I wake up with my head in a haze and a dull ache stretching from my left ankle to my knee. The sun is shining way too brightly outside my room’s broad windows. I grumble and rub my eyes, squirming deeper into my mattress. At least the bed is a lot cozier than the padded chair in the resort medical center where I spent half the night.

Fucking jellyfish.

Raised pink bumps streak across the skin on my left calf where the thing’s tentacles stung me. Ugh. I test them with my fingertip and wince. Well, it’s a good thing the bridesmaid dresses are ankle-length.

I’d probably be bemoaning my situation longer if Will didn’t show up a moment later with that delectable smile and a plate heaped with toast, bacon, and scrambled eggs. “You missed the breakfast buffet,” he says. “I didn’t want you going hungry.”

“My hero,” I beam. He was the one who carried me to the medical center when I was so doubled up with pain I couldn’t do much more than cling to him. “Thank you.”

He sets the plate down on the bedside table and sits on the edge of the bed beside me. He traces his fingers down my arm to my wrist.

“How are you doing?”

“A little sore, but also still a little high on the painkillers, so I guess it balances out.” I wrap my hand around his. “I’ve got to admit this isn’t exactly how I pictured the morning after.”

Will’s chuckles, and he leans in. “What can we do to make it a better picture?”

“I approve of the direction you’re taking,” I murmur. He kisses me, slow and gentle. My hand slips from his to travel over his thigh, and he slides his arm around my waist to ease me closer. The shiver of desire races over my skin.

Wasn’t scratching the itch supposed to make it go away? Because this man is definitely not out of my system. In fact, I think he’s hacked the entire thing. Although maybe we should keep doing this for a year or two longer just to make sure.

I kiss him harder. Will’s other hand strokes down my side and rises to cup my breast. An encouraging sound slips from my throat. I edge my fingers farther up his thigh. I’m about to pull him down on top of me and see just how far we can take this when his phone beeps. Will pulls back with a grimace. He checks the screen and groans.

“Unfortunately I’m supposed to be working today,” he says. “Duty calls. But I will see you later.”

We sneak in one last kiss, intense enough to leave my nerves humming. Then he ducks out.

I sink back on the bed, wondering if I could get away with simply lying here and replaying last night’s most pleasurable highlights in my head until that later arrives.

The bacon smell tickles back into my nose. This time my stomach refuses to be ignored. I sit up and plow through the breakfast.

My grogginess has completely faded when I’m done. Lying around in bed no longer sounds appealing. I shove myself off the bed and hobble over to the bathroom for a shower.

My clothing options leave something to be desired. I don’t have anything long enough to cover the jellyfish sting except my maid of honor dress. After some hemming and hawing I settle on a sundress that at least shadows it a little from my knees. Then I dab concealer over the rash. The makeup doesn’t totally hide the marks, but at least it takes them down a few notches from “Oh my God what the hell happened to you!?” to “Maybe she got a weirdly placed sunburn.”

My phone chimes with a text from Maggie. Heard you had a rough night. Hope nothing too serious. Join Brooke and me in the bridal suite to finish the place cards and confirm you’re alive?

I smile and head out. The pain has dulled a little more since I woke up, but my calf muscles are tight enough that I can’t help walking with a bit of a limp. Hopefully that’ll correct itself fast, or I’m going to have to a lot of lying to do with well-meaning wedding guests. Oh this? Ran into a jellyfish during a quick late-night swim. Completely by myself. Definitely no fucking involved.

Maggie ushers me into the bridal suite. I stop for a moment just to absorb. The room is twice as big as mine, with a kitchenette of marble counters and mahogany cupboards off to one side, a full living room area with leather couch and loveseat, and a sliding door that sections off the bedroom area.

“Nice place you’ve got here,” I say.

“Isn’t it?” Brooke beams. She’s sitting cross-legged by the coffee table, which is littered with squares of linen paper and the little wrought-iron holders she ordered. She looks up as I make my halting way over. Her eyes widen with concern. “Are you okay? How bad is it?”

“We gathered you had a tango with a jellyfish.” Maggie sits on the couch, the dryness of her voice suggesting she’s guessed a juicier side story to go along with that adventure.

