by Tara Sivec
“Yep, it was 100 percent our fault. Please don’t be mad at us!”
“Do you want us to do your laundry too? Because we totally will.”
“Get the hell off my island, and never come back,” I tell Quinn when the idiots behind me stop trying to suck up to him.
“You sure about that?” he whispers with an unmistakable flicker of his eyes down to my mouth when I lick my lips.
I realize my hand is still pressed flatly against his warm, muscular chest, and somewhere along the way, he rested his on top of mine. When he starts rubbing his thumb back and forth against the top of my hand, I quickly get my wits about me. Yanking it out from under his, while he keeps his hold on the paper and pen, I hate that I can still feel the steady, strong beat of his heart against my palm.
“At least you kept your promise,” I tell him with a shrug, remembering he’s a jerk and I’m better than this.
“And which one is that?” Quinn asks with those heart-stopping dimples on full display.
“That you’d contact me when you needed to be brought down a few pegs,” I remind him. “Eat shit, and seriously, get the hell off my island.”
With a silent scream in my head and a clench of my fists, I turn away from him and walk past all of my unhelpful friends, disappearing into the back office with a slam of the door behind me.
“Well, it’s been a pleasure,” I hear Tyler lie to my friends from the other side of the door as I flop down into the computer chair behind the desk. “I just need all of you to sign these NDAs, and then we can be out of your hair. I cannot believe our driver never showed up, and now we have to walk back to that godforsaken ferry, because all the golf carts needed maintenance at the same fucking time.”
“Oh shit, that was a real job?” Bodhi chuckles. “When Frank called me from the ferry dock and said two hotshots wanted to hire a golf cart driver, I thought it was a joke. Well, if you guys are still game, so am I. I’ve got nothing else going on.”
With another silent scream when I hear footsteps several minutes later, followed by the front door opening and closing, I rest my arms on the small desk in the room, then slam my head down repeatedly on top of them.
I’m not at all sad and hurt that after five long months of wishing I could see him again, Quinn Bagley turned out to be a jerk and he’s doing exactly what I ordered him to do.
CHAPTER 6
Quinn
“Whaaat the fuck?”
“…and to your left, you’ll see Hang Five Arcade, where I currently hold the island record for—”
“No one gives a shit! Just drive—goddammit!”
I don’t even bother hiding my laugh when Bodhi, the guy who’s driving us around and looks like the coolest surfer ever, conveniently finds another muddy pothole in the street, splashing dirty water up onto Tyler’s feet.
“These are $3,000 crocodile loafers from Italy!” Tyler shouts over the tricked-out sound system that’s blasting DMX, hanging his foot out the side of the cart to shake the mud and water off as we fly down the street.
“These are $2.00 flip-flops from the grocery store,” Bodhi replies, waving one of his flip-flops over his shoulder that he slipped off while he took a corner at a high rate of speed. “Who’s the idiot now?”
When I chuckle, Tyler whips his head to the side to look at me, both of us in the back seat of the golf cart. Although I don’t know if this is technically considered a golf cart or a street-legal racing machine. It’s honestly the most badass thing I’ve ever seen. Black with blue flames painted on it, huge tires with spinning rims, black-and-blue leather racing seats, with multicolored LED lights running under the roof of the cart and the undercarriage, glowing against the asphalt and flashing in sync with the beat of the music as we drive through town.
“None of this is funny,” Tyler growls when I laugh again as Bodhi pumps one fist in the air, shouting about Ruff Ryders.
“It’s fucking hilarious. And I’m not speaking to you,” I remind him, crossing my arms in front of me and staring straight ahead as we cruise down the main drag, the businesses all lit up but not too many people out this late in the evening. “You were an asshole.”
“You were pretty rude, bro,” Bodhi shouts back over his shoulder.
“Stay out of our conversation! Just because you and all your little friends also signed NDAs doesn’t mean you get to—Fuck!” Tyler curses when Bodhi hits another pothole, Tyler’s head hits the roof of the golf cart, and he shoots me another glare when I laugh.
