Текст книги "Оллмп"

Автор книги: Меган Куин

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Текущая страница: 23 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

“I was,” he agrees, and more tension eases.

“‘Request number two—after a solid make-up session, which will include whatever Lottie wants’”—I smirk at that—“‘Lottie will be required to permanently move in with Huxley, and into his bedroom, where he’s already made space in the closet for her clothes.’”

“My clothes or the personal items you picked out for me?” I ask.

“Whatever you want.”

“I prefer a mixture of both.”

“Done.” His facial expression lightens as he continues. “‘Request number three—Lottie drops all previous roles of fake fiancée and fake pregnant woman. Huxley realizes what a bad idea this was and has already cleared the air with Dave. He wants Lottie to live her best life now, free of any fake premise.’”

“Her best life?” I ask with a raised brow. He nods. “And things are cleared up with Dave? Really?”

“Yes, I spoke with him today. He wasn’t happy when I told him I’d fucked things up with you and told me I’d better get you back. I told him I intended to and that I already had dinner planned with you.”

“Dave is a smart man.” I push my hair over my shoulder, needing to busy my antsy hands.

“‘Request number four—even though the previous contract has been destroyed, Huxley is still indebted to Lottie and therefore will attend any social event to help her stick it to her old boss, but this time, he prefers to act as her real fiancé.’”

His eyes peer up at me.

Uh, did I hear that right? Real fiancé?

“‘Request number five—Lottie realizes that Huxley is a shell of a man without her. That he not only craves her in his life, but he needs her in his life. She’s become a permanent fixture and not having her in his life is non-negotiable.’ Which brings me to ‘Request number six—Lottie follows Huxley to the rooftop.’” Huxley stands and holds out his hand.

I don’t take it right away.

I’m not even sure I can with how shaky I am.

“Lottie . . .”

Mustering up some words, I say, “I’m, uh . . . I’m going to need my lawyer to look at that contract.”

His smile nearly knocks me over, it’s so brilliantly handsome, and full of joy. It propels my hand into his and guides me through the house, up the stairs, and to the rooftop. When Huxley pushes open the door, he allows me to go through first, revealing the beautiful setup.

Two wooden lounge chairs occupy the middle of the space, decorated with rose petals, and surrounded by fake candles that offer just enough light to set the scene.

“Wow,” I say, taking it all in.

The door shuts behind us, and I turn to find Huxley bent down on one knee, holding a ring box.

This can’t be real. This seriously can’t be the life I’m living right now, but when he opens his mouth and says my name in a breathless tone, I realize this is very much real.

“Lottie, I love you. You’re beautifully frustrating, annoyingly right most of the time, and you bring me more joy than I ever thought I’d be lucky enough to have. You complement my surly attitude. You put me in my place when I need it, and you listen to me when I need a listening ear. Plain and simple, you complete me, and I know for certain, I can’t live this life without you in it.” He pops open the ring box, revealing a beautiful, cushion-shaped diamond ring with diamond accents on the band. It’s different than the current ring on my finger, edgier, just like me. “I love you so goddamn much. Please, would you accept the contract, and will you also do me the honor of being my wife?”

I stare down at him, those deep, mysterious eyes piercing through me, holding me captive.

They always will.

I believe he’s had my heart from the very beginning. Even through our ups and downs, there was a connection, an unrelenting bond that drew me toward him. There’s no denying I love this man, there’s no denying I’ll always love him. He’s it for me. I realize this. But . . .

“You hurt me, Huxley.”

He stands up and quickly closes the space between us. “I know, Lottie, and I’m really fucking sorry. I can’t promise you I won’t hurt you again, because we’ll always have disagreements, but I’ll promise you this—you’re my number one, you’re the person I trust, the person I know will always be by my side, cheering for me and telling me when I’m an asshole. And I’ll do everything possible to make you happy. To make sure I never—on purpose—make you cry again.” His hand rises to my face and his thumb gently rubs across my cheek. “I love you, baby.”

I wet my lips, get lost in those eyes, and on a leap and a prayer, I say, “I love you, too.”

