Bad Boys for Hire_Ken_Hawaiian Holiday
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“It smells delicious,” Carol said as Ken helped her into the wheelchair.
“Uh oh,” Nikki said. “I’m not sure we should stop at this truck. There are a couple of other ones we passed.”
“Why?” Carol asked. “This is the original Big John’s Shrimp Truck. Besides, I want to write my name on it.”
“Don’t look, but …” Nikki dipped her head to whisper in Carol’s ear.
As soon as Nikki said not to look, Ken narrowed his eyes and checked out the people in line. His heart hammered to a stop. Jolie was standing at the front of the line with one of the guides from the waterfall. She was wearing nothing but a hot pink bikini, and her skin was bright red—burnt.
“What is she doing at a shrimp truck?” Ken charged toward Jolie and the guide. They’d obviously finished the waterfall rappelling, and the Hawaiian guy was one who enjoyed the same things she did. He was the one who’d taken her on a thrilling adventure and now, he was her hero.
But he obviously didn’t care about Jolie’s allergies.
As Ken approached the truck, Jolie ordered a plate of garlic shrimp. Was she crazy? Or showing off for the waterfall guide?
Ken shoved himself in her face. “Hey, are you sure you can eat this?”
Jolie’s eyes bulged and her mouth gaped. She glanced back at the man she was with and then at Nikki and Carol.
“Line’s back there,” the Hawaiian fellow said, jerking his thumb toward the end of the line.
“She’s allergic to shrimp,” Ken said. “Did she bother to tell you?”
“Seriously?” The man glared at Jolie. “How come you didn’t say anything? Is this guy the fake husband you were talking about?”
“Ken!” Jolie screeched. “Keep your nose in your own business.”
Ken had no time for this nonsense. He grabbed Jolie by the arm and dragged her from the line. “You’re endangering your life. Everything in this truck can cause an allergic reaction.”
“I can have the hot dog and rice,” she argued.
“You don’t eat pork, and the rice has egg in it,” he countered. “We need to talk.”
“Talk?” Her chameleon eyes changed from blue-green to blue-gray. “What’s there to talk about, Mr. Bad Boys for Hire? You faked everything because Nikki paid you to be nice to me. You don’t care if I choke or die or anything.”
“So, you endanger yourself by eating shrimp?” Ken’s blood boiled. Of course he was in the doghouse now that she knew about the plane ticket and how Nikki had convinced him to play honeymooner with her.
“No, I’m tired of my restrictions. I’m tired of what I can’t do and how I have to follow plans and schedules.” She turned away from him, swiping her eyes. “Before you showed up, Alfredo thought I was a fun girl. Now he’s probably glad he got away from me and my problems.”
“Good.” Ken took Jolie’s hand, wrapping his fingers around hers. “Because you and your problems are mine.”
She swallowed, her throat bobbling, and blinked, her eyes watery. “Are you being paid to say this?”
“No. It was never about Nikki and the plane tickets or Bad Boys for Hire.” Ken palmed her face and led her into the shade of a grove of large leafed trees. “When I saw you and recognized you, I wanted to see if you’d like me now that I’m all grown up. But I’m not sure you do.”
“You think I don’t?” Two spots of color made her cheeks even redder.
A weight pressed on his chest, and he shook his head slowly. “You don’t. That’s why you took me on the waterfall trip when Carol warned you about me and heights. I’m still suffering from a concussion and not supposed to get dizzy and risk falling and reinjuring my head. I’m not even surfing big waves right now until the doctor gives the okay. But you didn’t care, and I don’t blame you.”
“I’m sorry,” Jolie said. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
He tipped his finger over her lips and shushed her. “It’s okay, Jolie. I took advantage of your emotions and moved too fast. You need time to get over Warren. You need to find your own comfort zone. You need to accept yourself, and right now, you don’t need a guy like me trying to horn in on you and catch you on the rebound.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“It doesn’t matter. You need time. I’ll leave you alone now. Go back to your date, but be truthful about what you want and who you are.”