“You deserved that after how disrespectful you were to this place and to Emily,” I remind him.
The hurt written all over her face when Tyler had to open his big mouth and bring up the money flashes through my head, making me sick to my stomach. I was just starting to relax, knowing I could trust my initial instincts about her, still drunk on the beachy, coconut smell of her skin after I leaned down to whisper in her ear. And I could tell she was starting to warm up to me for assuming the worst about her, when Tyler had to ruin everything.
She said it was one of the best nights of her life. And I know I didn’t imagine the heat in her eyes when she caught me staring at her. Jesus… I couldn’t not stare at her.
It was one thing to see her bare, sexy legs all night long in a short skirt, but seeing her so comfortable, relaxed, and at home made me want to curl up with her on a couch, watch a movie, and see if she’d let me slip my hand under the warmth of her tee to cop a feel.
“Stop pouting. I successfully got rid of another crazy redhead for you.”
Quickly grabbing onto the seat handle and bracing my feet, I don’t budge when Bodhi slams on the brakes while Tyler flies forward, his face smacking against the back of Bodhi’s seat and his cell phone clattering to the floor of the cart.
“Oops, sorry!” Bodhi quips, clearly not sorry at all, going by the smile I can see in his profile as he slams his foot on the gas and starts moving again, forcing Tyler to fly back onto our seat in an annoyed heap.
“What the fuck?!” he screeches as he swipes his cell phone up from the floor and glares at Bodhi’s reflection in the rearview mirror. “You are literally the worst driver I’ve ever had.”
“Endangered crocodile crossing the road.” Bodhi shrugs. “Didn’t want to hit it. He probably smelled your shoes, man. You want to stop at the grocery store for flip-flops?”
“No! Just take us to the fucking ferry dock and stop dicking around!”
“Got it. No dicking around,” Bodhi replies with a salute, making me smile and wish I could hang out with this guy longer.
He catches my eye in the rearview mirror, turning the volume down a little bit on the sound system.
“She’s not crazy, bro. Far from it. She’s pretty fucking badass. We’re just a bunch of idiots who tried to be helpful, and we drove her over the edge,” Bodhi tells me before turning the music back up, pumping his fist in the air, and singing along like he didn’t just make me feel a thousand times worse about what happened.
I didn’t even ask her if she was okay. I’m used to the publicity and people saying shitty things about me on the internet. I can’t even imagine what it must have been like for her. Sure, as a professional cheerleader, she’s been in the public eye and under scrutiny, but never to this magnitude. I know how to shut it off and remember who I am at the end of the day and that a stranger’s opinion of me doesn’t matter. And I just let her walk away from me, hurt and confused, making her think I’m a complete asshole.
“You’re just lucky we avoided any kind of messy confrontation with the boyfriend.”
“Ex-boyfriend,” I remind Tyler while he finally gets smart and holds onto his side handle with one hand, glancing up from typing on his phone with the other hand to scoff at me.
“Wipe that smug grin off your face and stop being happy that she doesn’t have a boyfriend.”
But I really, really am happy about that.
Honestly, when Tyler told me about the infidelity gossip and how she had some lo
ng-term, childhood boyfriend, I was horrified that I might have ruined a relationship, even though the hours we spent together were completely innocent.
It’s just what was in my head that was in no way innocent at all.
“Maybe he’ll teach me how to bowl,” I mutter, remembering how one of the articles online said he was the high school bowling coach, and he was wearing a coach’s shirt tonight.
“Who, your fake girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend?” Tyler laughs, shaking his head at me as he types away on his phone. “Yeah, that sounds totally normal. Will you fucking listen to the words coming out of your mouth? You are not friends with these people, she is not your girlfriend, and I will hire you ten fucking bowling coaches if you want to learn how to bowl. Now, can we talk about the statement you’re finally going to release to the press? We were thinking keep it simple, say it was all a misunderstanding, and leave it at that. Then, remind everyone you’re still very much single, with a little wink to the camera to make sure all your female fans remain on your side.”