“Fuck,” he says in an exhale before tilting my jaw up and pressing his lips to mine. My arms instantly wrap around his neck and I deepen the kiss, letting go of the anger and tension that’s drained from me.

Oddly, he’s everything I’ve ever wanted. He challenges me. Teases me. And passionately loves me.

When he pulls away, he grips my cheeks and rests his forehead on mine. “Please tell me it’s a yes. Please tell me you’ll be mine forever.”

Locking gazes with him, I say, “I’m yours forever, Huxley.”

“Thank fuck,” he says, lifting my hand and pressing a kiss to my knuckles. Then, he takes the fake engagement ring off my finger and replaces it with the real thing. He gives it a kiss and asks, “Do you like it?”

I smile. “I love it, just like I love you.”

He presses another kiss to my lips and then quietly says, “Looks like you snagged yourself a rich husband after all.”

I chuckle. “I think it was the braids.”

“It was the braids for sure.”

He pulls me into a hug, then lifts me up and spins me around as we both laugh.

Just when you think you’ve hit rock bottom, when you don’t think there’s any way you could climb the mountain again to find happiness, you stumble across a trail, one that has its bumps and bruises, but offers a gorgeous outcome. I might not have known the outcome of saying yes to Huxley and his crazy scheme, but I’m so glad I did, because I can’t imagine what this life would be like without him.

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Epilogue

HUXLEY

“Does my butt look good?”

“For the tenth time, your ass looks amazing,” I say, though I don’t even bother to look at it this time. I’m sure it hasn’t changed in the last minute, and the more I stare at it, the more I’m going to get hard, and the last thing I want to do is be hard when we walk into Lottie’s high school reunion.

“This dress wasn’t too much? It feels like too much.”

I stop her and spin her toward me. She’s wearing a deep-purple dress that clings to every curve of her body and lifts her tits, giving her impossible cleavage. When she stepped out of our bathroom, my jaw hit the floor and my dick grew in seconds. She paired the dress with four-inch black stilettos, my kryptonite. I immediately reached for her but she blocked me with a stiff arm, saying I wasn’t allowed to touch her sexually until after the reunion because she didn’t want me ruining her hair and makeup.

I didn’t touch her in the house, but the moment we got to the car, I put up the privacy shield, lifted her legs over my shoulders, and ate her out until she came twice. In return, she gave me one of the quickest blow jobs of my life. I was primed and ready from her taste on my lips, so it didn’t take long. Even if I wasn’t allowed to pull on her hair like I normally love to do. Both satisfied, we made our way into the Beverly Hillshire Hotel, which made Lottie laugh, given the start of our relationship, and its Pretty Woman vibe.

“The dress is perfect, babe. I promise, you look amazing.” I kiss her cheek and then lean toward her ear. “So goddamn amazing that it’s taking every last ounce of my control to not fuck you right here in this hallway.”

My hand presses to the curve of her hip and I move her against the wall.

“Huxley,” she says breathlessly.

“You can’t say my name like that. You’re going to make me hard,” I whisper, placing a kiss on her neck. She tilts her head to the side. “Babe, you’re taunting me.”

“You’re the one doing the taunting,” she says as I kiss the spot beneath her ear. She lightly moans.

“Lottie . . . do you want me to fuck you right here—”

“Excuse me, we’re hosting a high school reunion here,” a shrill voice says.

When I pull away, I’m met with a woman in a bubble gum-colored dress. There’s a man attached to her arm, but he honestly looks fake. There’s no connection in his eyes, no caring. It’s as if he’s just present. When I finally notice the woman speaking to us, I realize it’s Angela.

“Oh, Lottie,” Angela says, placing her hand on her chest. I watch as her eyes rake over my fiancée. Her lips turn down, and I know right then and there, she’s jealous. When Lottie’s hand clutches around mine, I know Lottie saw it too. “I didn’t realize that was you.” Angela turns to me. “Huxley, how are you?”

I hate that she thinks we’re friends.

