by Lauren Rowe
“Oh, please. You’re trying to make me the villain of this story? Ha! I told one little white lie in a bar—you’re the one without an ounce of integrity in your stupid, perfect body.”
“I’m losing patience with you, my darling sociopath. I politely request you please tell me the truth about the uniform-bullshit right now, because, if it turns out you’re literally a sociopath, then I’m not gonna be all that thrilled about you working alongside my sister’s husband, especially when I know you’d give your left tit to fuck his brains out at your first opportunity.”
She snarls at me. “You’re disgusting.”
“You’re not answering my question.”
She exhales and crosses her arms over her gorgeous chest. “I find it ironic you’re demanding proof of my integrity when you’re the guy who asked me out when you had a phone number in your pocket from earlier that night and a girlfriend sitting at home.”
“That’s total bullshit. But we’re not talking about me yet—we’re talking about you. Why were you wearing the uniform? And were you planning to meet me the next night or was that just part of the whole shtick—going to bars, giving a guy epic blue-balls, making a date, and laughing about it later?”
She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “I gave you a fake name and occupation in a bar, Ryan—I didn’t inject you with Ebola. It was a one-time silly lark during a night out with my extremely crazy friend, not a crime against humanity. Certainly, the same thing happens in bars all over the world every night of the week.”
My temper flares. My heart rate spikes. “Bullshit. People don’t have the kind of connection we did in bars every night of the week. Maybe women in bars give fake names and occupations to stupid meatheads they don’t see any potential with, but, unless it’s Halloween, they most certainly don’t wear official flight-attendant uniforms and, unless they’re pretty damned heartless, they don’t stick with their fake stories when the dude they’ve been mind-fucking all night has made it abundantly clear he’s feeling something once-in-a-lifetime—something he’s literally never felt before.” Oh my fuck, my voice is breaking. I can’t even pretend my heart isn’t bursting wide open as I speak. “If you thought I was just gaming you,” I say, the vein in my neck throbbing, “if you thought I was just saying whatever the fuck I had to say in order to get you into bed, then that settles it: you truly are a fucking sociopath.”
She looks pained. “Ryan, no. I...” She swallows hard. “I swear, it truly was a one-time thing. A silly lark. That’s all.”
My chest is tight. I feel like I can’t breathe. “But why didn’t you tell me the truth? Couldn’t you see I was losing my mind over you?”
She closes her eyes briefly and takes a deep breath. “I can’t do this right now. Uncle William and the Faradays will be here any minute and I’ve got a job to do. Honestly, I don’t see how you’re making this about my stupid uniform when you were lying through your teeth the whole time. You weren’t single, Ryan. You acted like you were falling in love with me on the spot and yet you had a fucking girlfriend the whole time. I told you my boyfriend had cheated on me and how much it hurt me and yet you had no qualms about using me to cheat on your girlfriend? How could you do that to me? Fuck you if you think me wearing a uniform came even close to any of that.”
“We’re gonna talk about all of that. But first I need to understand how you didn’t feel the impulse to tell me the truth.”
She looks utterly exasperated. “Oh my God. You’re insane. Fine. Not that I owe you any explanation, but here’s the whole, stupid story, you big cry-baby: I’d just moved up to Seattle and was missing Charlotte, so when she—”
“Wait. You live in Seattle?”
“Yeah, I’d relocated from L.A. a few weeks prior. Josh moved back to Seattle for Climb & Conquer.”
My mind is racing. “But you told me you live in L.A.”
“No, I told you I’m from L.A., which is true. Born and raised.”
“But you said you flew in from L.A. and came straight from the airport.”
“No. Charlotte said she flew in from L.A. and you just assumed she meant both of us. I never said that. In fact, right off the bat, I explicitly told you Charlotte was the flight attendant, not me, and that I was merely dressed like one.”
I feel like my head’s exploding. Holy shit, she did say that, didn’t she? How could I have not remembered that detail when I was sending Henn on his wild goose chase?
