Do you ever have one of those days where you wake up feeling supremely well rested, see the glorious sun shining through the window, and all you want to do is leap out of bed and start belting out Rodgers and Hammerstein songs about what a beautiful morning it is?

Because I certainly fucking don’t.

Ever.

Except this morning, for some fucking reason that makes me check my head for a fever.

I open my eyes bright and early, which is usually the precursor for me grudgingly starting to get ready for work, or if it’s a weekend, just going the fuck back to sleep if I’m lucky.

This is a pretty goddamn comfortable bed, which doesn’t hurt. The silk linens are agreeing with me too. I mean, this is the motherfucking honeymoon suite, after all.

Also, I’m in Hawaii—a destination which lends itself to you being in a pretty good fucking mood when you’re here on vacation.

Oh, yeah. One more thing. I also had what I’m pretty fucking sure was the best sex of my life last night.

I mean, it was un-fucking-believably great. Nothing I’ve experienced even comes close.

Goddamn.

I decide to stay in bed for a little while and put my hands behind my head to match the fully relaxed, content vibe that this morning brings with it.

“Madeline.”

Man, I can’t seem to stop saying that name out loud, especially after just waking up.

This time, there’s no hungover confusion about it.

This time I’m thinking about nothing but Madeline’s amazing pussy and how I made her come so fucking hard.

Well, I’m also thinking about us fucking on this very bed and how it felt so damn good for both of us it was like we transcended the current understanding of time and space and found new, unexplored dimensions or some shit.

It was so fucking good.

On this very bed.

Last night.

So where is she now?

So this is what it’s like. Waking up in my own room, alone, after what was arguably the most mind-blowing sexual experience of my life.

Fuck that, it in-fucking-arguably was the most mind-blowing sexual experience of my life.

It’s an experience I’m sure I’ve given others—women familiar with men who provide enough sweetness and romance but lack the prowess and dedication that I pride myself on bringing to the table.

I’m not one to boast, but rocking worlds is what I fucking do, and what I do when I’m done with that is to make myself scarce in the dead of night to go sleep in my own bed and continue with my own life.

You could say that I’ve lacked empathy, maybe more than I’ve realized. The way I typically see it, I can provide a world-rocking, enjoyable time for all parties involved. But I’m not always good for providing what someone may want beyond that.

But if the empty room coming into focus right now is what those middle-of-the-night disappearing acts feels like...let’s just say that it’s fucking time to reconsider my comfort zone for the sake of my own damn sanity.

I throw off the silk linens and the down comforter. I swing my feet down to the floor. I’m still well-rested, at least.

The sun is peeking in brilliantly, and the plush hotel-room carpeting feels fucking awesome against my bare feet.

Audra. That was one instance where I decided I could provide both the bedroom world-rocking and everything else that could come with it, anything she would ever want.

I push myself up from the quicksand-like pillowtop, letting reality flood in like it keeps fucking doing these past few days.

Obviously, I couldn’t fucking do it with Audra. I’d say I tried, but the way she made me feel, it was like I didn’t need to fucking try. I could just act on my heart.

I never used those words with her. Maybe I should’ve.

But now, this—the empty honeymoon suite bedroom that looks so small right now—it gives me some fucking perspective. Maybe my habit is leaving women alone with empty honeymoon suites, over and over, figuratively and, well, sort of literally.

Who knows how many times I did that with Audra, and she definitely fucking did it with me with no small dose of melodrama.

Now I’m pulling up the sheets and comforter, smoothing them out and tucking them under the mattress. Why the fuck am I making the bed?

Madeline’s serving up that karma quite fucking literally herself, and somehow it’s hurting more than Audra—it’s because I don’t really even know Madeline, and it’s because I’m processing that shit right now. But no worries. I’ll be over it soon enough.

Right? Right.

It must really be about Audra still. How can it not be?

But she’s not the one I’m thinking about. She could show up at the bedroom door right now and I can almost guarantee I wouldn’t feel anything. But if Madeline showed up...

Where could she be? This can’t just be projection. Granted, all this canceled marriage and false honeymoon shit is new to me, but Madeline is taking up a clear spot in my mind—my desires—that not even Sigmund fucking Freud would deny is real.

