I attempted to see what she was reading, but the cover was out of my view. She was already engrossed in the story, turning pages at lightning speed, and somehow that made me want to know more about her.
“Any good?” I tapped the top of the paperback.
We both winced at the pungent scent that swirled with my movement.
“Could you sit still?” She swallowed hard and turned away, gulping down the stale air in the aisle.
“Not for three hours straight.” I stunk, I got it, but she didn’t have to be rude.
“Why haven’t you changed clothes?”
“My luggage is somewhere down there.” I motioned below us to the hull, and she rubbed her nose.
“You didn’t bring a just-in-case outfit in that big carry-on?” she asked incredulously.
“As a matter of fact, I didn’t.” I reclined my seat and closed my eyes.
“What if your luggage got lost?”
“Then I’d be up shit creek.” I folded my arms over my chest and tried to get comfortable. This was better than my other seat, but the jury was still out on my new seatmate. Though she was easy on the eyes, the throw-up kid had better manners.
“You might be stuck wearing those clothes for days.”
I peeled my eyes open. “I’m sure they have a store in Antigua somewhere.”
“Bet you’ll pack a backup in your carry-on for the return flight.” The corner of her mouth twitched. Was she teasing me?
“Probably not.”
“You should, as a courtesy to the people around you.”
“Look, I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting to get thrown up on. Just because you have three days’ worth of clothes in your bag, doesn’t mean everybody else has to.” I dug in my pocket for a soft peppermint and popped it in my mouth.
Her cheeks turned red, but then she brightened. “I have a T-shirt in my bag.”
“Too bad, Patch. Don’t think we’re the same size.” She was Miss Fix-It, wasn’t she?
“It’s my ex-boyfriend’s, and he was—” her eyes traveled down my body “—almost as big as you.”
I doubt that. Then I wondered why I was getting into a pissing contest with a man I didn’t know or give a shit about.
She unbuckled her seatbelt and stretched to grab her carry-on from the overhead bin. A peek of smooth skin teased me when her shirt lifted. She tossed her bag in the seat and began to rifle through it. All I could see were books.
“You a bookworm?” Her glare in response was severe, but she kept digging. “Don’t get all defensive. My sister is too.”
“I’m a librarian.” She tossed a gray T-shirt at me.
“I’m not wearing another guy’s shirt.”
“Why not?” A hand went to her hip, and I wanted it to be my own there.
I cleared that thought and brought my gaze back to her face. “Because it’s weird.”
“No, it’s not.”
“If I told you I had my ex-girlfriend’s shirt in my bag that you could borrow, what would you think? And why do you have an ex’s clothes with you anyway? You still pining over him?”
A flash of hurt clouded her features, and I immediately regretted the shot.
“Just put it on so I don’t have to suffer through that smell for the rest of this flight.” She pointed toward the lavatory.
“Fine.” I unbuttoned my ruined shirt.
“What are you doing?”
“Changing shirts. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
She stared as I shrugged out of it, but not in the way I usually wanted a woman to look at me. I glanced down at my abs. They looked all right to me. Hell, better than all right.
A passing flight attendant did a double-take, so maybe there was just something up with this chick.
I pulled on the T-shirt, which was at least a size too small. ‘Love Notes Reading Club.’ What the hell? There were hearts around the letters in red and pink.
“No guy would wear this,” I said.
“A confident man would.”
“You got the matching sweats?”
She hesitated as she zipped up her bag and ducked her head.
“Oh shit. You do.”
“Those would definitely be too big for you.” She slung the carry-on back up top and slammed the bin shut.
Why did I care that she’d insulted my manhood? “Better be careful about making assumptions.”
“I’m sure I’m right.”
I stuffed my dirty shirt on the floor and reclined even further, hoping to fall asleep. The T-shirt cut off the circulation in my arms, but that wasn’t what had me opening my eyes just a minute after I closed them. Her nose was back in the book, and I couldn’t stop watching her.
A few pages in, she giggle-snorted, and then quickly covered her mouth. When she discovered I’d seen her, the bright expression on her face shuttered.
She pointed at me. “I want that back.”
“Now?”
For a second she looked horrified. “No,” she choked.
“You plan on seeing me after this flight?” I teased.
“Absolutely not.” She focused back on her book, red creeping up her neck to her cheeks.
“Not even if there’s no vomit included?”
She scowled and seemed to shrink into the seat like she wanted it to swallow her. “Not under any circumstances.”
Ouch. “Sometimes what’s going on out here—” I twirled my finger in a circle indicating the world around us “—is more interesting than what’s in there.” I tapped the book again.
She flicked my hand away. “I doubt it.”
“Prove me wrong.”
To my satisfaction, she dog-eared another page and closed the book.
“Real book lovers don’t fold the pages,” I said, unable to miss an opportunity to tease her.
“They’re reminders of the journey I went on.”
I pictured all the books on her shelf with creases in the corners of the pages. Bet they were as well-loved as the ones in the library at my parents’ house.
She fluttered the pages underneath her thumb. “Are you going to be that person?”
“Which one is that?”
