nose. “No. That’s not what that means . . .”
He chuckles, marking the third time for the night I’ve seen him smile, giving me the impression that he forgives me for the glitter incident.
“I’m just giving you shit,” he says, giving me a stone-faced wink. “But seriously, don’t be a martyr. You’re not hanging out in the lobby for the rest of the night.”
My stomach somersaults with his words.
It’s impossible to know if he’s offering out of the kindness of his heart or because he, too, felt that same jolt of electricity on the dance floor and isn’t ready for the night to be over.
Despite the past two hours being chock full of surprises, something tells me I haven’t seen the last of them.
We’re strolling through the lobby, en route to the elevator, when my phone vibrates—my phone that didn’t have a signal an hour ago.
“It’s Vivi,” I say as her name shows up on the FaceTime call. My phone must have connected to the resort’s Wi-Fi when we walked in. I tap the accept button and bring the phone in front of my face.
“I’m so glad you answered,” she says, breathless. I can hardly see her from all the flickering lights behind her, and the music on the bus almost drowns out her voice. “We just realized we left without you two—I’m so, so, so sorry. We’re leaving the second bar now and we’re going to swing back to the hotel and pick you guys up.”
I glance at Dorian, who doesn’t remotely try to hide the disappointment on his face, though it’s anyone’s guess as to whether his disappointment stems from being forced back into the party or losing our one-on-one time.
“We’ll be waiting out front,” I tell her.
I came here for Vivi, not to sneak off with one of her fiancé’s friends the second he pays me a little attention. I may be heartbroken, but I’m not desperate.
“It’s the right thing to do,” I say to Dorian after I end the call, though by saying those words out loud, I feel like I’m trying to justify it to myself more than anything.
I was actually looking forward to going up to his room. I wanted to tease him and peel back his layers and rouse some more half smiles from his handsome, frowning face. I wanted to flirt and be flirted with. I wanted to feel the rush of wanting someone and wanting them to want me back. I wanted to bottle this—whatever it is—and drink every last drop until the sun comes up, all in the name of innocent fun.
We head out front to wait for our ride, his arm brushing against mine as we walk.
Outside, a balmy breeze tousles my hair and kisses my face. I brush a loose curl off my shoulder and gaze up at the starry sky. Back in Manhattan, it’s rare to see the stars this clearly, if at all. It’s easy to forget they even exist sometimes. Out of sight, out of mind. But they’re always there, day or night, even when you can’t see them.
Glancing at Dorian, I can’t help but notice the rampant misery wafting off him along with his fading cologne—almost worse than when I first laid eyes on him earlier tonight. He looks like he’s waiting for a prison bus rather than a party bus. And he hasn’t said more than two words since Vivi called—in fact, I don’t think he’s said a single one.
