Carter
YOU’RE THINKING I should have declined her invitation, right?
Here’s why I didn’t.
One, I like Tori. In the short time I’ve known her, she’s bested me in a drinking challenge, convinced me to limbo, and saved me from certain death at the hands of stray dogs. The bothersome scenes in my life fade to black when I’m around her.
Two, I’m constitutionally predisposed to engage in activities that demonstrate my skills, and stand-up paddleboarding fits the bill. Whenever I visit home in the summer, my sisters and I head out to Stonington for a few hours of paddleboarding, so this is well within my wheelhouse.
Three, I’m 99 percent certain Tori will be wearing a bikini. That thought alone puts an extra bounce in my step and gets me from my room to the travel tour’s meeting point in less than three minutes.
A small group of people stand in a loose circle in the resort’s lobby. Tori’s not among them, though. To their right, a stocky man with brown leathery skin speaks to the hotel concierge in the local language. I think it’s called Papiamento.
When the man spots me, he calls me over. “Hey, my friend, are you joining us this morning?”
“Paddleboarding?”
“Yes, yes. I’m Howie, your guide.” He points to a man tinkering under the hood of a van parked in the circular driveway. “That’s Raul. He’s my right-hand man and driver. We’re just waiting for two more and then we’ll head out.”
While we wait for Tori and someone else, the members of our group make the customary introductions. There’s a couple on their honeymoon and a mom vacationing with her teenaged daughter.
The group engages in a few more minutes of small talk, and then Tori strolls toward us, and dammit, the guy who was sniffing around our first night on the island is trailing behind her, his gaze trained on her ass. Tori’s wearing a short-sleeved scuba shirt and swimming shorts. She looks as adorable as ever, and I don’t even care that she’s not showing more skin. I’m just happy to see her again.
Tori introduces me to Mr. Aloha Shirt, whose real name is Stevie. It doesn’t suit him or his beady eyes, so let’s just call him Skeevy for the moment.
We file into the third row of the passenger van, and Tori takes the seat between Skeevy and me. He’s pointing out landmarks to Tori as we travel from the resort to the excursion site. From the front passenger seat, Howie shares facts about the island and asks whether anyone has paddleboarded before. The female honeymooner, Skeevy, and I raise our hands. Skeevy leans into Tori and whispers in her ear. She doubles over in laughter.
“Hey, Howie,” I yell. “It’s hard to hear you back here. Could you talk a little louder?”
“Sure, sure,” he yells back.
Skeevy leans forward and smirks at me.
I solemnly swear to smack him with my paddle at least once today.
Howie tells us about the wildlife we’re likely to see during the trip, and twenty minutes later, the van slows near a lagoon. We pile out of the van, and Howie and Raul distribute the boards.
The water’s clear and calm. Perfect conditions for paddleboarding. The scenery’s breathtaking, too. Mature red mangroves line one side of the lagoon, and nothing obstructs my view of the seascape. It’s eerily quiet, adding to the island mystique, but then a flock of birds shake the trees’ leaves when they escape the brush, reminding me that we’re the trespassers here.
“Why don’t you guys who’ve done this before go ahead,” Howie says. “I’m going to help the others.”
Tori’s face is flushed, and she looks like she can hardly contain her excitement. I walk several feet before dropping the board into the water, making sure that my fin isn’t stuck in the sand. Biggest mistake first-time paddleboarders make? Trying to stand on the board as soon as they get on. I look over at the mother-daughter duo, who aren’t waiting for Howie’s instructions, and yep, they’re struggling for that very reason.
“Get on your knees first,” I tell them.
They take my advice, and the mother gives me a thumbs-up.
The water’s cooperating today, so I mount the paddleboard with ease. I’m only seconds in when Skeevy’s board skims mine, and the moment when I’ll smack him with the board is upon us. “What’s your problem, man?”
Skeevy gives me a shit-eating grin as he struggles to stay close. “No problem at all. Just doing a little reconnaissance.”
“What does that mean?”
He jerks his chin toward the beach, where Howie is instructing Tori on how to stand on the board. “She’s what I mean. You planning on hitting that?”