“The annoying one who talks the whole flight.”
I flashed a grin and put my seat upright a little. “Yeah. I think I will.”
Smithe
* * *
Roxy owed me for this.
I’d survived an hour of inquisition about my book on the flight before my seatmate had mercifully drifted off to sleep, lost my favorite shirt, and had to endure a boatload of sex-crazed couples to finally get to the resort. It was beautiful, but my dark mood wouldn’t allow me to enjoy the turquoise water and white sand. She’d promised the food and the drinks were included. I intended to get a Painkiller in my hand ASAP.
I hiked my carry-on bag onto my shoulder as I approached the reception desk and tried to smile back at the girl behind it.
“Smithe Abbott. I’m on the reservation for Roxanne Prince.”
She tapped away on the computer. “I’m sorry, but we don’t have a booking for Roxanne Prince.”
I gripped the straps of my bag. “Oh, it might be under Roxy.”
“There is no reservation for a Roxy or Roxanne Prince.” Her eyes darted to the door to her left. “I’m not supposed to discuss guests. I’ve already said too much.”
I drummed my fingers on the desk. “It was supposed to be her honeymoon. Try Montclair,” I said, pressing my luck. Roxy might have put it in what would have been her married name.
The lady gnawed on her lip. “We have a Montclair, but no Roxanne or Roxy.”
My stomach plummeted. “Is it Doyle?” She gave no indication one way or the other. “You’re sure Roxy isn’t on the reservation?”
Her mouse clicked what seemed like a hundred times. “I’m sorry, I can’t give you any more information.”
The day just kept getting better and better. A hot bath and a drink would go a long way to fixing all that had gone wrong. That was goin
g to cost me money I frankly didn’t have, but I saw no other way out. “Then I guess I’ll book my own room.”
“We’re fully occupied tonight.”
“You didn’t even check,” I said, pointing toward the computer.
To placate me, she clicked away. “I’m sorry, but we don’t have anything available.”
“Doyle Montclair has a room, and I happen to know he’s not coming,” I argued.
She said nothing.
I drew in a breath, counting to five before I slowly released it. “Let me call Roxy and get this straightened out.”
I dropped my purse on the counter in front of me and dug through the contents.
“There’s a quiet place, just over there.” She motioned toward an unoccupied seating area.
“This won’t take but a second,” I assured her, still rifling through all my junk.
“Ma’am, I need to help the next guest.”
I glanced behind me to find a couple lip-locked and dangerously close to banging right there in the lobby.
“They look busy.”
“Step aside, please.” She’d gone from professionally polite to curt, something I did in the library nearly every single day. Being on the receiving end, I suddenly understood a patron’s frustration.
I hauled my bags over to the sofa and had barely found my phone before the lovebirds checking in behind me had their key.
“Don’t want to hear about your toes in the sand or how cute our butler is,” Roxy answered, out of breath.
“I wouldn’t know about any of that. They won’t let me check in.”
“What?” There was a muffled creaking noise on the other end that sounded like she’d shifted in bed. “Oh shit. I forgot to call and add you to the reservation. I guess I’ve been kind of distracted. Give me a few minutes. I’ll call the resort and straighten things out.”
“I’m not sure you’ll be able to. There’s no booking in your name either. It’s in—”
“I’ll fix it,” she interrupted, obviously not wanting to hear her ex-fiancé’s name any more than I wanted to say it.
She hung up before I could respond. I slumped into the couch and tried to figure out what I was going to do if Roxy didn’t get this sorted out. I supposed I could stick around until they figured out no one was going to be checking into the room. As I mulled over my options, I watched several more couples check in with no problem and tried really hard not to give them dirty looks. Other lovebirds who were already settled in passed by me, gazing deeply into each other’s—
Holy mother of fuckers.
It was everything I could do not to scream those words as Dickhead Doyle himself waltzed across the lobby arm in arm with a blonde in a string bikini. She giggled and pressed her barely contained breasts against him.
I tucked my head down when they got close, praying he wouldn’t see me. This was why I’d never taken to him. Each “darling” had rung false, along with everything else about him. He oozed creep. Roxy had always been so far out of his league, I couldn’t understand why she’d ever stayed with him. Whenever I expressed my dislike for him though, she’d just glaze over it, so after a while, I dropped it. I had to respect her choices even if I didn’t agree with them.
My phone trilled with “Librarian” by My Morning Jacket when the two of them had almost reached the exit. I ducked down even further, pressing the button on the side to silence my ringtone. Doyle looked back, scanning the lobby, but thankfully a potted palm was between us.
Once they’d made their way outside, I exhaled and answered the phone.
“I’m trying to get ahold of the manager,” Roxy said in a frustrated voice, “but I keep getting the runaround. Don’t worry, I’ll get the direct line if it’s the last thing I do.” The sound of a keyboard clacking under Roxy’s furious fingers was loud in my ear.
“Uh—” My throat froze as I tried to come up with a way to tell her Doyle was here.
“They wouldn’t tell me shit. Said my name wasn’t on the reservation. When I pointed out that my credit card number was, that didn’t make any difference,” she carried on.