“Great,” I answer, lifting Lottie’s hand and placing a kiss on the back of her knuckles, the same hand that bears her engagement ring. Angela’s eyes land on it and she has a very hard time masking her emotions as jealousy rips through her. “Sorry about that PDA, but my girl is stunning in this dress and I can’t seem to keep my hands off her. She made me swear I wouldn’t ruin her hair and makeup. I think I did a good job of that in the car, don’t you?”

Her eyes narrow but then she must realize she has to put on a show, because she straightens up and leans against her man, who is, unfortunately for Angela, checking out another woman.

“Oh, yes, Brad and I had a hard time controlling ourselves in the car as well. The man is horny all the time.”

He doesn’t acknowledge her, but instead bites the corner of his lip as a blonde walks by.

“What happened to Ken?” Lottie asks.

Angela dismissively waves her hand. “He got boring.”

Aka, he broke up with her.

“But Brad and I are just having the best time. Isn’t that right?” She tugs on Brad’s arm.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom,” he says, taking off without another word, following that blonde.

Still putting on a happy face, Angela asks, “So, have you two actually set a date?”

“December tenth,” Lottie says. “We’re going to Tulum and flying our closest friends and family down for a two-week-long wedding celebration.”

“Oh, how exciting.” Angela perks up, clearly missing the mark that she’s not invited. “Should I book my flight now?”

Really, really obtuse.

“No, that’s okay. We’ll be fine getting married without you.”

She frowns. “Lottie, I’m your best friend.”

“Nope, that’s not accurate.” Lottie shakes her head. Her confidence is making me so goddamn horny right now. I hope she doesn’t plan on staying at this reunion very long. “But thank you for thinking so kindly of me.” Lottie smiles. “Oh, and hey, sorry to hear about your top two sponsors pulling out of advertising. That must have been hard.”

Angela’s frown deepens.

“I know how hard it was to keep those accounts happy, as it was always me ensuring they had everything they ever needed. Such a shame, but, hey”—Lottie winks—“at least you’re saving money when it comes to hiring mediocre employees.”

That frown grows even more.

“Did you happen to see Kelsey and I are in business now? We just signed a one-million-dollar contract with Dave Toney. We’re in way over our heads and plan on hiring quite a few hands to help us get the job done. Don’t worry, though, we’ll keep the mediocre employees at your disposal. We only want the best so we pay them what they deserve. Anyway”—Lottie reaches up and presses a kiss to my cheek—“I’m kind of over this. Want to go grab a burger?”

I smirk. “Care to fly to Portland? I’m craving Killer Burger.”

“I couldn’t think of anything more perfect.” Lottie turns to Angela. “So not nice to see you again. Take care, Angela.”

And with that, hand in hand, we walk out of the hotel and straight to where my car is waiting. I call up my pilot and tell him to meet us at the airport. My girl wants a burger, she’s going to get one.

As we drive through the city, I think about how lucky I am.

I had been so wrong in so many ways. In suggesting a flagrant deception was the way to get a business deal. To think that Dave, who I’d always known to be a stand-up guy, hadn’t believed in Cane Enterprises all along. To believe that this gorgeous woman in my arms was capable of the sort of betrayal I’d suggested. Ridiculous. I’m fucking lucky. I’ve had to eat humble pie, and I won’t ever take her for granted again. Nor will I fabricate a story to get a deal.

Lottie leans in to my embrace and gently lifts her lips to my jaw. “I love you, Huxley.”

“I love you, too, babe. I’m proud of you. Really fucking proud.”

“I wasn’t too bitchy?”

“You were incredibly bitchy, but I loved it.”

She chuckles. “That last jab was maybe uncalled for, but I couldn’t help myself.”

“Do you have closure?”

She nods. “Very much so. Thank you.”

“No need to thank me, babe. You did this all on your own.”

“You mean snag a rich husband by haphazardly getting lost in The Flats?”

The best damn day of my life. Thank fuck Angela was truly that vacuous to fire Lottie.

“Exactly. You have no idea how glad I am that you lost your way that day, and that you said yes to my crazy proposal.”

