by Mia Sosa
It takes more time than it should to answer his question. I’m focused on the tingle that spread over my fingers when he touched me. Not a welcome development. Now, what was the question? Ah, right. What happens if he loses? I shake my head to clear it before I respond. “Your company when I jog on the beach in the morning. I’d love to keep to my regular exercise routine and take advantage of the beautiful scenery, but I’m not enthused about running alone in an unfamiliar place. I’m not asking you to be my protector, mind you. Just company. I run with a partner at home, for pacing. Think you could handle it?”
“Sure, no problem. I’ll be your running mate.”
Interesting that he didn’t ask any questions about the extent of my run. Maybe he’s a serious runner, too. Then again, he’s a guy. He probably thinks he’s got this bet on lock. Either fact could explain his lack of due diligence. I rub my hands together. “Excellent. One condition, though.”
“What’s that?”
“We have to start with a level playing field. I’ve already had two shots.”
I’ve also drained a cocktail, but I have an advantage anyway. My tolerance for alcohol is as high as my intolerance for mansplaining.
He considers me for a few seconds and ends his survey by drumming a staccato beat on the bar counter. “Deal.”
Damon sets four more shots of vodka in front of me. I grab two and hand them to Carter. “Then drink up, buttercup. We don’t have a lot of time. You’ll need a good night’s rest ’cause we’ll be running at six in the morning.”
Chapter Five
Carter
THIS APPEARS TO be the best kind of situation: a win-win.
Whatever the outcome, I get to spend time with Tori. What she doesn’t realize, however, is that she made a bet with a man whose iron stomach and indestructible kidneys are legendary among his friends. The outcome of this competition is all on me.
As I study her eyes over the rim of the shot glass, I’m faced with an interesting quandary. If I win the bet, I’ll have to pretend that I need her help gaining the attention of a woman at the resort. If I let her win the bet—c’mon, that’s the only way it could happen—I’ll have to run with her each morning at the ungodly hour of six o’clock. The former involves acting, an activity that for obvious reasons comes naturally to me, while the latter involves opening my eyes before the butt crack of dawn, a time of day when I’m not at my best. Ultimately, it’s an easy choice.
I raise the glass to my lips and knock back the liquor in one gulp. The second shot goes down just as easily. “Now we’re even.”
Tori rolls her shoulders forward and back, drawing my eyes to that irresistible expanse of skin on a woman’s body: the area between her collarbones. It’s a magical place. The center of a compass rose. Whether you head east, west, north, or south, you simply cannot go wrong. Tori’s not wearing a necklace to mar the view, and she has fantastic collarbones. Some might even call them delectable. Yes, “some” is the royal “me.”
Tori waves her hands in front of my face. “Hey, Carter. Shots already affecting you? You look a little dazed.”
I draw back and shake my head. “What? No. Just a little tired, remember?” Jesus, Carter, how fucking lame can you be? Very, apparently.
She pretends to hold her laugh, but we both know she thinks I’m a joke, which she confirms when she says, “Okay, let’s get on with this, so I can tuck you in for a nap.”
All right, now she’s spouting fighting words. Game on. I pick up one of the shots and gesture for her to do the same. She does so with a lick of her lips. I’d trade shots with her for days if it meant I got to watch that again and again.
“The trick to this,” she says, “is to draw in a deep breath before you take the shot and exhale slowly afterward.”
I lean into her, drawn to the idea of her taking deep breaths in my presence. “Is that so?”
She scrunches her brows like a caterpillar inching its away across the ground. Okay, she probably wouldn’t appreciate my thoughts right now.
“Yes, that’s so,” she says, her voice haughty and tight.
Giving her my best I’ve-got-your-number smile, I toss my head back and gulp the vodka. “I think I’ll do this my way.”
“Suit yourself, John Grizzly.”