“Rox? Didn’t you prepay for this?” I asked hesitantly, remembering the day we’d spent looking at possible vacation spots instead of cataloging books.
“Yeah. They gave me fifteen percent off.”
“I think you might want to dispute the charge,” I said hesitantly.
“What? You’re breaking up.”
I glanced at my phone to find I had decent service before pressing it back up to my ear.
“I’m not done with you,” a deviously sexy and definitely male voice said on the other end of the line.
I checked again to see if we were still connected, and then I heard Roxy’s shriek. “Marco! I’ve got an emergency with Smithe.” There was a lot of rustling and something that sounded remarkably like a sloppy kiss. “Sorry.”
“Marco is still there?” No wonder she’d sounded out of breath when I’d called her the first time.
“I can’t get rid of him.” The playful edge to her voice made me happy. She’d been through hell at the non-wedding and deserved whatever form of getting through she needed.
“Enjoy him. I’ll figure something out.”
“I’ll be there tomorrow,” she insisted.
“No, you shouldn’t—”
“Roxy has to go now.”
“Give me the phone.” There was a clamoring, some cursing, and a dark laugh. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Roxy yelled just before the phone went dead.
I dropped my head on the back of the sofa. Now what? I was on an island with no place to stay and not much enthusiasm for finding one.
The desk clerk gave me a sympathetic glance. I slapped my hands on my thighs and decided there was one place I needed to visit before they kicked me out of this place.
The bar.
Hale
* * *
“Ready for another?”
I tipped my near-empty beer bottle toward the bartender. “Please.”
My appointment with the resort manager wasn’t until tomorrow. Unfortunately and fortunately, it was at a couples resort. The view was nice, and they’d upgraded me to a suite with its own pool just steps from the beach, but that wasn’t the greatest for a single guy. If all went well tomorrow, and it had to, I’d be frequenting this and the other fifty resorts owned by this chain worldwide. I could learn to deal with the sex retreat. Because, honestly, that’s all this place was.
A hurricane of dark hair and long legs landed in the seat next to me along with a carry-on bag and purse that together could have housed all my luggage. I’d seen that hair and those legs before and knew what the inside of that bag smelled like. Up until a half hour ago, I’d been wearing a shirt that had come out of it.
“I know we got along so well on the flight, Patch, but I didn’t think you’d follow me here.”
The long locks flew as she whipped around on her stool and stared at me in disbelief. “I literally have the worst luck in the world. Scratch that. The universe. What’s bigger than the universe?” she demanded.
“You’re a little over-dressed for the islands.” I took an exaggerated sip of my beer while my gaze raked down her form from head to toe. The way those jeans molded to her legs wasn’t a sight I’d forget any time soon. Sweat beaded her forehead, probably because she had on a sweater jacket that went down to her knees and looked more appropriate for Alaska than Antigua.
“Thanks to you, I have one less thing to put on.” She waved toward the bartender with desperation. “A Painkiller please, with an extra shot of rum.”
“Is that why you followed me? To get your ex’s precious shirt back?” I asked, trying not to sound too annoyed, and wondering why I was.
“Contrary to what you believe, the world doesn’t revolve around you, especially not mine.” When the bartender placed the frozen drink in front of her, she lifted the straw to the top of it and sucked down the rum floater. “I’m going to need more rum.” Sh
e pointed toward the glass, and he replenished it. “I need that shirt back because I’m supposed to be here two weeks and only have two clean outfits.”
“I thought you were prepared for anything.”
She stirred the rum into her cocktail and slurped down a quarter of it. “They put my suitcase on the wrong plane. I left from Atlanta. How did they manage to do that from the starting airport?”
“That’s a shitty thanks to get for sharing your emergency clothes with a stranger.”
She slumped in her chair and continued to slurp on that drink like the day had just about gotten the best of her. “Tell me about it.”
Half of her drink was already gone.
“I don’t need a repeat of takeoff,” I said, flicking my chin toward her sweating glass.
“I’m not going to throw up on you.” She looked uncertain. “I want to enjoy this while I can.”
I raised my beer. She eyed it suspiciously before tapping her glass to it. No toast followed. We both chugged more of our drinks than necessary.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “Explain why you came on the vacation you were supposed to take with your ex and brought his clothes. There’s usually a reason people get the label ‘ex’.”
Withering. That was the only way to describe the look she fired in my direction.
“Not that it’s any of your concern,” she said through her unwavering glare, “but my ex wouldn’t have set foot in a place that practically requires being outdoors. My best friend got left at the altar yesterday. She asked me to come on her honeymoon. That’s something you don’t say no to.”
I glanced past her. “Then where is she?”
A deep scowl etched her features. “She missed the flight.”
“You didn’t stay with her? After she got dumped?” I asked in disbelief.
The woman growled to the point that I checked her hands to make sure claws hadn’t come out. “The best man was a better option.”
I choked on my beer, and a small, satisfied smile played on her lips. “So she ditched you for the best man?”
“Something like that.” She sucked the remainder of her drink up through her straw and signaled the bartender, who brought her another one drowning in rum.
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