“Well, I have to say, I liked your most recent proposal even more.”

“And you said yes.”

“And I said yes.”

Thank God.

“Angela was very wrong about many things, you know.”

“Oh, I know, but what do you mean?”

“You’re my best friend, Lottie. And my life is only better for it. I love you, wife-to-be.”

“And I love you, husband-to-be, even with all your crazy.”

I laugh and then blow her mind with a deep and passionate kiss. My gorgeous, sexy, incredible girl. Life will never be boring with this spitfire by my side. Rainy days will never be dismal. Life will be fun, adventurous, crazy, and better than I ever thought life could be. Better than I ever deserved.

Keep reading for an excerpt from my steamy teacher romance, Earn Your Extra Credit

Read all of Meghan’s books in Kindle Unlimited.

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Excerpt – Earn Your Extra Credit

Prologue

ROMEO

“Do you want to sit next to Stella on the airplane?” Arlo asks.

“What? Fuck, no,” I say while turning up the game so I can hear the announcers over my tedious, wedding-planning best friend.

Arlo snatches the remote from my hand and turns off the TV. The room is silent for a moment before uproarious objections fill the air.

“Gentry is up next,” Gunner, my other best friend and former teammate, complains from next to me. “He’s three for three so far.”

“We need to talk,” Arlo says in that stern, alpha-like voice that won over his fiancée. Little does he know it doesn’t work on me.

I reach for the remote but he swats my hand with a resounding thud, causing me to yank my hand back. “What the actual fuck, man?”

When I decided to have the guys over to my loft, I assumed we’d tear up some wings, drain some brews, and watch the Bobbies game. Never in my wildest fucking dreams would I have pictured Arlo Turner, the grumpy curmudgeon of the Forest Heights English department, to roll in like a beaming bride, holding a wedding planning folder to his chest, and consume the night with questions about what he should wear and if coconut cake is too “Hawaiian-y” for his Maui destination wedding.

But here we are.

“Cut the crap, Romeo.”

“Cut what crap?” I reach over to the coffee table and pick up my almost empty glass of beer.

“I’m not about to have the Bickersons attend my wedding, so what the hell is going on with Stella?”

“Nothing is going on,” I answer, then take a small sip of my beer, making the liquid last so I don’t have to get up for a refill.

Gunner leans in and asks, “If we get to the bottom of the problem, can we turn the TV back on?”

“Yes,” Arlo answers.

“Then it was the baseball game he took her to.”

“Dude,” I say in protest while sitting up on the couch. “What the fuck happened to don’t say anything?”

Gunner unapologetically shrugs. “I really want to watch the Bobbies kill the Rebels in interleague play.”

“What baseball game?” Arlo asks. “Do you mean the game you took her and Cora to?”

“Yup.” Gunner pops a chip in his mouth from the bowl on the coffee table. “Except Cora wasn’t supposed to go. It was supposed to be a daaate,” Gunner drags out.

“You asked Stella out?” Arlo asks, shocked.

“Way to sell me out for a game, you dick.”

Not showing an ounce of remorse, Gunner stands from the couch and takes my glass from me. “I’ll top you off. You’ll need it.”

Seething, I pass my hand over my head and say, “Yeah, I asked her out. She invited Cora. End of story.”

“That’s not the end of the story,” Gunner says from the kitchen, the open concept of my loft allowing his voice to carry to us easily.

When you think a friend is trustworthy and then they go and shock your fucking nuts right off by divulging everything you told them in secret . . . without even a blink of an eye. Gunner is dead to me.

You’re probably wondering why I didn’t say anything to Arlo about what happened, given he’s one of my best friends, right? It’s simple. Gunner got me drunk and I relished in the comfort of far too many cold beers and a listening ear. If it wasn’t for that, I’d have kept my mouth shut, because the entire incident was fucking humiliating.

Between you and me, I’ve liked Stella Garcia, the Spanish teacher at Forest Heights, for a while now. Far too long actually. I can’t quite pinpoint when it happened, but all I know is over the three years I’ve known her, I’ve been pining after the girl for the majority of the time.