Jesus. I grit my teeth in lieu of knocking him into the water. I’m hardly averse to admiring a woman’s body in my head, but talking with him about Tori like she’s a piece of ass for the taking is a hard limit for me. He probably thinks he’s earning points per the Bro Code, but I don’t subscribe to such bullshit, especially not with two sisters of my own. This guy doesn’t deserve to be anywhere near Tori. “No, I don’t plan on hitting that, asshole, and I’ll make it my life’s work to make sure you don’t hit that, either. You don’t deserve her.”
My hold on the grip is so firm my fingers are aching. But my anger subsides when I return my gaze to the object of our conversation. She peels off the scuba top to reveal a black triangle bikini top and the best motherfucking set of abs I’ve seen on a person in years. Her stomach is a fascinating study in hard and soft lines, captivating my attention because her skin is brown and smooth and utterly touchable. And she has powerhouse thighs. I bet she looks glorious on a leg press. Oh, fuck me. This is a disaster. She’s stripping, and I’m wearing board shorts that cannot mask my um . . . interest. I’m just as bad as Skeevy, and I don’t deserve her, either.
She unbuttons her shorts and they drop to the sand. I suspend the paddle in midair, unable to focus on my strokes. Behind me Skeevy whistles, which pulls me out of the spell Tori’s cast on me.
Howie calls out to us. “You guys all right out there?”
“Yeah,” I reply as I reposition the paddle to resume my strokes. But somehow I’ve gotten closer to the shore than I’d intended, and the paddle hits sand, causing the board—and me—to upend in an epic wipeout.
My gaffe probably would have gone unnoticed, but Skeevy draws attention to it with his exaggerated laughter and finger-pointing. Skeevy needs to be handled. This minute. I mount the board with revenge on the brain. But before I can maneuver the paddle to whack his board, water splashes behind me and Skeevy yelps.
“You all right back there, Skeevy?”
He’s moaning, so I turn around to check on him.
Skeevy’s in the water now, his hands wrapped around his foot and his face twisted in pain. “It’s Stevie, you dick,” he says through clenched teeth.
I look back at the shore and yell. “Howie, something’s wrong with Stevie.”
Howie shades his eyes and wades in. Tori and her amazing black bikini trudge through the water, too. Great. Now the guy’s going to get sympathy points. He probably planned this.
Howie checks Stevie’s foot. “Sea urchin. Rare for this area, but they do come in with the tides from time to time. I guess today’s your lucky day.”
And mine, Howie. And mine.
“Looks like you’ve got about eight stingers,” Howie says. “Let’s get you out of here. Carter, can you give me a hand?”
I take Stevie’s arm and lace it over my shoulder. “Ready?”
“Yes,” Howie says.
“Ow, ow, ow,” Stevie says over and over.
I feel bad for the guy. What? I do.
When we reach the sand, we help Stevie sit, and the group circles him.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Tori asks.
Miraculously, Stevie’s able to push through the pain and make a request. “Yeah. Could you pour some water over my head?”
What the fuck is water going to do? This dude. He’s back to Skeevy now.
Tori grabs a water bottle from Howie’s cooler and pours the entire contents over Skeevy’s head while Howie tries to remove the stingers from his foot.
“Tori,” Skeevy says in a breathy voice. “Could I squeeze your hand while he pulls out the stingers?”
Tori’s eyebrows snap together and then she rolls her eyes. “Sure.”
The little shit looks up at me and smirks as he clasps Tori’s hand in his.
Howie glances between us, and his eyes narrow as his gaze settles on Skeevy, finally hip to the fact that there’s no bromance between us. “I don’t have the right tools for this.”
“Hey, Howie. You know what works for easing the pain?”
“Vinegar,” Howie replies.
I clear my throat. “Or uric acid.”
Howie laughs. “That’s an old—”
I elbow Howie in the side. “You’ve seen it work before, right, Howie?”
Howie’s eyes go wide. “Oh, yeah, yeah. Plenty of times. Just a little bit of piss—sorry, ladies—and the pain fades away.”
“Seriously?” Skeevy asks in between hisses.
Howie and I nod enthusiastically.