She continues: “Ever since my break-up, Charlotte had been begging me to come out with her and wear one of her uniforms, so I finally said ‘Fuck it, I’ll do it.’ And then, just my luck, the first time I did it, I met you—the most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on. The minute I saw you, I regretted wearing that stupid thing, which is why I blurted the truth, right off the bat. I knew you thought I was joking, but, still, it made me feel better to say it out loud. And, then, when we started talking, I got so absorbed in our conversation, I forgot I was wearing the damned uniform—a state of mind helped along by all those martinis and shots you kept feeding me, I’m sure.” She looks wistful. “And then, when we were just about to kiss... when your lips were on my cheek and you were whispering into my ear…” She closes her eyes for a moment, apparently lost in a memory. “You called me ‘Samantha,’ and, all of a sudden, I knew I had to tell you. So I told you I had something I needed to tell you—and that’s precisely when your girlfriend came in and called you a ‘cheater’ and me a ‘cunt’ and screamed about the blonde at dinner and I got the hell out of Dodge.”
“Oh my God,” I say softly, completely bowled over. Everything she’s just told me rings completely true. Holy fuck, I’ve been such an idiot. “Samantha. I mean, T-Rod. Listen to me. I can explain everything.”
“Oh, I’m sure you can. You’re awfully good at ‘explaining everything,’ aren’t you?” Her features harden to steel. “So, fine, be outraged at my purportedly sociopathic tendencies. But I’d look in the mirror before I started slinging ‘sociopath’ around, if I were you. It wasn’t me who was gathering phone numbers and dinner dates and fuck buddies behind my girlfriend’s back.”
“Theresa, you’ve got me all wrong,” I say. “Listen to me, okay? I’d already broken up with my girlfriend earlier that night, way before I got to the bar—and all that shit she said about me was completely untrue.”
Theresa scoffs. “Oh, you’d already broken up with Psycho Barbie? Well, that’s funny because she obviously hadn’t gotten the memo. You do realize you have to say the magic words ‘I want to break up with you’ out loud and not just think ’em in order to break-up with someone?”
“I didn’t telepathically break up with her,” I say. “I told her out loud. If she didn’t understand, that wasn’t my fault.”
Anger floods Theresa’s features. “That’s got to be the dickiest thing I’ve ever heard a man say in my entire life. If she didn’t understand you were breaking up with her, that was her fault?” She laughs maniacally. “Okay, Ryan, you’re right. My bad. I’ve totally misjudged you, the same way I misjudged my scumbag ex-boyfriend, I guess. You’ve explained everything and you’re a fucking saint.”
“I didn’t say I’m a saint. I just said—”
“Never mind,” she says. “It doesn’t matter. Either way, whether you’re a saint or a sinner or something in between, this thing between us is a total nonstarter, anyway, as I’m sure you’ll agree.”
“Fuck no, I don’t agree—I couldn’t disagree more.”
“Are you high? Even if you were Mr. Wonderful, which you’re so obviously not, you’re Kat’s brother.”
“I don’t see the dilemma.”
She scoffs. “If I’m gonna have meaningless sex with a fuck buddy, I’d strongly prefer not to have to see him repeatedly at kiddie birthday parties and gym grand openings for the rest of my life.”
“What if we’re not gonna have meaningless sex? What if I want something more than a fuck buddy?”
She laughs. “Okay, fine. Let’s
play make-believe for a moment. Let’s pretend Psycho Barbie never happened and you’re actually some kind of Prince Charming with actual morals and ethics. What are we gonna do, go out on a double date to the movies with Josh and Kat and whenever Josh wants popcorn, I’m gonna reflexively pop up to fetch it for him? I’ve never ‘hung out’ with Josh socially in my life. I’m his employee. I work for him.”
I laugh. “You’re his assistant, not his butler. If I can hang out with him, you can. It’s not like I’m some multi-millionaire, either.”
“You’re missing my point.”
“No, I’m not. You just have to get over your weird employee-thing and just be yourself. Using your example, if we were out at a movie and Josh wanted popcorn, then I’d get it when I got up to get ours, or, if Josh was being a dick about it, we’d tell him to go fuck himself and get his own fucking popcorn. It’s not rocket science, Theresa. You’d treat him like anyone else.”
