by Brianna Cash
I hate flying.
After getting through customs, the ride to the resort, then checking in and finding our room, I finally step out into the bright, hot sunshine. Maybe traveling by plane isn’t as bad as I thought earlier in the day. The high at home was a cool, crisp fifty-four degrees, accompanied with a strong wind from the northwest.
Here, it’s gotta be at least eighty-five degrees, without a cloud in sight.
“Owen! Carl! We’re meeting the girls at the pool after lunch.”
I wish I was rooming with anyone except Carl. He drives me up a wall. He says he’s going to hook up with the girl he’s walking down the aisle with tonight. As long as they go to her room, I don’t really care one way or another.
Very soon, I get to find out who I’m walking down the aisle with. I get to find out who gave me that unforgettable kiss. I’ll probably find out how much further she wants to take it. We’re in paradise with free, unlimited alcohol, which always ramps up the libido more than normal, and lets you do the things you want without thinking too much about the consequences.
Which might be the only way things go further, if my brain has anything to say about it.
While I was in that closet, my brain didn’t get a lot of time on stage to make his case, though. My other head was in charge, and he had a very charismatic speech that made the other candidates get pushed to the wayside. I have a feeling the same thing will happen whenever this girl and I get some alone time together.
Carl and I change into our swim trunks and head down to the buffet to catch something to eat. There’s a little bit of everything here, and I pick a few things that you can’t do too much to ruin. Like pizza. And meatballs. Eyeing the dessert table, I find several different kinds of cake, and briefly consider my conversation last night with SD.
Maybe I shouldn’t see how far I can get with the great kisser?
I have some loyalty to SD, and I haven’t even met her yet. She knows I kissed someone, though. She knows I thought it was a great kiss, and she encouraged me to go for more. It was before we seriously discussed meeting. It was before I asked her not to go out on a Friday night. Things have changed. A lot. Especially in the last twenty-four hours.
I type out a quick email.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Where are we today?
I’m going to see the girl I kissed this weekend.
Are your feelings different now than when you told me to go for it?
OC
After making sure my email notifications are turned on and the volume is up, I finish my meal and wait for everyone else to get done. Hopefully she’ll get back to me before I’m alone with Alena’s friend. I don’t know if I’ll have any control over what I do when put in that situation, and I’m not sure if I should try putting a stop to what I think is going to happen between us.
The sidewalk snakes through palm trees and lizards, passing two smaller pools and a lot of restaurants I won’t have time to try. There are several different pools here, but we can hear the one the girls are at before we see it. There’s loud music playing, people yelling and cheering, and lots of splashing. The girls are at the party pool.
When Alena sees Rob, she squeals at an octave high enough to make the colorful birds around us screech. She throws herself at him, and I smile at their happy reunion. You’d think they’ve been apart for weeks instead of just two days.
Four girls watch my future sister-in-law make out with my brother. Her sister, Olivia, the girl she works with, Bailey, and two girls I don’t know. A tall black girl standing next to a short girl with her head in her phone. She’s attractive, the swell of her hips and breasts looking golden and touchable in her modest black bikini. Her hair is brown, the same color I remember from when we got pushed into the closet together, and it’s curtained over her face, so I can’t see her. I remember her eyes vividly, and I wait for the them to find me, so I can finally see the girl that’s been haunting my dreams for the last month and a half.
The black girl roughly elbows her, pulling her attention away from her phone, and she gives me a glimpse of her face.
Is that Sadie?
No. No way. Absolutely not.
Sadie the slut from work is not the girl who gave me the kiss of a lifetime. It’s not possible. There’s no chance I would’ve enjoyed a kiss from her that much.
She would certainly know what she was doing, though.
My guts roll.
God, please let Sadie not be one of Alena’s bridesmaids.
Maybe she’s a stand-in. The girl I’m supposed to walk down the aisle with couldn’t make it, so Sadie’s here in her place, right?
Except, it seems entirely possible. The proportions are right. The eyes are exactly the same. The boldness she had when she kissed me without ever uttering a word, is the efficient, confident get-things-done-as-quickly-as-possible girl I know from work. The way she dared me to kiss her like I knew her or let her disrobe me in a housekeeping closet is the Sadie I got to see at the club. Even if it makes me wish I’d never known about that side of her.
Maybe all she did with those guys at the bar was kiss them like she did me. She kissed all my brother’s groomsmen the night of the shower, the same night we kissed. Maybe she doesn’t have sex with them. Maybe she just blows their minds with a simple, incredibly hot kiss.
Even knowing there’s a possibility she slept with those guys at the bar, and despite the uneasiness in my stomach, I still want to kiss her again. It’s only to be sure she’s the same girl... Right?
No.
As much as I don’t want to admit it, I want to find that moment with her again. When anything seemed possible and it felt like she wanted me as much as I wanted her.
