by Sarah Monzon
Jonathan walked around her and opened the doors on either wall. She stepped behind him and peeked around his tall form. The bedrooms. He looked over his shoulder at her. “You pick which one you want.”
Why did she have this sudden urge to squirm? Okay, so Jonathan had kissed her, and that had changed their entire dynamic, but she shouldn’t suddenly feel self-conscious around him. He was still Jonathan.
She pointed past him. “I’ll take that one.”
He nodded and went to retrieve her small luggage.
“Thanks.”
The tenderness in his eyes as they swept over her face broke her heart. Why, oh why, couldn’t she return his feelings?
There was no point in lying to herself either. She’d known Jonathan for a good part of her life. If there was ever a chance that she’d develop any feelings beyond friendship, it would have happened already. No way was she going to string him along with maybes and uncertainties. He was too good a guy. Too good a friend.
Was it wishful thinking to hope the situation would resolve itself? That they could pretend the kiss never happened and avoid having “the talk?”
Summer plunked down on the duvet-covered bed. It swallowed her in its softness.
What would she even say if he brought it up? It’s not you—it’s me? True, but a dagger to the heart nonetheless. Let’s just be friends? The cry of her soul to be sure, but she doubted it would soften the blow.
She had nothing. Absolute avoidance was her only survival.
A knock sounded at the door.
It took a second to roll out of the cocoon she’d made for herself in the blankets. Opening the door, Jonathan stared down at her.
“Want to grab a bite to eat?”
Her stomach gurgled. More from anxiety than hunger, but she pasted on a smile anyway. “Sure. Let me grab my purse.”
After lifting the beaded clutch off the small desk, she shut the door behind her. Where was Trent? She looked around.
“Trent isn’t coming?” He had to come. He was her buffer.
Jonathan shook his head. “He’s taking a shower. Besides, I think we need to talk.”
We need to talk. Nothing good ever came out of those four little words.
Chapter Thirteen
The elevator doors couldn’t open fast enough for Summer. She was suffocating from the tension in the small space, which hung in the air heavier than the humidity, if that were possible. Where had the easy comfort and camaraderie gone with her best friend? The man who could make her laugh in any situation silently tortured her now.
The doors dinged open, and Jonathan cupped her elbow to lead her out and down the hall toward the exit.
What were the rules for physical contact with someone who wanted more from you than you were willing to give? She didn’t want to give him false hope, but jerking away almost seemed an overreaction. She’d had tickle fights and wrestling matches with this guy when pimples dotted her face and braces covered her teeth. A hand to the elbow was a lot less touching than either of those had been.
But that was before.
Summer swallowed the lump in her throat. “So where are we headed?”
Jonathan looked down at her. His blue eyes were hopeful, which made her feel completely rotten. “There’s a restaurant across the street I noticed when we were checking in.”
The traffic was minimal, and they had no trouble crossing the four-lane road. Vines trailed up the brick facade of the restaurant, lending the establishment an ambience of romance. This was the kind of place guys took their girlfriends to pop the question. And there she was, about to stick a needle in his bubble of romantic notions. Pop!
Summer longingly looked back across the street. If not for Jonathan’s hand still at her elbow, she would have turned around. Hmmm… She looked up at him, his profile visible in the light of the moon. He’d known her for over a decade. He probably knew this whole thing was scaring her out of her mind and working up a knot of dread in the pit of her stomach. Maybe that was the reason for the gentle guidance at her arm.
A teenaged hostess smiled at them from behind a podium as they entered the doors of the restaurant.
“Just two for tonight?”
Jonathan’s hand moved from her elbow to the small of her back. “Yes, thank you.”
The hostess gathered a couple of menus and moved from behind the podium. “Right this way.”
She led Summer and Jonathan to a small table in the corner of the dining room. “How’s this?”
“Perfect. Thank you very much.” Jonathan pulled out a chair for Summer. Her stomach rose to her throat as her backside descended into the chair.