She applies her technique admirably, and I’m impressed by her stamina. By my count, this is her third shot, and she doesn’t seem fazed at all. The bartender walks over and sets several more shots in front of us. Tori places her hands on the counter and raises her body to lean into him. A smile plays across his face when she whispers something in his ear. Even though I have no right to anything about this woman, let alone the right to be jealous that she’s talking to another guy, I clench my jaw as I watch them interact. Get a grip, Carter.
Before we can trade more shots, she presses me for information about myself.
“Where are you from?” she asks.
My answer comes without hesitation. “A small town in Connecticut. Harmon.”
“Is there such a thing as a big town in Connecticut?”
“Spoken like a native New Yorker.” I shudder. “Or a Californian.”
Tori blushes. “Wrong on both counts, although I should note the latter would be a travesty. Philly, born and raised. When did you move to California?”
“When I was nineteen, and you’re stalling.” I slide another shot glass her way. “Ready?”
“Always,” she says with a dimpled grin.
We each take our respective shots, both grimacing as we slam the glasses down.
Despite my efforts to redirect the conversation, she doesn’t miss a beat. “What do you do in the Golden State?”
I knew we’d reach this point, but I wish it hadn’t come so soon. Our rapport so far has been easy and light, unblemished by the collateral bullshit associated with my career. The assumptions. The ass-kissing. The agendas. I’m not looking forward to seeing the humor in Tori’s eyes switch to something else when she learns who I am. It’ll surely come. It always does. Shit. This week, a doctor sold photos of me to a gossip magazine, so I know this isn’t paranoia.
Here’s how this usually plays out: She learns I’m Carter Stone, and the feisty, wisecracking woman in front of me turns into someone else. Someone she thinks I want her to be. Someone befitting the arm of a rising Hollywood heartthrob. And if she’s ambitious, she’ll devise a way to make our connection beneficial to her. I’d rather not see that person tonight, though.
Besides, what are the odds I’ll see Tori after this trip? It would be nice to spend time with a woman who isn’t trying to get something out of me. I resolve to do nothing more than enjoy her company while we’re on the island, in which case the details are unimportant. Broad brushstrokes will suffice.
“I’m a Hollywood insider, and I do a little bit of this and a little bit of that. I work on studio sets a lot.”
All true.
Her eyes go wide—just as I’d feared. “Know any celebrities?” She leans in and gives me a conspiratorial wink. “Any gossip to share?”
“I know a few, but I don’t gossip.”
She pouts at me and scans my body.
The skin around my collar gets itchy under her prolonged observation. “What are you doing?”
She winks at me. “Someone must have misplaced the microchip that programs your ability to have fun when they manufactured you. I’m looking for the place to reinsert it.”
My jaw drops. What? Me, boring? No fucking way. I’m the life of the party. Always.
Before I can make my case, Tori whips her head around and surveys the area beyond the bar. Not more than ten feet away, a lit path leads directly to the resort’s pristine beach. Two men work in the sand, one balancing a thick pole in his hands and the other setting up a steel stand.
Tori grabs another drink and gestures excitedly with her other hand. “Limbo,” she bellows for the benefit of everyone within a three-mile radius. Jesus, this woman’s got pipes.
She jum
ps up from the stool and downs her shot. “Just what we need to get this party started.” She lifts a brow and motions for me to take another shot. “Catch up, Carter. Don’t think I’m not counting.”
That makes me laugh—and for some reason I’m unable to stop.
Tori halts and turns back to me. “You okay?”
I snap my mouth shut, wave her off, and stand on wobbly legs. Whoa. The vodka’s hitting my system sooner than usual. “Doing just great. Don’t worry about me.” I hold my arms out and stand as still as I can. “See? I’m fine.”
She catalogs my demeanor as she rubs her bottom lip. “I’ve had five shots. You’ve had four. Ready to call it quits?”
I place my hands on my hips and roll my eyes. “Ugh. As if.”
Tori bursts out laughing as she walks in circles. It’s . . . odd.
I straighten and regard her from head to toe, and because she won’t stop moving, my head is spinning. “Now it’s my turn to ask if you’re okay.”