Her eyes spring open when she registers me standing here, and her face loses every bit of that golden tan I admired five seconds ago. She takes a steadying breath, probably doing the math in her head like I did when I realized who she was. After a couple seconds of mixed emotions playing out on her face, she settles on one and sends it my way.
That’s right. She hates me because I insinuated she was a tramp.
She nudges the black girl, mumbling something in a hushed voice, and then that girl’s eyes are on mine, just as wide as Sadie’s were before she gave me that death glare.
“Fuck!” The black girl groans. “Does this change our sleeping arrangements?”
Sadie says nothing.
The outburst draws Rob and Alena away from each other and they start making proper introductions. Proper, because we’ve all already met, but we were wearing masks and didn’t exchange names. Only saliva.
“Olivia, my maid of honor,” Alena squeals, jumping on her toes. “Meet Darren, Rob’s best man. Sadie and Owen are next, then we have Roxy and Carl, and, last but certainly not least, we have Bailey and Eli. Everyone get a drink and mingle. Some of you already know each other, but I want all of us to be good friends!”
Sadie rolls her eyes. I have a feeling she doesn’t share Alena’s sentiments.
No matter how hard I try, I can’t look at anything except her.
Every time she finds me staring, she huffs out a breath and crosses her arms before turning away, but I physically can’t look away. I can’t believe she’s the girl I kissed in that closet. I can’t believe she disappeared with two different guys at a club before leaving with another one. I can’t believe I insinuated she was a slut and made things so awkward at work. I can’t believe she’s here. I can’t believe I want to kiss her again.
Can’t. Believe.
Finally, she walks toward me, shoving her phone in her bikini top. She stops directly in front of me with her mouth set in a hard line. “You’re Rob’s brother?”
“You’re Alena’s friend?”
“Great. As if things aren’t bad enough…” She crosses her arms, glaring at me again. “Let’s forget how big of an asshole you are for this weekend. Can we be grownups and do that?”
“
Are we also going to forget how easy you are?”
Why did I say that? It’s like I’m trying to make this worse. I need to control what comes out of my mouth, but instead, my brain is going haywire and saying whatever it wants without checking to see if it’s socially acceptable.
She cocks her hip to the side. “Your assumptions are unfounded, so yeah. We’ll forget that you assume I’m easy.”
I keep my tongue in check this time. “Fine.”
“Good. Things are about to get worse.”
“How so?”
“Roxy was going to switch keys with you. If she doesn’t, one of us is going to have to deal with them having sex in the bed next to us.”
My face twists into an unfamiliar expression. It takes a second for me figure out it’s an arrogant smirk. Sadie was fine with her friend switching keys with me because she wanted to have sex with me.
And she says my assumptions were unfounded…
“I’ll switch keys with her.”
Where the hell did that remark come from?
She gasps as that arrogant smirk slides off my face, only to be replaced with a neutral expression I’m desperately trying to control.
“You realize you’ll be rooming with me, then? In one room. No divider between the beds. Only one bathroom, with a see-through door. Why the hell did they do that? I don’t care how close friends are, they don’t need to see each other taking a shit.”
I try to ignore the way her face contorts as she asks rhetorical questions about the hotel’s interior design choices. She’s so expressive here, outside our normal work environment. It’s kind of fascinating to watch her talk.
“I don’t plan on spending a lot of time in the room. As long as I don’t have to sleep in the same bed as you, it’s fine.”
She scoffs. “That’s a shame. I roll all over and have a tendency to kick and punch whoever tries to sleep with me.” When I don’t respond, she uncrosses her arms, a scowl back on her pretty face. “We’re definitely not sleeping together. And I’m not kissing you again, either.”
“Right back at you, Sadie. I don’t want to, after what I saw.”
“You’re supposed to forget what you think I did, not bring it up at the first opportunity.”
“Let me rephrase it, then. You don’t need to worry about kissing me ever again. Now that I know what you’re really like, it’s the last thing I want to do.” Turning around, I move toward the bar before anyone can see the lie I just told written all over my guilty, confused face.
Sadie
I do my best to ignore Owen and his condescending attitude. Somehow, my eyes still follow him everywhere. He sits by himself at the bar and drinks a couple beers. He splashes into the pool and goofs off with his brother and the rest of the guys. He checks his phone repeatedly and stretches his obnoxiously long legs out on a lounger. He gives Roxy that smile I miss seeing at work, then switches keys with her.
I choke on my daiquiri.
It’s really happening.
He’s going to be the person sleeping in the bed beside mine for the next two nights.
And I have to control myself and not find out if he’s as good a kisser as I remember. Because I want to press my lips against his and let him tease me with those open-mouthed kisses more than I want to finish that email to 736.
Perfect timing on 736’s part.