He sat and then smiled at her from across the table. “This is nice.”
More like awkward. No way she’d say that out loud. She gave him a small smile, then reached to unroll her silverware. The cutlery rattled on the table, and she pressed the cloth napkin into her lap.
A waiter in black pants, white shirt, and black tie approached the table. “Can I start you folks off with a glass of wine? A Bordeaux perhaps?”
Jonathan looked across the table, his eyebrows raised in question.
Tempting. Something to help relax the jumble of anxiety tying her up in knots would be great. But on the other hand, her brain was already zinging this way and that, trying to keep track of the situation at hand.
She gave a small shake of her head. “Just water for me, thank you.”
The waiter turned to Jonathan. “And for you, sir.”
“Water is fine.”
“Are you two ready to order, or do you need a few moments?”
Summer’s stomach quavered. An earthquake had already shaken her world. Now she was awaiting the aftershocks. Best go for something light. “I’ll have a bowl of the house soup.”
The waiter wrote on his small pad before his head came up again, his eyes on Jonathan.
“I’ll have the chicken parmesan.”
“Very good.” The waiter collected the menus, turned, and headed back to the kitchen.
Wait! Don’t go! A desperation to call the waiter, a complete stranger, back overtook her. Which was crazy. Yesterday she would have thought nothing about sharing a meal with Jonathan, even in a cute, romantic Italian restaurant. Because she knew they were just friends. But now she frantically wished for a third party.
“Summer.” Jonathan spoke low, his voice entreating her to look at him.
How could she do this and hurt her best friend? And why? Dear heavens, why did he have to go and change the parameters of their relationship?
She forced her eyes up and looked into his familiar face. Would he hate her? Could they still be friends?
“We’ve been friends for a long time now. Good friends.”
“The best,” she whispered. If only they could stay that way.
“And friends don’t keep secrets from each other, do they?” He leaned forward and rested his arm on the table, his hand stretching across its surface toward her.
You can keep this secret. She bit the inside of her bottom lip.
“I’ve been wanting to tell you for a long time now just how I feel.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “Jonathan.” Her heart was breaking. I can’t do this.
“I love you, Summer. I’ve always loved you.”
A tear slid down her cheek. “Please…don’t…”
His hand retracted and returned to his lap. He looked away a second and took a deep breath before looking back at her. His eyes were dull with pain but he met her gaze. “It’s okay. Really. But I had to take the chance. Just in case…”
She swallowed hard. “Please tell me we can still be friends.”
His lips twitched. “Of course.”
***
The towel hugged Trent’s hips as he opened the bathroom door and walked to his suitcase laying open on the hotel bed. He pulled out a pair of sweatpants and a Harley T-shirt. Hunger gnawed at his stomach. Maybe he could talk Jonathan and Summer into ordering a pizza. Or
Chinese. Whatever was close and would deliver.
He opened the door to the common area. “Hey, guys, do you want to…” Where were they?
His eyes landed on the door straight across from him. Summer’s room. They wouldn’t…would they? Dread left a nasty taste in his mouth. He stepped close and listened. Nothing. Knocked. Nothing. He cracked the door and peeked inside. Empty.
Relief made him feel a little unsteady. Seriously, he needed to get ahold of himself. She was a woman. A dime a dozen. Except he knew that wasn’t true. She was special. And by all that was holy, he wanted her for himself.
A piece of white paper stood out on the black granite countertop of the kitchenette. The hotel logo boldly stamped on top, boxed print written underneath.
Took Summer to grab a bite to eat.
Jonathan. Of course he did. Trent couldn’t really blame him. He’d have done the same thing in his shoes. Had done the same thing, actually. Another guy in the mix hadn’t stopped him from pursuing an attractive woman and a night of fun in the past. This was the first time he’d been the one left behind though. The experience wasn’t one he relished.
