Macy
Well, that was mature.
I hope he doesn’t come back, but that’s probably wishful thinking.
We didn’t resolve anything.
But dammit, I’m not letting him, or anyone, ruin my vacation.
And he can say whatever he wants, but I’m not leaving. I was here first!
No sense in wasting any more time. I’ve already wasted enough arguing with him.
I go to the closet and rummage for my new bikini and cover-up.
Just seeing it puts me in a good mood. It’s hot pink, and it doesn’t leave much to the imagination.
The white sheer cover-up I bought to go over it is form-fitting and leaves nothing to the imagination.
Since he left with a key, I’m not going to give him another opportunity to annoy me.
Entering the bathroom, I lock it behind me.
I catch a glimpse of my hair in the mirror, and…fuck that.
It’s dried into a real goddamn mess. Carefully, I pick through it with a comb until I have untangled the worst of the knots. I take my time separating the strands and putting it in a French braid, tying it at the nape of my neck.
Trying to clear my mind as I get ready, I apply sunscreen next, trying to take my time and get the job done right before putting on my bikini.
Breathing deeply, I try to concentrate exclusively on my routine tasks. But I can’t stop thinking about Aaron.
It’s tempting to call Cara and have her try to sort out this pile of shit, but that would inevitably end with her having to deal with her asshole ex-fiancé.
I just can’t do that to her. She’s had a tough enough time with this shit as it is.
It’s not like I can go down to the front desk and explain what happened. We both might end up out of the room.
Oh well, the worst that can happen is him sleeping on the couch.
I can deal with that, right?
Maybe.
He’s such a condescending prick.
Slipping on my new bikini makes me feel a fuck of a lot better. I look hot, if I do say so myself.
It gives me a confidence boost that I desperately need right now.
Checking my backside, I pull it down on my lower butt cheeks. The high-cut style in the hips make my legs look longer.
I toss the cover-up on and grab my sunscreen.
Unlocking the bathroom, I head to the closet to grab my bag. Inside I have my beach towel, sunscreen, and phone.
I throw on my hat and hear the door open.
Great.
I bend down to dig out my flip-flops.
“Well, hello there.”
Figures. Of course, he would show up right as I bend over.
I straighten and hold my bag in front of me. Using it for leverage, I push him out of the way to get around him.
“What?” His voice is questioning, like he wasn’t just being a pig. “I come bearing a peace offering.”
Putting my beach bag on the table, I sink beside it to face him.
He’s holding a miniature bottle of wine out for me—I notice he’s carrying his own cocktail at his side.
“Just hear me out.”
He seems sincere and, more importantly, he did bring me a drink.
“You can talk until I finish this.” I unseal the bottle, hold it up for emphasis and rise to my feet. “And we talk by the window. Maybe we’ll both stay calmer that way.”
He’s right behind me as I walk to furniture with the best view in the suite. “That’s a perfect idea.”
I don’t even look at him. Just hearing his voice makes my blood pressure rise, and I need to stay calm and rational.
Plus, this is defeating the purpose of the whole vacation, which was to relax and do what I want to do.
We settle into the chairs facing the ocean. He doesn’t say anything for a couple of minutes.
We’re both just gazing at the sea out the window, enjoying the view. There’s a faint hum of voices on the beach below, but we are high enough that it’s just the ghost of a drone.
Rolling my head to the right, I take in his profile. He looks about as relaxed as I feel.
“So?” He rolls his head toward me. “I’m a third done.” I slosh my drink between us gently.
“I spoke to Matt.” His words surprise me.
“And?” I’m sure Matt’s words of wisdom will fix all this. Just fucking certain.
“Of course, he didn’t know that Cara set you up to come here. Shockingly, they haven’t been speaking.” He runs his fingers through his hair, and his robe gaps open to expose his chiseled chest.
Why does he have to look so amazing? It’s turning into one of the biggest complications, or at least distractions, in this whole mess.
“Yeah. They may never speak again. Who can blame her?” Taking a long sip of my drink, I look back at the horizon. “I didn’t call her because she doesn’t need any more stress. I don’t want her to feel obligated to call him to help straighten this out. This is hard for her self-esteem.”