“What about our honeymoon?” She angled her face up at him, blinking hard. “We have one more day.”
“Honeymoon’s over.” He leaned down and kissed her lightly on the lips. “It was all real.”
“It was real, for me, too.” She gazed into his eyes, her lips trembling.
He could drown in her eyes, in her beauty, her openness, but her emotions were too raw. What she thought was real could be an illusion in her present state of mind.
“Goodbye, Jolie.” He forced his voice to stay steady. “Maybe in time, you’ll realize we’re like Pele and Kamapua‘a. Fire and water don’t mix, and even though we make a lot of steam, we can’t exist together. We’re not compatible, and we can’t compromise the full embodiment of what life should mean to us, because if we do, we’ll end up hating each other. You love the mountains, climbing, and heights, and I’m all about water and the big waves. Let’s leave while we’re still feeling charitable toward each other.”
“We can make it work. I do care about you.” She bit that sweet lip of hers, but her words rang hollow.
Opposites may attract, but cannot coexist.
“I’m going now. Don’t look back.” He kissed her cheeks, tasting the tears trailing down her face. “Instead of goodbye, I say ‘aloha.’”
Twenty-Three
“Trust is built in the smallest moments,” Carol said to Jolie once they were back at the hotel. “It’s not in the big words and grand gestures, like a wedding, a proposal, or a life or death situation.”
Jolie dabbed her eyelids and wet another tissue. “I betrayed him, and he’ll never trust me again. I shouldn’t have done that nasty surprise. I don’t know what I was doing.”
Nikki put her hand on Jolie’s shoulder, rubbing it. “It’s hard for you to trust when you’ve been betrayed so much. I’m sorry for setting Ken up like this, but the truth is, he didn’t want me to pay him other than the airplane ticket for Carol.”
“Which I’m going to pay back,” Carol said.
“Actually Ken already offered to pay me back.” Nikki put her arm around Jolie. “It’s my fault. I didn’t want you to miss out on everything you planned.”
Warmth overwhelmed Jolie’s heart at the way her friend cared so much about her, knowing how obsessive she was with the little details of her checklist and things she just had to do—groom or no groom.
She hugged Nikki. “You’re a good friend, and I should be mad at you for setting Ken up to make me happy. I should be screaming and throwing a fit, but all I feel is my heart breaking. This isn’t about Warren or you, or a perfect wedding or honeymoon. It’s about me screwing up the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“You really feel that way?” Carol asked. “Then you should go to him and explain. I’m sure he understands about Warren hurting you and how stressed you are.”
“No excuses. I was wrong.” Jolie strode to the window of the high rise hotel.
The sun was setting over the shimmering waters, painting the sky a brilliant palette of crimson, golds, and purples. She should have been in Ken’s room sharing the view with him, instead of wringing her hands with his sister.
“Maybe you should go to him and apologize,” Nikki said.
Jolie slowly shook her head, blinking back the ever-present tears. “That would be words only. He’d thank me and that would be that. His heart would still be closed to me.”
“You don’t know that.” Carol maneuvered her wheelchair onto the balcony and stared at the sunset. “My brother’s never acted so sweet and caring to any woman before. He’s probably already in love with you.”
“My mom and stepfather made it work,” Carol said. “They’ve traveled the world both together and on separate vacations.”
“Is that what you want?” Nikki asked. “To make it work with Ken?
“Go to him,” Carol said. “He’s a forgiving guy.”
“No.” Jolie bit her lip as the sun disappeared into the dark ocean. “I don’t want his forgiveness. I want his love.”
“You might already have it,” Carol said. “That’s why he was so eager to come on this trip. He saw the honeymoon project as an opportunity to get you to fall in love with him.”
“But how do I know he wasn’t acting? That he wasn’t doing all this to make me feel better about being dumped? That he was only trying to cheer me up and make me feel like someone loved and cared about me—including all my phobias, food restrictions, and OCD-craziness?”