In this case, really wanting to see Madeline is just really wanting to see Madeline.

I finish making the bed so I don’t abandon what I started. I choose a casual outfit from the closet and dresser in about two seconds, and I shower the last of the sleep off and leave a tip for housekeeping on my way through the main suite room and out the door to...to wherever the fuck I’m going.

I’ve still not decided by the time I’m in the elevator heading down to the lobby.

“Just pick something, dude. No fucking wandering,” I mutter out loud to the empty elevator car. “And no fucking talking to myself anymore.”

I look down at the faux-marble floor of the elevator and at my feet.

“The beach it is.” Jesus. There I go again. I don’t know where the fuck that habit’s coming from.

As conflicted and as I am in fucking Hawaii of all places, I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of this beach. Walking that paved path toward the clear cobalt sky and the Pacific, I’m thinking that my future may just be right here. I may never fix whatever stupid lovesick wounds I’m bearing, but Hawaii is a pretty damn good salve for whatever ails you.

There are people on the beach—too distant to see clearly—but I know none of them are Madeline.

She’s probably on a plane back to wherever she’s from. She may or may not find anyone who deserves her, who can give her everything she needs. I wouldn’t mind trying, but all this shit will probably fade with time, and in this moment it’s time to visit that beach bar yet again and maybe see if the buffet is open.

I’m still a few feet away from the bar when I see it’s closed with a makeshift wooden gate. I look up at the sky over the ocean. Fuck, I can’t even picture Audra’s face.

I try to picture Madeline.

Even in the late morning sun, she’s looking damn good. She’s wearing no makeup today, her hair is just pulled back sloppily, with stray wisps going in every which direction. She’s wearing a T-shirt and distressed denim shorts, but...

Oh, okay. Yeah, she’s right here again, in the flesh.

“I love how you just show up.” I’m thinking it, and I can’t help but say it aloud.

The idea is to tell her how happy I am to see her—and already the scenery is looking so much fucking better and my day’s turning around with her here now—but she doesn’t look too pleased with that sentiment.

“Is that sarcasm?”

Her face has no humor in it. Fuck, how can I pull this one back?

“Oh no, that’s not what I meant. I was just thinking about you, and you’re here. It’s not the first time.”

Madeline’s face lights up a little, which is good since I feel like I could be on the verge of scaring her. Fuck.

“You think about me a lot, huh?”

Madeline seems mildly amused, but not thrilled, not excited. She looks bogged down by something. It may be the highlight of my day so far, but I don’t think she’s giving our interaction too much consideration.

“You okay or what, lady? I haven’t seen you since last night.”

Looking in an unfocused way at the scenery behind me, a sardonic little smile flits across her lips, and Madeline shrugs.

“Today was supposed to be the best day of this whole trip,” she murmurs, turning back to me, “but that’s gone down the fucking drain.”

“Hey, I’m no stranger to disappointment these days.” Pull it back, Ethan. Stop being so fucking self-centered. “What happened?”

“Parasailing.”

“You went parasailing? It went okay, right?”

“No, we didn’t go fucking parasailing. That’s the problem.”

Now we’re getting somewhere, but I don’t know if it’s somewhere good yet.

“Who’s we, Madeline?”

“Remember Laura? She saw your cock.”

“How could I forget,” I say dryly.

Madeline rolls her eyes at either my reaction or some annoyance regarding her friend—probably a little of both.

“Yeah, she had this whole thing planned out. We had reservations to go out this morning. We did a shitload of research, we were going to see the coastline, some mountains, volcanos, you know, great fucking views, once in a lifetime. But she couldn’t get out of bed. She said she needed sleep. Too many fucking drinks. I’m not going by myself. So...yeah. That’s all.”

Madeline’s eyes are focused down at the sand. She’s usually so in control, a confident mask in place, but she’s an open book right now.

I put my hand gently on Madeline’s shoulder, and she looks at me, her eyes resigned, full of disappointment.

“Let’s go.”

“What? Get more drinks? I guess that’s all I’m doing in fucking Hawaii.”

“No, Madeline, let’s go get those once-in-a-lifetime views.”