I shut my mouth before I say anything more. The wine is making me relaxed. His fucked-in-the-head best friend will most likely hear anything I say.
“Well, he let me know that there’s quite a honeymoon package.” I look at him questioningly, and he’s already staring at me.
“What do you mean?”
Throwing his legs up on the cushioned ottoman in front of us, his robe gaps almost to his balls.
For fuck’s sake.
I note his legs are as beautifully toned as his chest before ripping my eyes back up to his face.
“I mean, that if we can come to an agreement, we can take advantage of all the couple activities that came with their purchase.”
His words are intriguing, for once.
I was going to check out the activity options less than an hour ago. Before everything went to hell in a handbasket here.
“What kind of activities?” I can’t help but ask.
I’m not poor, but I’m thrifty.
That’s probably obvious.
Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here; taking advantage of a vacation my best friend was supposed to enjoy for her honeymoon.
“Snorkeling, the sunset dinner, some kind of boat tour…” His voice trails off, and he takes another drink casually.
Too casually. My bullshit meter is going off.
But I’m also excited. I want to go snorkeling, for sure, and I didn’t think that was going to be part of this trip for me.
I also didn’t consider getting in a boat of any kind—but I’m liking the idea.
And I’ve seen the pictures of the sunset dinners—and the cost.
Except for Aaron, this vacation keeps getting better.
I must not be hiding my excitement well, because Aaron chooses this moment to try and casually slip in the catch. “But we have to pretend to be newlyweds.”
Of course, we do. Why wouldn’t we? Makes all the fucking sense in the world.
Fuck.
“I should add, Macy, that there aren’t any other rooms available because it’s spring break.” Finishing his drink, he sets it on the table between us.
“So that’s the catch, right?” I need to make sure I understand. “We have to get along, share the room, pretend to be newly married…” I pause for effect and to think for another second. “And then we can utilize their entire prepaid package?”
He’s not looking at me now. I see his Adam’s apple move as he swallows hard and nods.
This is hard for him, too. That actually makes me feel a little better.
Closing my eyes, I drop by head back down and try force myself into a calmer state of mind.
Why am I taking this so personally?
Knowing what I know now, I guess it’s just hard not to look at him as the enemy.
He’s Matt’s best friend. Matt the cheater.
The man who broke my friend’s heart. He asked her to marry him and then fooled around—with multiple women—while arranging an elaborate and costly wedding to celebrate his commitment to her.
There’s no two ways about it: that’s some fucked up shit.
Aaron had to know. So of course, I automatically hate him—my personal opinions on all that love and marriage business notwithstanding.
It’s unfortunate what happened between Matt and Cara, but it isn’t surprising.
Or shouldn’t be.
In fact, she’s fortunate, in a way, that it all came out now. Things would’ve been way more expensive to end in a year or two.
But do I really want to be stuck with this cocky asshole all week?
Yeah, he’s hot. But he’s entitled and pushy.
And really good-looking.
Almost too good-looking—like dangerously good-looking.
Dangerous to my poor libido.
“Do you think we can pull this off?” I’m honestly curious.
I don’t know if we can, but does he think we can?
His answer doesn’t come as quickly as I expected, considering it was his idea.
He turns slowly to me, and his eyes run down my scantily clad body slowly. My blood starts to boil immediately.
This feeling of being simultaneously angry and turned on, which was foreign to me before today, is rapidly becoming very familiar.
“Oh yeah. I think we can do it.” His words and their double meaning sink into my head slowly.
The little fucker!
“Ugh!” Springing to my feet, I throw back the last couple sips of my wine.
As I put my drink on the table, he hops and faces me, holding up his hands apologetically. His robe is dangerously close to being totally open.
And I’m super mad at myself for even noticing.
“I’m sorry. Really, I’m sorry.” He sounds sincere, but I still need a minute to think. He waits while I stare silently at the wall for a moment, but continues talking the second I look back at him.
“I do think we can pull this off. Let’s talk about it, at least.”
I hesitate at his words. I want to do it, but he needs to know he can’t treat me like that.
And besides, I can’t show my hand yet.
“Okay, let’s talk.” My words relax him a bit, and he drops his hands to his side.
“Okay.”