She stops circling me and crosses her legs at the ankles, her face tight in concentration. “Um. I need to pee. Be right back.”
She runs off in the direction of the public restroom. Several hotel guests hover near the dance floor waiting for the game to begin. I choose not to be one of them, so I plop back onto the stool.
The bartender sets an elbow on the counter, affecting a casual stance, but his laser-like gaze tells me he’s on a mission. “Forgot to card you, my man. Hotel policy.”
I pull my wallet from the side pocket of my cargo shorts and show him my Connecticut license. He gives it a once-over and nods.
“Let me guess, you’re already feeling protective of Tori,” I say as I tuck the license back into my wallet.
He smiles. “Well, yes. But Tori’s also protective of herself. You may have an eye on her, but she wanted to be sure we had an eye on you, too. Nice to meet you, Carter Williamson of Harmon, Connecticut.”
Grinning, I salute him—and mentally applaud Tori’s efforts to ensure her own safety. I’m also gratified to know she was probably asking Damon to card me when she leaned into him before.
She returns minutes later and slaps her hands on the bar. “Time to take your fifth shot, John Grizzly Adams.”
“The Grizzly thing’s wearing a little thin, Tori. Time to expand . . . your . . . arsenal.”
Jewel touted Aruba for being a tropical paradise with pleasant weather, so why the hell are my face and neck burning?
She lifts a brow. “I have a feeling you’ll be providing me with more reasons to tease you very soon.”
The shot glass appears at my fingertips. She and the bartender must have a secret code. I down it easily. “Now we’re even.”
She tugs on my hand. “Now, we limbo.”
I tug her back. “No, thank you.”
She laughs and crooks her finger at me as she walks backward. “C’mon, Carter. Have a little fun.”
Fun? I’m usually all over it. But I’d prefer to tell a joke rather than be one. “Go ahead. I’ll watch.”
She pauses and crosses her arms in front of her. “What’s the matter? You’re worried you’ll look silly? You’ll have so much more fun when you learn not to care about what others think of you.”
She’s probably right, but my life revolves around letting other people judge me. And I care what they think. Very much. If she wants to sue me about it, she can join the class-action lawsuit against me; my mother happens to be the lead plaintiff.
Tori shrugs her shoulders and spins around, sashaying her way down the lit path to the beach. I blow out a harsh breath when I finally focus on the back of her dress. From the front, it looks like nothing more than an oversize T-shirt with a modest V-neck. Now that she’s standing, I can see the back is another story, however. The cotton is shredded just above her ass and at her shoulder blades. Have mercy. Backyard barbecue in the front, Lollapalooza in the back.
The tempo of the steel drums increases, mimicking what’s happening to my already-taxed heart. For a minute, I lose Tori in the throng of people lining up for limbo. Then a toned limb shoots up in the air, and a set of bracelets jangle together as they slide down its owner’s arm. She emerges from the crowd and skips under the stick. A lone male about my age follows her, his eyes trained on her back.
“Damon, a few more shots, please,” I call back behind my shoulder.
He pushes four more shots my way. “The bar is now closed.”
According to the clock behind him, it’s only fifteen minutes past nine. “A little early for a resort to be closing its bar, don’t you think?”
“Let me rephrase. The bar is closed to you.” He juts his chin out in the direction of the limbo game. “And to her.”
“Fair enough.”
I return my gaze to Tori, who’s acquired a friend in the short time it took me to get more alcohol. He’s wearing an aloha shirt and a goofy grin. The next time Tori goes under the limbo stick, he places his hands on her shoulders and follows closely behind her.
I polish off shots six and seven as I watch them.
The bartender sidles over to me. “You might want to get over there. Looks like he’s trying to replace you.”
I shoot up from my stool, but the blood rushes to my head, forcing me to sit back down. I should step in. She doesn’t know this guy from Adam. Never mind that she doesn’t know me, either. At least she’s taken steps to vet me.