“And then what? Get fired? Or feel weird about it? After six years, I’m supposed to tell my boss to get his own fucking popcorn?” She shakes her head. “This is ridiculous. I’m not gonna argue about Josh’s popcorn. It was a freaking metaphor. What I’m saying is you’re a nonstarter, okay? This was fun and what you did to me just now felt freaking amazing—I’m not gonna lie—it truly was the best sex of my life, hands down, so thank you for that—but it was just sex, Ryan. I’m not suddenly falling all over you because you’re handy with your fingers and dick and tongue.”
“Jesus.”
“Sorry. It is what it is. From here on out, the only rational thing to do, for all the reasons I’ve stated, is for both of us to say, ‘Gosh that rocked!’ and then pretend it never happened. I swear, the next guy I fuck will be someone I never have to see again.”
I clench my jaw. “I’d very much appreciate it if you’d refrain from talking about fucking anyone else when my dick was inside you literally minutes ago.”
“I’ll talk about whatever I want. You have no say in what I do.”
“I sure as hell do.”
A shadow crosses over her face. “Is that a threat? Are you threatening to tell Josh and Kat what I said in the bar?”
“What? No,” I say. “That’s not what I meant.”
She looks panicked all of a sudden. “Tell me now: are you gonna tell Josh and Kat that stupid thing I told you?”
I shrug. “I don’t know, to be honest. I have no desire or inclination to tell them jack shit about that—but I don’t know if I can trust my gut yet. I gotta feel things out. If it turns out you’re planning to swoop in and steal my sister’s man at some point, then I’d hate to look back and think, ‘Shit, I shoulda warned my sister to watch you like a hawk.’”
Her features harden. “You truly are an asshole, you know that? I swear to God on my life I don’t want Josh. I swear it on the lives of my brothers and parents and niece. Yes, I had a little crush on my boss a while back, during a time when I was feeling like I’d been eaten by a wolf and shit into a ditch, and, yes, this year has been hard for me so having a little fantasy-crush felt a whole lot safer than venturing into the cruel world; but, like I told you that night, my feelings for Josh weren’t specifically about him, but more about the kind of guy he represents.” She juts her chin. “Plus, I’ve come to adore Kat and would never do anything to hurt her. That’s the God’s truth. And, hey, as long as I’m telling you the God’s truth, I admit that, yes, I do love Josh. Fuck it. I love him. Just not in the way you mean. He’s like a very hot brother or cousin. I can appreciate his hotness and still realize he’s off-limits because we’d make three-headed babies, okay?”
I laugh, despite myself. God, she’s funny.
She continues, “You’re telling me you can’t objectively appreciate the hotness of any of your cousins? Or of Kat?”
I cringe. “Please don’t.”
“But you know your sister’s objectively hot, right?”
“Just, please, don’t.”
“My point is that loving Josh the way I do means I genuinely want him to be happy—which means I want him to be with Kat. Of course. Any moron can see Josh and Kat have the kind of epic love story anyone, including me, would kill to have.” She quickly glances at her watch. “Shit. I’ve gotta go. I never should have done this.”
In a sudden torrent, every feeling I had for this woman three months ago in that bar crashes into me again, only with more intensity than ever. “Theresa, listen to me,” I breathe. “We need to talk. I need to explain everything to you.”
“Fuck you and your ‘explanations,’ Ryan. I’m done with men full of excuses and fucking explanations. If you want to tell Josh and Kat what I told you at the bar and ruin my entire life, simply because it makes you feel like some sort of superhero-protector to your sister, then let the chips fall where they may. That says more about you and your poor judgment and massive ego and lack of empathy and lack of faith in love than it could ever say about me and some stupid, illusory crush I might have had months ago on my boss (whom I’ve never even once hung out with outside of work, by the way). But right now, whatever you’re gonna do or not do, I’ve got a job to do and, by God, I’m gonna do it to the best of my ability because I’m proud of how good I am at my job—really fucking proud!” Her eyes suddenly fill with tears. “The only thing I ask, out of basic decency, is two things: please don’t tell anyone we had sex, please, because it would be very embarrassing to me and I especially don’t want it getting back to Josh and Kat and making things awkward and strange for them at their wedding and future events; and, two, this entire week, please be polite and conversational toward me so as not to raise suspicion, but, otherwise, leave me the fuck alone!”