That sick feeling is back in the pit of my stomach, and Bodhi’s eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror again with a raise of one eyebrow, almost as if he’s asking permission to find another pothole.
“This isn’t a battle to see who likes who better,” I remind Tyler. “They really have been shitting all over her in the media.”
She could have screamed at me just as much as she was yelling at her friends when I walked into the office behind her. Which was actually pretty damn hilarious, and it took a lot of effort not to laugh out loud. But she didn’t. She just gave me attitude and stood her ground, and fuck, if that doesn’t just turn me on and make me want to have Bodhi turn this golf cart around.
“Again, who gives a shit? She is not your girlfriend, she signed the NDA, and now you can forget she ever existed once this all blows over,” Tyler states.
Just like she’ll forget that I ever existed? Well, that just seems like a giant ball of suck, now doesn’t it?
“We are getting the hell off this island and never coming back, so you can do what you’re supposed to do and just concentrate on football,” Tyler continues, leaning forward over the front seat when Bodhi stops to let a few people cross the street. “The longer we stay here, the more chances of someone recognizing you, and then no one will believe your statement to the press.”
Bodhi smacks Tyler’s hand away from the cup holder he was reaching for, making me laugh again, even though the thought of never coming back to this island and having all the free time in the world to focus on nothing but football doesn’t make me feel as happy as it should.
“That’s a hundred dollars for a napkin,” Bodhi informs Tyler.
“It’s a fucking paper napkin!” Tyler argues, pointing to the stack shoved into the cupholder.
“Right, but they’re imported. Made out of crocodile and shit. You want to wipe off your fancy shoes, you gotta pay fancy money.”
Bodhi waves at a few people who shout his name as he hits the gas, while Tyler bitches and moans as he pulls two fifties out of his money clip, thrusting them into the front seat.
“Hey, Quinn!” someone shouts to me with a wave as we cruise by.
“Pretty sure I’ve been recognized,” I inform Tyler, smiling as I wave back while Bodhi hands him one single napkin over his shoulder once he’s pocketed the money.
Ever since we pulled away from the cottage rental office where Emily works, no less than ten people have waved and shouted greetings to not only Bodhi but to me as well. There aren’t that many people out wandering the main drag, but every single one of them knew who I was.
“How’s it going, Quinn?”
“Good to see you, Quinn!”
“Hi-ya, Quinn!”
Friendly shouts, like they’re my neighbors just getting ready to ask me if they can borrow a cup of sugar.
“I want to give them my sugar,” I whisper, waving at another island resident who just tips his hat to me as we go by.
“Jesus Christ, you’re already succumbing to the horrors of this place,” Tyler complains.
“Seriously, man, what’s the deal with everyone being so… low-key here?” I ask Bodhi as he turns the music down again, while Tyler tries cleaning up his shoe.
I recognized Palmer Campbell and Shepherd Oliver as soon as I walked into the office. As a fan of all sports, I was familiar with their careers, and I remember hearing some rumblings about how, now that they’ve settled down and fallen in love, they keep their private lives on complete lockdown. I get that people aren’t constantly mobbing them since they live here, but no one rushes up and asks me for an autograph when we stop, and no one runs after the cart, trying to get a selfie. I haven’t even seen one person lift their phone and try to get a secret shot of us driving through town. It’s the wildest thing. It’s not like I get chased down the road, or people scream when they see me and come charging—unless I’m at the stadium or doing something team related. But as soon as someone recognizes me, my time is always interrupted with a request.
“Yeah, no one is really going to bother you while you’re here, unless they need you to make something for a church bake sale, or you forgot to buy your tickets to the steak fry,” Bodhi explains. “Which you really should consider going to, man. Kickass raffle baskets, all you can eat and drink, and the money goes toward the high school football program. Anyway, as far as the general public goes, we have really good security here that Palmer and Shepherd both pitch in with to make tighter and to secure their privacy, and their PR people are pretty good helping out with that too. This place is magical and pretty much like Fantasy Island.”