Fucking bold, quick-witted with a sharp tongue, loves sports, shy when it counts. Flat-out gorgeous with her long, wavy brown hair and fascinating green eyes that have a ring of brown around the pupil. She’s had my attention for a while and last year, I decided to finally make a move.

Enough was enough. We shared too many dinners together as friends. She’s pressed her lips to my beer glass without a second thought way too many times. The moment presented itself, I grew a pair, and asked her out to a baseball game knowing she loves watching the sport as much as I do.

But fuck did it backfire.

“What’s the end of the story?” Arlo asks, growing agitated. His patience runs thin, which is surprising, given his profession of educating the youth.

He’s not going to drop it.

Arlo’s relentless when he wants to know something.

Dragging my hand down my face, I say, “It was supposed to be a date.” Gunner sits next to me and hands me my refilled glass, which I gladly take. “She invited Cora. Which was fine. We had a good time, I still sat next to Stella, and we shared jokes even if there was a third wheel. But it was what happened afterwards that—”

“That gutted him,” Gunner finishes for me. When I snap a look at him, he smirks. “That’s what you told me. Just thought I’d help tell the story.”

“I wasn’t gutted.”

Maybe I was a little.

Hell . . . I was humiliated.

Gutted isn’t a strong enough word for what happened.

“What the fuck happened after? Christ. Why are you taking so damn long to get to the point?” Arlo practically growls.

“Go easy on our guy.” Gunner grips my shoulder. “He was embarrassed, man.”

“It’s fine, I’m over it now,” I say in a passive-aggressive tone.

“You’re clearly not if you and Stella can’t even be in the same room together. I don’t want anything ruining this trip for Greer, and your constant arguing with Stella is driving everyone fucking crazy.”

“Great, then I just won’t talk to her. Simple.”

“Just tell him,” Gunner says, nudging me.

Christ.

Staring down at my beer, I quietly say, “She went home with someone else that night.”

The room falls silent.

They don’t have to react for me to know what they must be thinking. They know I’ve liked Stella for a while. They know I’ve been trying to figure out a way to ask her out.

And this . . . hell, this was an epic fail on my end.

It wouldn’t be as bad if I weren’t already carrying a chip on my shoulder about the way I was forced to twist my life around.

Five years ago, everything changed.

Five years ago, I was stripped of the one thing that brought me life.

A ruptured Achilles tendon ended everything for me.

I never got the chance to appreciate my last game.

I never had the opportunity to sit on the field and say goodbye.

Instead, playing professional baseball was stripped from me and I was forced to fall back on my teaching degree I earned while playing in college.

To say I’m bitter, resentful, and fucking angry . . . yeah, that’s an understatement.

I live with regret daily and harbor more animosity than anyone should.

So, when I took Stella to the game, on a date, hoping to tell her how I feel, and she went home with someone else, it fucking stung.

Do you know what stung more, though?

The fact that she looked right past me and instead went for a rookie on the Bobbies.

Why go out with a washed-up baseball player turned phys ed teacher with a slight limp in his walk, when you can go out with an unmarred professional baseball player?

Yeah. There’s resentment for a reason. She chose the star. That’s who she wants.

That’s who I’ll never be.

And that’s why I plan on staying as far away from Stella Garcia on this trip as I can.

And when we get back to Chicago and the school year starts, everything will go on as planned.

Avoid. Avoid. Avoid.

Too easy, right?

Chapter One

STELLA

“This place is amazing,” Cora says, lost in the ambiance of the grand lobby of the Four Seasons Resort Greer and Arlo chose for their wedding locale.

I’ll give it to them, fantastic choice. Thanks to the time difference, we arrived right at noon. The car service that picked us up from the airport offered us fresh fruit, snacks, and champagne. I indulged in all of it.

And I realized something—it might be the tropical breeze, or the fact that I can already feel my body starting to relax, but the pineapple here tastes a thousand times better than on the mainland.