Oh my God. She’s out of control. She hates me. She absolutely hates me and it’s killing me. “Theresa. Hang on. You’re acting like a fucking loon. You gotta let me—”
Without another word, she flips me off, juts her chin, opens the door, and marches out of the room.
I stand stock-still for a minute, my heart racing. I can’t follow her—she’s heading to the lobby to meet the Faraday group. Should I... what the fuck should I do? I don’t fucking know. All I know—literally the only two things I know at this moment are: one, I want her, now more than ever, and, two, before this week is over, no matter what the fuck I have to do, I’m gonna make that woman mine.
Chapter 28
Tessa
As I walk along the winding pathway toward the main lobby, I can’t stop chastising myself. What the hell is wrong with me? I fucked Ryan Morgan? And then I flew off the handle and lost my mind and screamed at him afterwards? Talk about poking the snake. Shit! Why didn’t I let the man talk? Strength comes from silence more than anything else, not shrieking and crying. Damn! He obviously wanted to say something, so why didn’t I let him do it? Maybe, whatever it was, I could have used it to convince him to keep his stupid mouth shut this week.
Crap! I never should have gone to his room. I had important work to do, and yet I chose to spend an hour, smack in the middle of guests’ arrivals, to play Hide the Pierced Salami (and Magical Fingers and Talented Tongue) with Kat’s freaking manwhore of a brother? Inexcusable! By definition, a girl’s not supposed to see her one-night stand (or, in this case, her one-afternoon stand), ever again, and here I’ve dipped my toe into the casual-sex pool for the first time with a man I’m going to see all week long here in Hawaii and also at least once a year for the rest of my life in Seattle? Gah!
My phone buzzes with an incoming text and I pull it out as I continue walking toward the lobby. The driver for Uncle William, Jonas, Sarah, and Sarah’s mother is moments away from arriving. I reply to say I’ll meet them in the lobby and then continue scrolling through additional texts. There’s a text from Marnie letting me know the Morgan group has hit the private beach for some fun in the sun. More scrolling and I see an inquiry from Reed Rivers about the wedding reception—something about a surprise musical guest he wants to arrange as a gift to Josh and Kat. I reply to R
eed saying no problem, we’ll talk about it when he gets here.
As I cross the threshold into the spacious lobby, I shove my phone into my bag and scan the place. Phew. There’s no sign of the Faraday party yet.
My phone pings with a text and I pull it out again. “Hey, Crazy Girl!” Charlotte writes. “Can u talk now? I’ve got 30 minutes before hopping my flight. If not now, talk tomorrow?”
I tap out a quick reply: “Hey, Nut Job, can’t talk now. Sorry. Tomorrow good. Lots to tell you!” I press send and bite my lip. God, I’m dying to tell Charlotte about the whole Ryan situation. She’s gonna lose her freaking mind when I tell her. Shoot. I can’t resist dropping a little hint. “This Crazy Girl’s got a crazy story to tell you when we talk!” I write. “I HAD SEX! (Cue the fireworks, champagne bottle uncorking, and a choir singing!) And, guuuuuurl, it was gooooood. Best sex of my life! I’m not gonna tell you who it was who made me see God (four times!!!) until we talk (because I want to HEAR your shrieking reaction!!!), but let me just say this: the guy’s a blast from my past and a complete asshole and I had no idea he’d be here but he is! I shouldn’t have done it, but I threw caution to the wind and fucked him on a complete whim, for no other reason than I wanted to get laid! Yeehaw! I think you might be on to something with the whole meaningless sex thing. Woooheeeeee! Good stuff! Talk to you tomorrow. XO T.”
Chapter 29
Ryan
I scan the private beach. White sand. Turquoise water. Palm trees swaying in a gentle breeze. And all of it bathed in glorious, Hawaiian sunshine. There’s a crowd of Morgan-related folks snorkeling just beyond the shore break, and a whole bunch more, including Josh and Kat and Dax and his two buddies, frolicking in the waves. It looks like Coco and Keane are burying Zander in the sand up to his neck, and Mom and Dad and a whole mess of Morgans are hanging out in a cabana. Paradise.