“Yeah, then we’ll get Raul to drive you back to the resort,” Howie tells him. “The doctor should be able to pull the stingers out with tweezers. Unfortunately, my first-aid kit doesn’t have any.”
“What do you say?” I ask.
Tori, who’s been biting the fingernails of her free hand, chimes in. “You should do it, Stevie. Think of the van ride. It’ll be torture if you don’t.”
“Okay, okay.”
Oh, damn. Skeevy’s cool with this? What did I do to deserve this series of events?
Howie and I help Skeevy to an area past the jetty dividing the lagoon from the more turbulent waters on the north side of the beach.
I reach into my pants, preparing to do Skeevy a solid, but he stops me. “No, not you. And there’s no need for you to hang around.”
Howie shakes his head and mutters under his breath.
I back up with my hands in the air. “No problem. As long as you get the help you need.” I spin around and walk back to the group, reveling in the knowledge that Skeevy will forever be known to Tori as the man who let someone piss on his foot to relieve a little pain.
Tori meets me halfway and hands me a water bottle from Howie’s cooler. “Everything okay?”
“He didn’t let me do it. Took one look at my junk and said it intimidated him.”
Tori’s eyes glisten with tears as she drapes a hand over my shoulder. “Oh, Carter, you’re too much.”
I take a swig of the water, hyperaware of her touch. Under different circumstances, I’d be stoked that she’s feeling more comfortable around me. But I can’t aim for anything more than friendship, so any physical contact between us tortures me instead.
Minutes later, Skeevy returns with Howie at his side. A thin sheen of sweat covers both his forehead and the area above his upper lip.
“Feel better?” I ask him.
“Not really. No. He couldn’t . . . produce.”
Howie gives me a pointed look. “It’s probably for the best.” Our tour guide is all business now. “Raul, let’s get him back to Eagle Bay. And make sure the doc on staff sees him immediately. Be back to pick us up in an hour. If there’s any problem, let me know.”
“No problem, boss,” Raul says.
The group watches Raul and Skeevy’s departure. The latter hobbles to the van while everyone wishes him a speedy recovery.
When Raul drives away, Howie pins me with a bemused expression and shakes his head.
“What?” I ask him.
“Did you seriously think I’d piss on his foot?”
I shrug. “It was worth a shot.”
“I’m amazed I took it that far,” he says. “Let’s finish this trip without any more shenanigans from you, okay?”
“Yeah, okay.” As everyone grabs their boards and paddles, I pull Howie to the side. “I can help Tori.”
Howie chuckles, and his gaze settles on the water. “I’m not so sure she’s going to need your help.”
I follow his gaze. Tori’s already dropped the board, and she’s kneeling on it like she’s done this a million times. “Find your sweet spot,” I call out to her.
She steps to the middle of the board and rises slowly, her hands perfectly positioned on the paddle.
“She’s a natural,” Howie observes. “Guess you’ll have to find some other way to get close to her.”
I draw back and give him a “what-who-me” expression. “It’s nothing like that. I’m just enjoying her company.”
“Well, you went to great lengths to just enjoy her company.”
“C’mon, Howie. I didn’t plant the sea urchin.”
Howie nods. “True. But that piss business? You must want her badly.” He claps and yells out to Tori. “Great job.” Then he hands me my board. “Don’t go too far out, Casanova.”
I mount the board and catch up to Tori easily. “How’s it going?”
“This is so much fun. I can tell I’m going to be sore tomorrow, though.”
Her face is dotted with water droplets, and she has a streak of sunscreen down her nose. Her hair is pulled into a bun. And of course, Howie’s right: I want her badly. But I’m not going there, because pursuing her as Carter Williamson would be wrong, and she doesn’t deserve to be screwed—figuratively—by two guys in one week.
I focus on our counterparts to get my mind off Tori. The lagoon is wide enough that the group can spread out, but everyone’s within my field of vision. The male honeymooner appears to be having the most trouble, so Howie’s focused on that couple.
“Ready to do something more than paddle in circles?” I ask her.
She bites her bottom lip. “I’m not sure.”
“Yes, you are,” I assure her. “If you can swim, you’ll be fine.”
“Okay, I’ll follow.”
