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“There should be drinks and snacks waiting inside,” I say. “You want to go check it out?”
When Stella nods and our eyes lock, I don’t see the twenty-six-year-old woman carrying the weight of her mom’s terminal illness and her fiance’s betrayal. I see the sweet, enthusiastic little girl I met eighteen years ago. There’s nothing but light and hope and joy in her eyes right now. I wouldn’t hesitate to pay ten times what I did to get this house today. A hundred times. Just for this look.
“Have I told you you’re the best fake husband I’ve ever had?”
I laugh as we take a boardwalk through a shaded area of palms. “You haven’t.”
“I saw Dom and Rowan having breakfast with some women whose boobs looked like actual beach balls this morning. You could be on a trip like this, sowing your oats, but you’re here with me.”
She’s wearing a bikini today. I can see the outline of it through the sheer coverup robe thing she’s wearing. When I told her to dress for a beach day, she understood the assignment. I can’t fucking wait to see her take that coverup off.
“I’m exactly where I want to be,” I tell her.
The house comes into view, and I whistle. It’s a sprawling, squared-off, super modern white structure with lots of windows. There are multiple decks and balconies and the landscaping is filled with bright tropical flowers and foliage.
“This is the dream, isn’t it?” Stella says as she takes it in.
“Yeah, it’s amazing.”
“We never imagined when we were running through creeks and playing football that we’d end up somewhere like this one day, did we?”
I laugh. “Definitely not. It was a big deal for us when our parents took us on a road trip to go camping.”
“I can remember watching your dad pack the minivan for those trips. He had a system.”
I grin and nod. “You don’t fuck with Jack Hogan’s van packing system. You just carry your shit out and leave it next to the car.”
“And stick to the schedule.”
“Ah, the ol’ vacation schedule. Mom would come home from those vacations so exhausted she’d sleep for half a day when he went back to work. She called them ‘vacations.’” I air quote the word.
Stella marvels at the rows of perfectly manicured landscaping. “And now here we are.”
“No platinum package bullshit today. And a car from the hotel will pick us up anytime we’re ready.”
We reach the front door of the home, which is the one the concierge sent me instructions to enter. I take out my phone and type in the key code I was given, a green light flashing on the keypad.
“Let’s see what this shack looks like,” I say, opening the door for Stella.
It looks like big money. The walls are white and the light wood floors are perfectly clean. Modern art adorns the walls in a few carefully chosen places. The floor plan is wide open, the railing to the open second story made of sleek black metal.
“Incredible,” she murmurs as she takes it in. “Is this what your house is like?”
I laugh. “No, I have a three-bedroom condo in downtown Denver.”
She gives me a sheepish look. “I sounded like a small-town rube there, didn’t I?”
“No, you didn’t. I’m in houses like this sometimes, when I go to fundraiser events. Our team owner is married to one of my teammates and they’re building a house that’s fucking incredible. It’s not modern, but it’s bougie as hell.”
This beach house’s island is at least a hundred square feet, the white wood topped with plain white stone counters. The concierge came through—there’s a bottle of champagne, two bottles of wine, a bottle of bourbon, assorted local craft beers and lots of snacks sitting on the island.
“All of this is for us?” Stella asks.
“Yeah, I know we won’t drink it all. We can take the rest back to our room or give it to Dom and Rowan.”
She quirks a brow at me. “Those two could use a drink, you’re right.”
I take two glasses from an open shelf in the island and set them on the island counter. Then I pop open the champagne and pour some into the glasses—a full one for Stella, just enough for a toast for me. I’ll be switching to bourbon after this.
Stella’s coverup tie has come loose and it’s hanging open a few inches. Honestly, her breasts are so perfect in that red bikini top that I’d like to offer a toast to them. Better not, though.
“To our free day in Maui,” I say instead.
She clinks her glass against mine and smiles. “To our free day.”
I drain my glass and immediately open the bourbon. Whatever today has in store for us, alcohol isn’t going to help me keep my roadblocks up. I’m enjoying myself too much to care, though.