“Beware of the naked man selling a shirt,” Carol said, taking Jolie’s hand and patting it. “That’s what Ken says to me whenever I wonder if any man would love me in a wheelchair.”
“Naked man selling a shirt?” Nikki huffed. “What does that mean?”
“He’s selling something he doesn’t believe in,” Carol said. “If you don’t love yourself, how can you believe anyone else could love you? If you don’t love your brand of craziness, you’ll never believe anyone else could love you. It’s hard, and I haven’t figured it out yet. Maybe it’s because all I focus on is my shirtlessness, the fact that I can’t walk, and not all the other qualities I have.”
Jolie let the thought sink into her mind and heart. The three women sat in silence staring out at the darkening afterglow as the last of the orange rays reflected over the peaceful sea.
Twenty-Four
“There’s something I have to do before we leave,” Jolie said the next morning as she and Nikki got ready to go on the jeep tour of an island ranch.
“Ken took Carol surfing already.” Nikki handed Jolie a tube of sunscreen. “You don’t have time to catch them before the tour leaves.”
“I told you I’m not speaking to Ken, not until I’m ready.” Jolie smeared sunscreen over her peeling skin. Her arms and shoulders burned from skinny-dipping the day before.
“Don’t wait too long,” Nikki said, her eyebrows creasing with exaggerated concern. “If you don’t want him, there are plenty of women who would.”
Jolie picked up her purse and turned the doorknob of their room. “If he’s so easily caught by someone else, then he wasn’t meant for me. I’ll meet you in the lobby. This won’t take but fifteen minutes.”
It wasn’t that she was afraid to go after Ken, but that she wasn’t worthy. Not when she didn’t truly believe anyone could love her the way she was. All she’d do would be to beg him to give her another chance and make him feel sorry for her—not the way to win a man’s trust or heart. Nope, she had to fix herself first, and the first thing she had to do was to get closure with Warren Wayne, her former groom.
She forced her shoulders back and chin up, then marched down the corridor to the hotel room she was supposed to have shared with Warren.
He opened the door to her sharp knock and his lips stretched in a leer. “I knew you’d come back to me.”
“Fifteen minutes.” She shoved him aside and entered the room.
“That’s more than enough time.” Warren flexed his fingers and reached for her. His eyes were bleary and his hair was greasy. A musky stale odor emanated from his body, and he hadn’t shaved.
What could she possibly have seen in this man, other than he’d been scheduled at exactly the right time in her life?
“Keep your paws off me. I said fifteen minutes, not fifteen seconds.” She reached into her purse and popped out a small box containing her engagement ring. “Better luck next time.”
Warren grabbed the ring box and opened it. His face darkened and his bushy brows drew over his stark green eyes. “Oh no, you don’t. I’m not paying this off.”
“Loan’s under your name, buddy, and I just closed the joint account and moved all my money out last night. This is it, Warren. I’m cutting all ties with you.” Jolie’s pulse was skittering through her veins, but she held her gaze steady. “I cut the credit card, too. Thought it fair warning to let you know you’re going to have to cough up the cash to pay when you check out.”
Most likely, he’d been watching porn and racking up the pay-per-view. Too bad.
“Hey, wait. We’re splitting the honeymoon fifty-fifty.” Warren lunged for her, but she stepped aside as he careened into the wall.
Yep, definitely hungover.
“Why did you bother showing up here?” Jolie asked. In order to move on, she had to see Warren for the scum he was, instead of the idealized romantic image she’d imagined him to be—a vigilante investigator, on the side of justice and truth. Maybe he did have some heroic qualities in him, but he was definitely not her perfect husband material.
“I missed you, Jol.” He rubbed his palm over his sandpapery stubble. “I wanted to keep the honeymoon the way we planned it. I knew how much it meant to you, everything choreographed. Honestly, it wasn’t my fault your friends tied me up. I had plenty of time to make it to the altar, and I was only acting with the stripper.”
Jolie plugged her ears and shook her head tightly. “I don’t want to hear about it. Just tell me straight up, Warren Wayne, and don’t lie. Do you love me or not?”