We paddle out toward one end of the widest section of the lagoon. Within seconds, a passing motorboat causes a few ripples.
“Eeep,” Tori says behind me. “Ay Dios, me voy a morir!”
I turn my head and frown at her. “You’re not going to die, Tori.”
She bends her knees to regain her balance. “Wait. You understand Spanish?”
“Only what I can remember from high school. I had a Spanish tutor.”
“Ooh. Tell me something else.”
I lower the paddle into the water and use my elbow to wipe my brow. “Estoy caliente.”
Tori barks out a laugh. “Ha-ha. Despacito, Justin Bieber. You’re supposed to say tengo calor. Estoy caliente means you think you’re hot, as in sexy. Common mistake.”
I give her an overtly smoldering look. “Who says it was a mistake? Are you saying I’m not sexy?”
She stops paddling, and her cheeks flush. “No, I never said that. You’re sexy. Very sexy.” She dips her chin and blinks as though her brain has now caught up with her mouth. “I mean . . . you, ah, you’ve definitely got that . . . lumberjack swag. With the beard and all.”
I smirk at her. “Uh-huh.”
I’m not even a little annoyed that she struggles to give me a compliment. It feels real. Right.
Tori’s choked voice crashes into my thoughts. “Carter, we’re drifting apart.” Her eyes are wide, and she’s whipping her head back and forth as her board takes her farther away from me.
“Just keep paddling toward the beach. I’ll catch up with you.”
She maneuvers herself around and paddles in the shore’s direction. The strain in her face disappears when she realizes she still has control of the board. Only when I know she’s comfortable again do I paddle to meet her. Once I’m close, we move through the water side by side, and as we approach the sand, we race to the finish, Tori’s laughter floating in the air like a cool breeze on an oppressively hot day. Just a day by the sea with a woman I like—a lot.
Still, I can’t let a few days in the sun blind me to reality. Tori and I wouldn’t have this easy connection if she knew the truth about my profession. So I’ll enjoy our time together for what it is. And then we’ll both return to Philadelphia the way we came.
Alone.
OUR GROUP, EXHAUSTED and disheveled, returns to the resort in the early afternoon. Tori and I make plans to have dinner together.
A couple of hours later, Tori meets me at the entrance to the open-air restaurant on the north side of the resort. She’s wearing a one-piece tank-top-and-shorts combo that accentuates her long legs. Her hair is slicked into a side ponytail, a mass of curls draped over one shoulder, and her eyes are rimmed with black eyeliner.
“Your hair looks great,” I tell her.
She flicks her ponytail. “Very necessary, too. My hair lost its battle with the humidity today. To the victor goes the frizz.”
Paper lanterns dot the perimeter of the restaurant and bathe the space, giving it a warm glow. A band plays soft jazz on an elevated platform in a corner.
As we wait to be seated, I breathe in the salty sea air and listen to the waves crash against the shore.
The hostess arrives and tells us we’re free to sit at the bar or choose a table wherever we’d like. The bar is populated by a rowdy bunch, half of them standing, while most of the people at the tables are twosomes who appear to be enjoying a night of romance under the stars.
Tori and I are silent as I weigh our options. The intimacy of sitting at a candlelit table might tempt my brain to go to places it shouldn’t, but I’d prefer not to be jostled by the drunkards at the bar.
Tori lifts her brows. “Um. Table?”
“Yeah,” I say.
I’ll just keep it light. Easy and breezy always works.
After we order from the bar menu, I ask Tori about her plans for tomorrow.
She folds and unfolds her linen napkin. “I’m going to spend it on the beach. Nothing else. Just me, a book, and sunshine.”
I gasp, pretending to be shocked. “You’re going nude?”
She tosses the napkin at my face, and I catch it with one hand.
Tori doesn’t know that a napkin can become art in my hands, but I’m planning to school her. I fold it in half diagonally.
She reaches over, her pretty mouth curved into a playful smile. “Hey, what are you doing with my napkin? It’s rude to touch someone else’s stuff.”
“If that were true, no one would have sex,” I say as I roll the napkin.
“Without asking for permission,” she clarifies.
“Fair point. Tori, can I touch your stuff? You’ll be glad I did.”