Yup, I’m using the terminology already.

“Greer informed me of the absence of any person younger than the age majority while we holiday,” Keiko, my wonderfully brilliant, slightly quirky, always awkward friend says as she adjusts her glasses on her nose. She went all out on the Hawaiian prints when packing for the trip. She went with a light blue print featuring palm trees and rainbows for her first day, tucked into a pair of khaki Bermuda shorts.

Cora, Arlo’s sister, and a member of our Ladies in Heat Book Club, gives me a confused look. “What did she say?”

“I think she’s trying to tell us there won’t be kids here.”

“Affirmative,” Keeks says while reaching into her pocket and pulling out a pair of sunglasses that attach to her glasses. “Shall we comb the grounds and make ourselves familiar with the exotic vegetation?”

“Uh, I think I’m going to head to the bar,” I say. “After that flight, I need a Mai Tai.”

“I second that.”

“Was the flight unsettling to you?” Keeks asks, confused. “I don’t recall much turbulence nor an uproarious baby that could deter a flight from being enjoyable. In fact, you had two and a half mimosas, the egg and bacon sandwich, which the flight attendant paired with a lackluster bowl of fruit, a strawberry yogurt cup, and an uninspiring croissant. After you nourished yourself to satisfaction, you delighted in a role reversal romantic comedy, What Men Want, and then proceeded to take slumber on my shoulder, where you sleepily salivated, leaving a one-inch diameter wet stain on my sleeve. If anyone had a rough flight, it would be me, having to fend off your hot breath on my shoulder while I attempted to compete in a challenging game of travel chess against myself.”

Did I mention Keiko has no problem telling it like it is?

Nor does she have a filter.

“My breath wasn’t hot,” I mutter.

“All human breath is hot—”

“Okay,” Cora cuts in, eyes wide. “Let’s not get into the core temperature of our breath. I think Stella was referring to the way Romeo was sneering at her the entire flight.”

“Oh.” Keiko nods. “Why, yes, I did happen to arrest a contemptuous glance from him. But I considered the object of his disdainful glare to be the lusterless fruit bowl.”

“I wish it were the fruit bowl,” I say while scooping my long hair up and quickly tying it into a knot on the top of my head with my hairband. “He has something against me and I don’t know what it is.”

“I feel as though it’s been going on for months. You two have not been fun to be around,” Cora says.

“Which is why I don’t plan on being around him at all during this trip.” I take in a deep breath and let the ocean breeze wash over me. “This is my time to relax and enjoy watching Greer marry the most pompous and arbitrary man I’ve ever met. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need a drink.”

I head toward the bar when Keiko says, “Although relaxation of the human spirit is much needed when basking in the glow of paradise, have you forgotten about the detailed itinerary?”

I pause midstride and swivel on my heel to face Keeks. “Uh . . . what?”

She adjusts her glasses, chin tilted up. “The itinerary. It was attached to your flight information. There are quite a few excursions the happy couple planned for the group.”

“Oh, yeah,” Cora says. “I remember something like that. There was some sort of chocolate tour I was excited about.”

“Itinerary?” I groan. “Is it mandatory?”

“Indeed,” Keeks says. “The Arlo and Greer company were all summoned to the excursions, which would include Romeo.”

“I connected the dots, Keeks.” I sigh. “Well, whatever, doesn’t mean I have to talk to him. It’ll be fine. Is there anything going on tonight?”

From her pocket, Keiko takes out a piece of rolled-up paper and, as if it’s a paper scroll, she unravels it and holds it like the town squire about to announce “hear ye, hear ye.” Her eyes travel over the paper and she says, “After giving the itinerary a quick overview, tonight is scheduled as free time.”

“Thank God for that.”

“As well as tomorrow.”

“Hey,” I say, smiling. “See? This is starting to be better than we thought.” I take Cora’s hand in mine. “Let’s get a drink.”

“It would behoove you to hydrate after a long flight,” Keeks calls out.

“That’s what we plan on doing,” I say over my shoulder. “Hydrating with Mai Tais.”