“I did everything I was supposed to do.” Warren’s eyes slid to the side, blinking. “I was your perfect boyfriend, your perfect fiancé. I followed your timetable and played by your rules. I even wore a pink tie to the wedding and wore the tux you picked out. I had a pink boutonniere and pink sash. I played the part. I was your dress up doll.”
“That wasn’t what I wanted,” Jolie began, but her stomach lurched and her heart sagged inside her ribcage. That was exactly what she had wanted, and how she’d treated Warren. She’d idealized him—big, bad biker dude with the super secret investigator job. He was brave and foolhardy, jumping off cliffs and doing dangerous stunts.
And oh yes, he was badass enough to impress all her friends and scare her relatives, but charming enough to win over her parents and present himself well—a handsome, studly, hunky blond guy with gorgeous green eyes and bulging biceps.
It was all in the image she’d given him to suit her fantasies, including the pink wedding. Everything had always been her lists, her restrictions, her rules, her fancies, her ideas, her dictation—from their first date to the moment they were supposed to say “I do.” Heck, she’d even written the vows for both of them to recite. The only freedom she’d given Warren was the honeymoon, because traditionally, it was the groom’s job to plan it.
“What do you want?” Warren lowered his face and stared at the floor. “Because it looks like you don’t want me anymore. You have your new man, the perfect Ken doll for you to dress up and primp.”
Jolie swallowed a growing lump in her throat and placed her hand on Warren’s arm. “I’m sorry. I should have asked myself if I loved you or not. Instead, I wrote the script to our love story, and you played along.”
“So, you’re dumping me for a better model? A new episode in your life?” His upper lip curled into a snarl. “Did you readjust your schedule? Or did Ken agree to substitute for me, down to the baby you’re supposed to conceive during our honeymoon and the minivan we’re supposed to need for our growing family?”
“Shhh …” Jolie placed her finger over Warren’s lip. “Ken is no longer with me. He saw through me, Warren. He’s left.”
He captured her hand and caressed her fingers. “So, does that mean we’re back together on our honeymoon?”
“No, Warren.” She felt a tear dribble down her cheek. “No. It means I’m letting you go. You deserve better than to be a
prop in my life, or any woman’s life.”
“I want to be the one in your life.” He wiped the tear from her cheek. “I’m sorry about the stripper and the porn. The luau with the pig and the fishing trip.”
“No need to be sorry, dude.” She stepped back and surveyed the big guy. He was disheveled and reeked of stale alcohol. “Next time some woman tells you her biological clock’s ticking, run. Run far away and fast.”
She dug through her purse and found her planner, the one marked with all the milestones she had yet to accomplish, the one with her bucket list and projected schedule of achieving each goal.
She opened it to the page marked “Honeymoon” and ripped it from the planner. Balling it up, she threw it in the wastebasket.
“You were a good sport,” she said, her throat tight. “But next time I have a wedding, it’s going to be blue.”
“Yeah, pink rhymes with stink, but blue rhymes with true. I saw some of those practice rhymes Ken left in the wastebasket. I think he really cares about you, Jol. Don’t ruin it.”
“I already have,” Jolie admitted. “But I’m free now. I see myself clearly and I have a lot of work to do.”
“So do I.” Warren’s voice was husky and he swallowed, his eyes watery. “Is this goodbye?”
She tipped on her toes and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I prefer farewell.”
Twenty-Five
Ken pushed Carol and her wheelchair through the front door of her apartment and ran to the ringing phone. Their last day in Hawaii was spent tandem surfing—Carol lying prone on the board while Ken steered them over the gentle swelling waves of Waikiki. He’d called her his mermaid and helped her swim by tying her paralyzed legs together so she could control her movements in the water. It had been, all in all, a fun and sweet way to end their Hawaiian vacation.
“Better get that phone,” Carol said, maneuvering her wheelchair into the living room. “Maybe it’s Jolie calling to ask you to give her another chance.”