His stomach grumbled. Guess he’d be eating by himself. It took a minute to flip through the folder listing eateries in the vicinity. He dialed and ordered a small pepperoni pizza, hoping they’d be quicker than the promised thirty minutes.
An armoire along the wall housed a large flat-screen TV. Maybe there was something good playing he could zone out on. Sandra Bullock in a formal dress flashed on the screen. Miss Congeniality. Definitely not. He’d sit through chick flicks if there was a pay out in the end, but he wasn’t going to torture himself for no good reason.
Next.
The Weather Channel. Not exactly mind-numbing fare, but wouldn’t hurt to see what the weather was going to be like the next couple of days.
A knock sounded on the door. He grabbed his wallet and paid the delivery guy. The spicy scent of pepperoni, melted cheese, and tangy tomato sauce mingled and filled his nostrils. Since he was eating alone, there was no need for plates. The box plunked onto the coffee table, and he lifted the lid. Cheese stretched from the sides as he pulled out a slice.
“Next up, Local on the 8s.” The station cut to commercials.
Click. Trent’s head swiveled to the door as it opened.
Jonathan stepped into the room, his shoulders drooping and pain etching his face. Trent wasn’t an idiot. He knew what’d happened. His heart pumped in victory, but he tried to keep the elation from showing.
“Pizza?” He held up a slice.
“No thanks.” Jonathan scrubbed a hand down his face, then dropped onto the seat next to Trent. He let out a long breath. “I love her, you know.” His voice was raw.
Trent nodded slowly. He’d suspected the guy’s feelings ran that deep. A passing fancy wouldn’t have rocked him so much.
“She doesn’t love me though. At least, not in the same way.”
The dude was hurting. Trent felt for him, even if he had been annoying. “Wanna get a drink?”
“No.” Jonathan held his head in his hands. “No. I think I’m just going to head to bed.”
He stood, and Trent watched him trudge to the door of the room before stopping and facing him again. “She’s walking along the beach, by the way. In case you wanted to know.” The door clicked behind him.
Trent sat there, a slice held in midair. Should he go to her? His instincts said yes, but could he trust them? Before, he’d have considered this a perfect opportunity. Sad women were forever looking for strong shoulders to cry on, and he’d always been more than willing to offer all the comfort they needed.
He set the slice of pizza back in the box and wiped his greasy fingers on a paper napkin. Maybe he could offer his shoulder and a listening ear. Just because things had progressed one way in the past didn’t mean the situation had to repeat itself. Although if it did… He shook his head. He’d be the gentleman and not take advantage of Summer’s distressed state.
The card key pressed in his palm as he walked out the door. Hopefully he’d be able to find her. Considering they were on an island, there was a lot of beach for her to be walking along. The elevator doors dinged open, and he stepped in and rode it down to the lobby. His fingers fidgeted with the rectangular piece of plastic before he shoved it into a pocket in his sweatpants. The elevator doors slid open, and he stepped out.
Should he bring something to Summer? A good, stiff drink might help, but he doubted the hotel bar would let him take glasses out to the beach. A couple bottles of beer? The tsking sound his mother made with her tongue whenever she didn’t approve rang in his ears. Agh! He was a grown man. How could his mother still take up residence in his head?
The hum of a soda machine in the corner of the lobby drew his attention. Water was probably a better idea anyway. He didn’t need alcohol clouding his resolve to remain a gentleman. Two bottles of water landed with a thud at the bottom of the machine, and he scooped them up.
The temperature rose twenty degrees as he walked out of the hotel and into the night. The farther he walked from the lights of the hotel, the brighter the stars shone from the black sky. Soon the planked walkway ended, and his feet sank into soft sand. Waves crashed onto the shore, then rose and receded in their liquid dance. A lone figure sat silhouetted against the picturesque backdrop, knees drawn up to her chest, long hair twirling as the wind teased the tresses. His feet crunched beneath him, the shifting sand making it difficult to walk. When he reached Summer, he sat beside her without a word, holding out a bottle of water between them. She took the water and unscrewed the lid, lifting the bottle to her lips. Wispy clouds drifted near the moon, its luminescence turning hazy.
