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She chuckles and snaps a puzzle piece into another. "You sure you'll be okay with Damien?"
"I'll be more than okay," I call out, slipping into the bathroom and shutting the door.
"Then I'll be more than okay with Beau."
My heart's racing a thousand miles a minute as I shower and put on a simple, button-down white shirt, olive shorts, and sandals. I mutter to myself as I throw a couple of things into my mini backpack.
"Toothbrush, condoms, what's left of my cholesterol medicine—sexy!"
I sweep out of my room and kiss Mom on the top of the head.
"You call me if you need anything. I'll be, um, at the resort. I think we're doing dinner or something."
The thought of food hasn't entered my mind, and the only eating I expect isn't the kind I choose to discuss with my mother. I try to smile innocently while thinking of doing filthy things to Damien.
"Will do, dear. Have fun. If you're going to be out all night, shoot me a text, okay?"
I nod and continue on my manic way, revving the car out of the driveway. I zoom down the main road that rings the island, past tourist souvenir shops selling three neon T-shirts for ten dollars, past tall, lush palm trees on Beach Drive, past the island's nicest restaurant, the Square Grouper.
Within ten minutes I reach the northernmost tip of the island, where the Paradise Beach Resort sits. The sprawling building looms in the distance on the shore, a giant pink-and-white frosted Mediterranean-style building.
I careen into a public parking space across the street from the resort so I don't have to pay the valet parking fees. Damien's family owns the largest and nicest resort on the island, and even though it's undergoing renovations, it's still expensive to even set foot inside.
When I stride into the giant stucco building that looks like a castle, I nod politely to the doorman and the concierge.
I'm here for a night of sex, gentlemen.
Punching a brass button for the elevator, I wonder if my zero-fucks attitude is because I'd been so mercilessly bullied senior year high school. Everyone — well, everyone but Damien and Sadie, my best friend back then — thought I was a whore. Which was completely untrue — I was a virgin until I got to college.
The elevator doors slide open, and I'm suddenly awash in teenage memories.
At first I tried to fight back against the rumors. Protested that no, I hadn't done it with Damien or anyone else. He tried to tell everyone that we'd only kissed. That backfired and rumor got around that I allowed him full access to my butt, which was outrageous and untrue. At that time, I didn't even know what anal sex was.
He became wildly popular and was crowned homecoming king.
I cried myself to sleep every night.
Eventually, I gave up and stopped talking to nearly everyone except Sadie. If people didn't want to believe me, that was their problem. God, I wish she could see me now. She'd emailed recently, saying she was on her way back to Paradise after getting her boat captain's license in Holland; I haven't seen her in years.
I tap my foot as the elevator crawls to the fifth floor. I've never actually had sex on Paradise Beach, since I waited until I was safely in the anonymity of Chicago to have sex. It was my sophomore year and the experience had all the allure of warm milk.
Part of the problem was I'd always wanted to be with Damien.
I reach Room 501 and knock three times. He opens the door and grins wickedly, his teeth gleaming against his darkbeard. Walking in, I allow my backpack to slide onto the floor and wrap my arms around his neck.
"Hey," I whisper.
He responds with a growl and presses me against the wall, assaulting my mouth with a hard, needy kiss.
kate
. . .
Damien is shirtless.
He's pinning me against the wall, and he'sshirtless. It's a glorious thing, his muscular, naked chest.
His golden skin is fever-hot. I want to break away from his kiss to stare at the perfection of his chest and shoulders and biceps...but the kiss.