This time I place my hands on the bar counter before I rise. That’s not so bad. I slog through the sand as I balance Tori’s remaining shot glasses in my hands, stumbling a few times because the sand is wet and tightly packed. Only a few limbo participants remain, including Tori and her new friend.
Tori’s up next. Well, hell. Her turn under the stick, which is only two feet off the ground, is jaw-dropping. She digs her toes into the sand and bends like a contortionist. The move outlines her body in a way that’s so indecent I almost look away. Almost.
For some reason, her friend catches her as she lunges forward to steady herself. He must have hit the stick when I wasn’t paying attention, or maybe he abandoned the game because he simply wants to get his hands on Tori. Either way, the bartender’s correct. It’s time for me to reassert myself.
Tori’s all laughter and smiles, and I’ll admit to being just a little disappointed that she’s having so much fun without me. Maybe I should just turn around and leave her alone. This guy might be goofy, but he’ll probably tell her who he really is. I pivot in the bar’s direction, but someone grabs my wrist and stops me.
“Carter-I-won’t-forget-your-name-again-Williamson. I’m glad you decided to join us,” Tori says. Each word is drawn out, and her eyes are glassy.
Victory is near, friends.
With a playful flourish, I present her with her shots. “Your drinks, my lady.”
“How do I know you had your two?”
She slurs the word two. Uh-oh. Tori’s approaching shit-faced territory.
“You can ask Damon.” I turn and wriggle my fingers at the bartender, who wriggles his fingers in kind.
Tori communicates with Damon, pointing first at the shots and then at her chest and sticking her thumb up. He gives her a thumbs-up in return. Down the hatch the vodka shots go in quick succession, and Mr. Aloha arrives for no good reason whatsoever. The prick.
Tori places the empty shot glasses on a nearby table and jumps up. “Ready to limbo?”
I smirk at the guy beside her. “Yeah, I’m game.”
The resort staffers lower the stick half an inch and egg me on. My back and stomach are strong. I’ve got this. With my fingers laced behind me, I lean back and dig my feet in the sand to ground me. I’m almost there when I step on a sharp object. The pain causes me to jump, which catapults me forward. My neck collides with the stick, and I’m immediately dropped on my ass like I’m auditioning for the WWE. I roll onto my back and just lie there. From this vantage, I can see that the sky is clear and filled with stars. Really fucking pretty, actually.
I massage my neck and laugh. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
Wide-eyed, she asks, “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Then she lowers her head, her shoulders shaking violently.
I sit up on my elbows and place my hand on her arm. “Hey, hey, I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m fine.”
When she lifts her head, she regards me with tear-stained cheeks and proceeds to roar with laughter. “I knew you’d give me another reason to tease you.”
Fuck. She’s laughing at me? This is what I get for going outside my lane.
She rises and helps me to my feet. “C’mon, I think it’s time for you to call it a night.”
I brush off her assistance at that point. “I said I was fine.”
She backs off and holds her hands up. “Okay, okay. No need to get so testy. The bet was made in good fun, but I think liquor brings out the cranky pants in you. We can consider it withdrawn if you like.”
Cranky pants? Christ. Once again, I need to regroup. “Fine.”
She smirks at me. “Fine.”
Then she walks away. Hmm, no. She’s definitely stumbling in the sand.
I try to do the same, but I’m too dizzy to do anything but stare after her. I want to say I’m sorry for acting like a pissed-off child. Really, I do. But the numbness in my mouth is making it difficult to call out to her. After a few more wobbly steps, Tori spins around, her mouth open and poised to speak.
Without warning, my stomach roils. My vision blurs, too, although I can still see Tori ahead. And as gravity pulls me to the sand, her eyes go round.
Why the hell is she running toward me?
Chapter Six
Tori
FOR THE SECOND time in five minutes, I drop to the sand near Carter’s head. He’s not out cold, but he’s not looking great, either. I place two fingers above his nose and mouth. He’s still breathing, thank goodness, but he’s on his back, which isn’t safe. With as much strength as I can gather in my current state, I roll him to his side.
It tickles me that he’s such a lightweight.