“I’m blaming you.”
The accusation slapped him. “Me? What did I do?”
“Everything was fine until you showed up looking like some kind of motorcycle-riding Norse god flirting with me.”
His cheeks spread wide in a grin. “You think I look like a god?”
A low, inarticulate sound tore from her throat, and she jumped to her feet. “So not the point. Before you came along, everything was great. Now that you’re here, everything is screwed up.”
“It’s not so screwed up.” He rose to his feet.
She arched a brow and crossed her arms over her chest.
“Okay, so your relationship with Jonathan is a little…rearranged. But now you know the truth. Isn’t that a good thing?”
“No.”
“No?” Now it was his turn to raise his eyebrows.
“It wasn’t good to watch hurt creep into one of my best friend’s eyes and know I was the cause of it. To see him wither when I had to tell him I didn’t return his feelings.”
The moon reflected in her eyes, bright with unshed tears.
“Summer…” He cupped her upper arm. Now he could offer his shoulder.
She jerked her arm back, flinging his comforting hand aside. “Don’t touch me. You’ve ruined everything.” She turned and stormed down the beach.
Seriously? He ruined everything?
Blood rushed to his face. Time for the girl to get some perspective.
Long strides brought him to her side. She kept walking toward the pier.
“You’re being a bit unfair, don’t you think?”
A huff, but they were still moving.
“If you have to blame someone, why not blame Jonathan? He’s the one who opened his big mouth.”
Eyes straight ahead.
They were at the pier now. He reached out and spun her around. “Look, if you wish Jonathan had kept pretending, then why don’t you try it?” He stepped forward, and Summer stepped back. He advanced, and she retreated. Until she backed into a piling.
Her eyes widened.
“You think you could do it? Could you look into his eyes and pretend your heart quickens at his nearness?”
The wind picked up and blew hair across Summer’s face. Trent traced a finger over her forehead and tucked th
e hair behind her ear.
“Could you pretend that a single touch of his fingers sent shivers up your spine?”
He took a half step closer and ran the back of his knuckles down her arm. His voice lowered. “Could you imagine that your breath hitches every time he’s near?”
His pulse drummed in his neck. Her skin was buttery soft. What had he been thinking? Her presence was intoxicating. Her tongue darted across full lips. How could he remain a gentleman when those lips were calling to him like a siren?
“And when he kissed you, could you pretend—”
Her arms reached up and wrapped around his neck. She lifted up on tiptoes and—heavenly—her lips were on his. Passion surged between them. Her lips parted, and his head swam. With one hand he cradled the back of her head; with the other he caressed her hip. Her body pressed against his. They fit together, a puzzle complete with every piece. Lips never separating, he lowered her to the sand. His hand roamed. He’d never felt skin so soft, tasted a mouth so sweet. Blood pumped, every nerve ending on fire. Hands clutched at his shirt, pulling him closer.
And then…pushing. “Stop.” Her voice was breathy, her hands on his chest, pushing him away. She squirmed under him. Had she said stop? Surely not. Just hearing things in the sound of the surf. He nibbled her neck.
“Trent. Stop.”
The fog in his head began to clear. He pushed himself up, and she wiggled up as well. She pulled on the bottom of her shirt.
What had happened?
She wouldn’t look at him. “I’m sorry.”
Nervous energy showed in the way she picked at her fingertips. He covered her hand with his. “You okay?”
She nodded but swiped at a tear.
Crying? Boy, did he feel like a heel.
“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for…” He ran a hand through his long hair.
“It’s not your fault.”
True. She had kissed him.
That was right! She had kissed him! So why the tears?
“I just can’t…I’m not that kind of…I like you, but…”