That sounds like heaven. I want to stay here forev—Jesus, what is wrong with me?
As much of an asshole as Tyler is, he’s right. These are not my friends, Emily is not my girlfriend, and this place isn’t my home. I still need to find a home, but it’s not going to be over here on Fantasy Island with a beautiful redhead I need to finally put out of my mind so I can concentrate on my job.
Go away, nausea. I don’t need your kind of negativity right now!
My phone rings in my hand, making me let out an unmanly squeal as I bobble it a few times. I don’t at all feel like I was just caught red-handed, scrolling through Emily’s social media accounts in between holding on for dear life during our drive, looking through all her photos like some creepy pervert trying to find an ass shot from when she cheered.
Twenty-fourth photo from the top, tiny sliver of a pale, perfect ass cheek while she jutted her hip out on the fifty-yard line during our game against Denver.
I’m so busy glancing around guiltily that I quickly bring my phone up to my ear without even paying attention to whose call I just answered.
That’s my first mistake.
“How is everything going with my favorite quarterback?”
The sound of my boss’s voice in my ear throws a bucket of cold water on my spank bank, makes me sit up straighter in the back of the golf cart, and makes Bodhi immediately turn the music all the way off, probably seeing the look of panic on my face in the mirror.
“It’s excellent, Jeanie. Thank you for asking,” I tell her, even though things aren’t really excellent and none of this feels right.
Tyler mutters an “Oh, shit” under his breath, smoothing his hair back and straightening his tie like we’re on a video call and she can see us.
“Wonderful,” Jeanie purrs through the line. “So, you took care of the problem?”
“Yes, I absolutely took care of the problem.” I nod with a wince, knowing nothing about Emily feels like a problem, except for the fact that I’m driving away from her.
“Perfect. I knew I could trust you to handle things. Make sure you call my assistant in the next few days and set up a lunch for the three of us in the next week.”
“I’m sorry, the three of who?” I ask nervously, my head still in the clouds, reminding myself I have nothing to panic about because I did exactly what Jeanie asked me to do.
“You, me, and that island girlfriend of yours, of course.” Jeanie laughs, making my blood run cold and my skin break out in sweat at the same time. “You did just assure me you took care of the problem and established that… Emily, is it? That Emily is okay after all of the nonsense the media has been saying about her, correct?”
Whaaat the fuck?
“Quinn?”
Jeanie repeats my name when I forget how to speak for a solid minute, waking me the hell up, while Tyler looks at me like he might vomit after leaning his head close enough to mine to hear what Jeanie was saying.
“Yes, I’m here!” I shout a little too loudly.
Mistake number two, coming right up, folks.
“And yes, Emily is definitely my girlfriend’s name, and I definitely did do that, and yes, everything is fine, just fine. She’s absolutely fine. Lunch, you say? We could do lunch, although brunch is fun too, but I just like saying the word brunch,” I babble like a lunatic, while Bodhi laughs at my expense in the front seat and Tyler dry heaves out his side of the golf cart when we pull up to a stop next to the curb.
“Good,” Jeanie replies, completely unaware that I might actually be having a heart attack as I try to rub the sharp pain in my chest away with the heel of my hand. “The love and support of a good person makes for a very excellent leader. I’ll let Melissa know you’ll be in touch soon to set something up. Give Emily my best, and tell her I look forward to getting to know the woman who stole your heart.”
“Righty-ho!” I reply right before she disconnects the call, rolling my eyes at myself when I drop my hand into my lap and let out a huge sigh.
Oh no… did I just do what I think I did?
“Why the hell are you stopped?” Tyler asks Bodhi when he finally collects himself. “None of this matters! It’s fine, and we can still salvage this. We’ll explain everything to Jeanie in person when we get back, and we’ll have a nice, big laugh about it. Take us to the ferry dock and get us off this godforsaken island before some other bad thing happens!”