She blushes. “Fine. But you better make it worth my while.”
I throw innuendo at her, and she pitches back sass. I could do this with her all day. And if I’m not too careful, I’ll miss her more than I should miss anyone after a jaunt in the Caribbean.
I fiddle with the napkin and present it to her. “Voila. Tori, will you accept this rose?” It’s the same question countless bachelors and bachelorettes have posed to their dozens of “one true loves” on that train wreck of a show.
She gazes at me, smiles, and leans forward. “Absolutely not. You just had your tongue down the throats of four other women. You probably have mono.”
I laugh until my sides hurt. Then I toss the napkin back at her.
“So you’ve worked in a restaurant, too?” she asks.
“Catering, mostly, which included all the setup. It’s left me with an impressive skill set.”
The candle in the center of the table highlights the twinkle in her eyes. “Any woman would be lucky to have you.”
“Sarcasm notwithstanding, I agree with you.”
She rolls her eyes.
The band takes a short break, and an up-tempo song plays through the speakers. The drums add a thumping beat that’s hard to resist, and soon Tori and I are both swaying in our chairs.
“If you don’t mind my asking, how old are you?” I ask.
She’s snapping her fingers to the music as she answers. “Twenty-nine.”
Shit. She is older than me. Not by much, but still . . .
“How old are you?” she asks.
“Twenty-seven. I’ve been told I act mature for my age, though.”
She sits back, opens her eyes wide, and cackles. “Whoever told you that is a liar.”
“And whoever taught you manners is a terrible teacher.”
She tips a nonexistent hat and gives me a lopsided grin. “Touché.”
“Let me put this age difference in perspective.”
With her eyes squinting at me in amusement, she gestures for me to continue. “Please, Carter, break it down for me.”
“When I was born, you were learning to pee in a potty. That’s it. That sums up our age difference.”
She shakes her head. “No, what sums up our age difference is the absolute certainty that I would never willingly mention peeing in a potty in casual conversation.”
We stare at each other for several seconds, and then we both howl with laughter. While we’re still doubled over, the server delivers our drinks: a beer for me and a glass of passion fruit juice for her. Minutes later, he brings an assortment of appetizers to our table, including grilled barbecue chicken so good Tori and I are both licking our fingers before we’re done.
“You’re right about what you said earlier, actually,” she says, sucking barbecue sauce off her thumb. “I have the worst manners when I’m with you.”
I study the way her lips close over the digit. Perfection. “I could say the same about myself,” I say in a low voice.
She drops her hands to her lap like she’s a Catholic schoolgirl who’s been told to sit up straight by a nun. It’s fascinating to watch her react to me. One minute, she’s playful. The next minute, she’s shy. Playful appears to be her comfort zone, and I wish she’d stay in it.
“It just means we’re comfortable around each other,” I say, hoping to send the message that there’s no risk in flirting. “And I’m not complaining.”
She nods and leans forward, her hands reappearing on the table to fiddle with her straw and glass. But she avoids my gaze. After a few seconds of worrying her bottom lip, she straightens, her jaw set in determination. “I’ve been thinking about our wager.”
“What about it?”
“Well, I’m feeling generous, so even though you lost the bet, I’d like to help you anyway.”
I’d forgotten about the bet, and since I’m spending tons of time with Tori already, I have no interest in her assistance. “It’s okay. I’ll manage on my own.”
She clasps her hands in front of her and pleads. “Please, Carter? C’mon, it’ll be fun. You might even be able to have cake by the ocean.”
“Tori, trust me, I’ve had the equivalent of a dessert party by the ocean.”
She draws back, her lips drawn up to her nose as though she’s smelling something unpleasant. “Ew. Poor taste. TMI. Overcompensating.”
The apples of my cheeks warm. This woman will keep my ego in check for sure. And she’d fit in just fine with the rest of my family. I can picture Tori squeezed between my sisters on my parents’ couch as they razz me about something. The image should make me shudder. But the idea of adding Tori to my family peanut gallery takes up residence in my brain and refuses to move out.
She scoots her chair closer to mine, dragging her drink along with her. She brings the glass to her lips. Rather than take a sip from it, though, she swings the drink away from her face. “There,” she says with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Do you see that woman at the bar? She’s been checking you out for a while now.”