“It only hurts a little now,” I say with a dismissive wave of my hand, and plop down next to Maggie. “What’s the problem with the place cards?”

Brooke wrinkles her nose. “The printing company sent them a quarter inch too tall to fit in the frames. So we’ve been trimming them.” She points a pair of scissors at me rather ominously. “But first we need to hear all the details. There’s no way you went swimming at midnight on your own.”

“Well . . . I might have had company. Very good company.”

Maggie waggles her eyebrows. “And did this ‘company’ happen to be the esteemed owner of this resort?”

My cheeks flush, and she claps her hands together. “Yes! I hope you got your fun in before the whole jellyfish incident.”

“Oh, we did.”

Brooke’s hands have stilled over the tabletop as she watches my expression. Hers looks oddly pensive. “How was it?” she says. I figure she’s just worried about my emotional state, given the big deal I made about this whole idea yesterday.

“It was . . .” I pause. Just thinking about that orgasm is enough to make my toes curl. “It was the best fun I’ve ever had. It was fucking amazing. And I think we’re going to do it again. I really hope we do it again. Lots and lots of times. He seems game.”

Maggie lets out a whoop. Brooke is smiling too, but I can’t help thinking there’s still something hesitant about it. Is she thinking that the itch-scratching was a bad idea after all?

“And I’m totally fine in this area too,” I add, making a sweeping motion over my chest as if to indicate nothing has stuck in my heart. Ha. “It’s just for now. Just for fun. I’m just making the most of it, no strings attached.”

“What would you do if he wanted strings attached?” Brooke asks.

I pause. That isn’t a question I was expecting. “I, ah, I guess—I wouldn’t say no. He won’t, though. He said he only does casual. He hasn’t said anything to suggest he wants anything more than that with me.”

“Don’t get her thinking down those lines,” Maggie chides Brooke. “She’s got to protect her feelings first.” She turns to me. “Take what he’s offering, don’t get wrapped up in possibilities. That’s my advice.”

“Right, of course,” Brooke says, but I can’t help suspecting my bestie sees right through my facade, to the way my heart leapt at her question. If only. But I can’t dwell on that.

“Enough about me,” I say briskly. “Let’s get this wedding stuff done so you have absolutely nothing to think about during the bachelorette tonight except having the time of your life.”

“Here’s to that!” Maggie says, raising a card holder as if to toast the thought.

* * *

My pulse starts skipping when I arrive at the lunch buffet a couple hours later, but Will is nowhere to be found. I eat slowly, making small talk with some of Brooke’s extended family. Finally, I give in and send him a quick text under the table.

All work and no lunch?

He responds a moment later. Had to order room service. Back-to-back meetings. Another one in a minute. Would much rather be servicing you.

I swallow a snort. Is that something I can order on the menu?

A private one, only available to you via this number. Just tell me where you want me.

I’ll take everywhere you were last night.

I’m sure I can do better than that. What happened to my interplanetary adventuress?

I smirk so wide I think it’s better if I outright leave the table. Ducking into a corner, I reply, Reliving fond memories of my ride on your rocket. But if you figure you can take me even higher, I’ll happily board another flight.

That shouldn’t turn me on as much as it just did. And, fuck, my 2 o’clock is here. I’ll notify you when Mission: Rock Ruby’s World is prepared for take off.

Wet and ready when you are, I text back.

All he sends in response is a devil emoji.

Now I’m all worked up with nothing to do about it. Maybe I should get some actual work done too. I didn’t check any of my online channels yesterday.

I grab my laptop and stake out my favorite spot on the pool deck. No one says you can’t soak up some rays while also taking care of business, after all.

I log into my YouTube account and immediately see an alert for a video mentioning “Kenneth the Krunk” from just ten minutes ago. And another from just a few minutes before that. Hmmm. He didn’t have a new song or performance scheduled to go up. But he has been known to veer off script.

Yet another alert pops up as I’m clicking through to the full list. The title: Who would have thought The Krunk was a weepy country boy?

Oh shit. Before I can even start to figure out how my improvised fix a few days ago went wrong, my phone trills with the emergency ringtone.