I was trying to pretend I didn’t feel any kind of guilt at wanting Rob’s mysterious brother while flirting with my writing partner about sex and meeting up and how he would rate in my LBB. But it didn't work. I do feel guilty. That’s messed up on a lot of different levels. Thankfully, it seems like 736 wants a free pass, too. I almost gave it to him. All I had to do was hit send.
Knowing I was going to have the perfect opportunity to take my closet kisser to bed, I was all for giving 736 the freedom he wanted. For the weekend, anyway. Like it or not, I’m jealous of 736’s rendezvous, so when I found out the amazing kisser from that housekeeping closet was Robot Owen, the last thing I wanted was to give my naïve writing partner my blessing to have sex with someone else.
As I sit here drinking much faster than I should, seeing Owen in a completely different way than I’ve ever let myself before, almost fantasizing about lying next to him in a room in the middle of the tropics… I kind of want to hit send. Does Owen really kiss like an angel, or if it was a fluke? Right time and place kind of thing.
If wasn’t a fluke, I should find out how much further my closet kisser is willing to go with me, fuckwad or not. We’re in the middle of paradise, thrown together by unforeseen circumstances. Who cares if he’s a total dickface when he starts talking? If he kisses the same way he did at the bridal shower, I’ll just keep his mouth very busy, so no derogatory words come out of it.
He ducks away from the crowd and disappears down a short trail that leads to the restrooms. Knowing my eyes will follow him as soon as he returns, I use the break to reread that email I almost sent.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Where are we right now?
Seize the day and the opportunity!
We are not a thing, 736. Right now, we are a possibility. Which is so much better than a thing. It means we’re free to be whatever we want. To each other, and/or to someone else.
Besides, I have a feeling you might need some practice before we meet.
As long as you don’t stop talking to me, you’re free to do whatever (ahem, whoever) you want, as am I. That only changes when we verbally agree to be more than a possibility, and definitively turn us into something tangible.
Until then, stay safe. Protect my (possible) future investment.
I promise I will, too.
Me
Message sent appears on the screen of my phone and I rub my palm over my sweaty thigh.
Will I regret that email? Will something happen with Mr. Assumptions that will make me stop thinking about him in this new way? Or that will make me think he’s no longer a total dickface?
My phone chimes with a new email.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Inappropriate?
Will it be strange if I think of you?
OC
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Eww!
Yes, that would be strange AND inappropriate! Be in the moment with the girl! If we ever eat cake, I expect you to be eating cake with me, not thinking about anyone else.
Me
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: JK
I’m always mentally with the girl I’m eating cake with. Promise.
I just like the direction we’re headed in, and I don’t know that I’ll be able to look at anyone I’m interested in without comparing her to you.
OC
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Don’t laugh…
I know I don’t act like it, but I don’t want to even think about you being with anyone but me.
Me
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Not even close to laughing
Whenever you tell me you’re going out to get fucked, I’m jealous, too. I never should’ve asked you to stay in last Friday night. I didn’t have any right to do that.
I was amazingly relieved to find out you—mostly—did.
OC
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Thank God!
This is getting too real.
Go fuck the lucky bitch who gets you this weekend. Don’t think of me during. Think of me after. And make sure you’re still single when we finally meet, 736. If I’m not allowed to find my perfect ten, you’re not either.
Me
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: After
I’m not lookin
g for my perfect ten, SD. I think I might’ve always been looking for you… A girl who tells me like it is and pushes me out of my comfort zone as often as possible.
Considering we’re only a possibility right now, I’m not going to ask what you’re doing this weekend, or tell you not to do anything. But I’m also not crazy enough to encourage you to have sex with someone else, even if I know there’s a good chance it’s what I’ll be doing.
Whatever happens until we meet, happens.
Don’t tell me about it, just think of me after. And when you’re marking your LBB with his score, remember there’s someone—who’s not just a number—that wants you to believe in magic instead of an equation.
OC
Fuck, I need a drink after that conversation. This is getting too complicated. Too messy. What the hell do people do with emotions like this? Jealousy sucks. And being honest, admitting my feelings and being vulnerable? That’s harder than dealing with the Blond Bimbo for a full week at work.
I’m still glad I sent the email. He knows I’m not stopping him, but it’s affecting me. It’s nice to know he feels the same way.
How can I be so wrapped up in a guy I’ve never even met?
Enough.
I did the emotion-exchange thing with the guy who’s in my head the most. It’s time to forget him for a little while and have another drink. Maybe with Owen, who returned to the bar at some point during my put-it-all-out-there email with 736.
Can I do this? Play nice and share a room with Mr. Assumptions, who basically called me a whore the last time we said more than three words to each other?
He did warn me about that blond bitch’s evil intentions. He didn’t have to do that. He didn’t have to talk to me at all, but he gave me a heads-up that my only coworker has it out for me.
Maybe he’s not totally awful.
Before I went to the club with Clive and Sarah, awful was the last adjective I’d use to describe Owen.