I follow the trajectory of her swing and glance at the subject of our conversation.
“It’s like she’s trying to figure out if she knows you,” Tori continues.
The hairs on my arms rise. It’s nothing. Well, I hope it’s nothing. No, I pray it’s nothing. But given my current state of dishevelment, it’s probably something. Since I can’t just run out on dinner, my best option is to go talk to the woman and find out what she knows. “Okay, I’ll humor you. What advice would you give me?”
Tori leans into me, a few strands of her long, curly hair brushing my shoulder. “Don’t use a line. Be yourself. She’s going to wonder why you’re talking to her when just a few seconds ago, you were talking to me. Explain that we’re friends. And if she seems to be slipping away, hit her with”—her voice drops to a whisper as though she’s revealing a secret—“the eyes.”
“The eyes?”
“Yes, Carter, your eyes. Unless you’re truly clueless, you know they’re one of your best features. Give her ‘the smolder,’ and she’ll be yours.”
I stare at her for several seconds more than necessary, practicing “the smolder.” Her gaze is transfixed on mine. I glance at her lips, and she parts them—unconsciously, I’m sure—and then she snaps them shut. With her face averted, she leans back and stretches her arms above her head as though she’s bored.
I shake my head in disappointment. “See? I think you’re overestimating their allure.”
But then she blows out a slow breath. Maybe she’s not unaffected by me after all. Even if that’s true, though, I’m committed to not doing anything about it.
“Just take my advice and run with it, Carter. You’ll thank me later.” She gestures for the bill and shoos me with a smile and a thumbs-up.
I make my way across the patio, unsure how we got here. Tori’s encouraging me to flirt with another woman, when all I want to do is spend time with her. But right now, the bigger question rattling in my brain is this: Does this woman recognize me? If she does, I’ll beg her to keep quiet about it, making noise about my privacy. And if she doesn’t, I’ll give Tori enough of a show to make her think I tried—and failed—to pick up my admirer.
As I approach, the woman swivels in her seat as she pokes the ice in her cocktail with a straw.
I claim the stool next to her and gesture for Damon’s attention.
He furrows his brows for a few seconds, but then he slips into his professional bartender demeanor. “What can I get you, pal?”
“A Coronado.”
He nods. Less than a minute later, he returns and places a bottle in front of me.
The woman doesn’t turn my way, but I catch a small smile before she takes a sip of her cocktail.
I turn my head and glance at Tori, who nods her encouragement.
“Lovely night, isn’t it?” I say to the woman.
“It is,” she says.
I offer her my hand. “Carter.”
She places her small hand in mine. “Janine.”
Then I lean into her. “Janine, I’m going to be frank with you.”
The half smile is now a half frown. “Okay.”
“Did you happen to notice that I was just sitting next to a woman?”
“I did.” Her eyes go round as saucers. “Oh God. I’m so embarrassed. I was staring, wasn’t I? I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. It’s just that you look so familiar to me. But then I figured it’s true what they say—that everyone has a twin.”
“I get that a lot. One day I’ll have to figure out which celebrity I favor.”
She nods. “Well, anyway, please tell her I don’t have designs on her man or anything.”
“Oh, no, it’s nothing like that. You see, she thinks I need help in the dating department. What she doesn’t realize yet is that I’m very interested in her.”
Janine sighs and her eyes brighten. “That’s so romantic. But why don’t you just tell her you’re interested? Honesty’s always the best policy and all that.”
I turn back and glance at Tori. She’s shaking her head and motioning for me to abandon my pickup attempt. That’s precisely what I’m doing—for my own reasons—but I make a mental note to ask her later why she wanted to call it off.
My arm brushes against Janine’s side when I swivel the stool in her direction. “Well, she broke up with her boyfriend recently, and she’s not interested in dating anyone. I’ll tell her when the time’s right. If it’s okay with you, I’ll just say that, much to my disappointment, you told me you have a boyfriend.”
Before Janine can respond, a shadow blankets the table and a thunderous voice coming from behind me says, “Her boyfriend’s right here, asshole.”
Oh shit.