In the distance, Keiko starts rattling off how alcohol actually dehydrates the human body, but we press forward with one thing on our minds—tropical inebriation.

“I like rum,” I say, licking the rim of my glass rather aggressively. “I’ve never been this attracted to rum, but I’m feeling . . .” I pause and roll my head to the side. “Dare I say, I might have a crush?”

“I’ve had a crush on liquor before,” Cora says while sucking on the end of a cherry stem. “It ended poorly. We broke up the next morning while my body revolted over giving the intoxicating beverage a chance.”

“What was it?”

“Fireball.”

I wince and give the rim of my glass one more lick before tipping back the rest of my Mai Tai. “Fireball is a devious bastard. Grabs your attention, makes you feel all warm inside, and then BAM!” I smack the table. “Trouble. That’s what it is . . . just trouble.”

“Fireball is like the bad boy you should stay away from.”

I nod. “If Fireball had a mode of transportation, it would be a motorcycle, and you know Fireball wouldn’t wear a helmet.”

“Or a condom,” Cora adds. “Fireball is too good for a condom. For any protection.”

“Fireball says FUCK condoms and then shoots its load on your back.” I gesture with my hand.

“And it’s a cinnamony load.”

“So much cinnamon.” I sigh and sit up. Turning to face Cora, I say, “I believe we’ve reached the threshold of loving Mai Tais or hating Mai Tais. If we drink one more, we’re going to regret our decisions, but if we stop here, we’ll remember how much Mai Tais make us feel valued and respected, unlike the shrewd Fireball.” I press my hand to hers and speak with my heart. “I want a long-term relationship with Mai Tais, a meaningful vacation fling that will mean something to me when I’m sixty and thinking about my younger years. I don’t want to be resentful and rigid when thinking about them . . . like how you feel about Fireball.”

She nods. “I hear you and I see you.” She drops her cherry stem to the counter and takes a deep breath. “I need a Pop-Tart.”

“Pop-Tarts by the ocean,” I say, the idea so grand in my head that I can’t imagine doing anything else. I can’t possibly fathom something bringing me more joy. I tap the bar top and say to the bartender, “Dear sir, we shall take two Pop-Tarts.”

The bartender, whose name we don’t know, turns to me and says, “Sorry, ladies, we don’t have Pop-Tarts here, but you could check the gift shop.”

“You’re a gem.” I smile at him. “We’d like to close our tab.”

He chuckles. “I have it on your room. Just need your signature.” He slips me a receipt attached to a board and I quickly sign across and up the paper, and then draw a palm tree after my name. I hand the receipt back to him and say, “The palm tree is a little treat for you.”

“That was very kind of you. Let us know if you need anything else . . . like a shot of Fireball,” he says with a smirk.

My eyes widen as Cora gasps next to me, hand to her chest. “How dare you bring up an ex-lover? You know we’re in a weakened state.”

“That’s why Fireball is the bad boy of liquor. It doesn’t care about your feelings; it just keeps you coming back for more.”

I stand from my chair as Cora reaches out her hand. “No,” I say into her ear. “You’re strong. You don’t need Fireball. It’s not good to you. It doesn’t care about your feelings.” I wrap my arm around her chest and slowly pull her away from the bar.

“It loves me.”

“It doesn’t,” I snap back and then calm my voice to a whisper. “It . . . doesn’t.”

Resigned, she nods, and I hold her hand, guiding her away from her toxic lover. Our flip-flops snap against the beige tile as we drunkenly navigate through the luxurious hotel. With a lack of walls, the entire lobby and dining area are open to the sea breeze and lit up by strategically placed tiki torches. Faint Hawaiian music plays in the background, and because the hotel isn’t crowded this weekend and is free of kids, it’s quiet. Serene. Just what I need.

Yes, I do believe I’ll have a love affair over the next two weeks. A love affair with Mai Tais, the sun, and the sand.

“Thank you for being there for me,” Cora says quietly. “What you just saw was a low point. Bottom of the barrel. I’m hoping it’s only up from here.”