Macy
I hate the way he’s messing with both my rational thoughts and my emotions without even trying. His whole cocky, condescending thing—clearly some sort of a put-on—is still reaching new levels of tiresome.
But I can see what he’s getting at has some merit.
“Come on Mace, we can do this.”
With an icy stare, I glare at him.
“First, my name is Macy, not Mace, and there’s no we in any of this.”
I take a deep breath and wish he wouldn’t just stand there, looking at me so calmly and casually, in that robe...
I’m beyond distracted now, because I’m looking back at Aaron, at the cloth barely covering his chest.
Fuck.
If there’s one thing this idea has going for it, it’s that my roommate for the week is as easy on the eyes as those chocolates are on the tongue. With that thought, I feel my temperature rising, and I’m at a loss for whatever I was going to say next.
Instead of talking, I start to pace. Up and down, like a nervous film student waiting for the project due tomorrow to render on her fucking slow-ass laptop.
Without looking at him, I feel him keeping his eyes on me the entire time, and my temperature rises even more.
I focus on my breathing. When my breathing slows and calms, my thoughts will also become a little more ordered.
It’s beyond me why this man has this unprecedented an effect on me, eye candy factor aside. None of the boys I’ve hung out with or dated at NYU have left me feeling as if flames are ripping though me.
At NYU they were boys, not men, not a man like Aaron.
Even if his maturity’s not all there, to say the least, Aaron’s easy confidence, his appearance, just his presence screams man, so I’ll give him that much.
But, I still don’t think that’s it.
The fact that he’s watching me, silently, even in the heat of trying to persuade me of something, but still not saying a word and not seeming anxious to do so...
I feel like I’m getting warmer with that idea—yes, fucking literally and fucking figuratively, too.
For about a microsecond or two, I imagine what it must feel like to run my hands down his back and along his bare chest, feeling nothing but pure muscle and an ethereally thin sheen of perspiration.
After enjoying that tiny flash of a daydream, I push my rational mind into taking over. If—and it’s a big if—this stupid plan of his is going to work, there are going to be some ground rules that needed to be established.
But I’m not going to be an easy push over. To set the ground rules properly, I’ll need to assert more resistance. If this asshole thinks I’m a pushover, he’ll be trying to sleep in the same bed as me straight away.
“You seriously think it’s as easy as just pretending to be a couple, and the resort will keep forking over some of the most expensive shit on the island for free?” I stare at him with my fiercest of frowns, it feels ridiculous, but I stick with it.
He shrugs.
In a weird but very real way, I don’t think I’ve ever met someone with as relaxed an attitude as Aaron.
“Why not? Do you think we’ll be tested on marriage skills? We’re not applying for a green card, Mace-face.”
He laughs at his own joke.
Another tick against him. I mean if no one else is laughing, it’s not funny.
And I’m not laughing.
I’ll even be generous and ignore that nickname, whatever the fuck was going on with that.
Rolling my eyes, I resume my pacing.
“Of course, there’s not going to be a test, at least not like an exam type test.”
My feet slowly come to a halt as my argument takes shape.
“But things might come up, things a married couple would know.”
My concerns are there, even my words are slow to catch up.
Aaron just stares at me. I can tell he’s so sold on this idea that any kind of flaw with it is invisible to him. As I stare at him, smug look, gorgeous body, effortless, assured posture, it finally hits me. The biggest problem is going to be putting up with him, Aaron.
That’s what I’m really concerned about.
I mean I just can’t talk to this guy. How the fuck am I going to be able to pretend to be married to him, let alone spend any more than a few minutes in his company without totally fucking losing it?
I’ve been having a hard time pinning down what’s so magnetic about this man apart from his looks, but I can say with confidence, it’s not his lack of obnoxiousness.
Maybe I’m being dramatic—I mean, this is only a logical continuation of the craziness around this situation from the beginning—but there are some things that aren’t even worth a free, sorely needed luxury vacation.
If my life right now were a blistering summer day, where the heat starts out barely tolerable and soon just drains you of all your energy, this vacation was supposed to be like a dip in a cool, refreshing swimming pool, and maybe a glass of lemonade.
However, even on the hottest day of the year, a dip in the pool isn’t worth it if the water’s infected with terrifying sharks, and the lemonade’s laced with poison.
Okay, maybe a more accurate metaphor would be that the pool has a bit too much chlorine, enough to be irritating, and the lemonade is some weird flavor that you kind of hate, but can’t stop taking sips...
I chew my bottom lip as I look at him and weigh my options.
“So, let’s assume for a minute that I agree that we can do this,” I start and notice the immediate glimmer in his eyes.
“Hold your horses, Sunshine,” I try and rein in his enthusiasm. “I’ve said assume I’m going to say yes, how exactly do you propose we go about it?”
From my experience, this is the best tactic in a conflict. Go on the front foot and find out what the other party has in mind. That way you can either shoot holes in their plan, or work with them to make it better.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean how do you propose it works? What’s so hard to understand about that question? I put it in English for you. You do speak English—or was I mistaken?”
If I’ve offended him, he doesn’t let on.
“We just pretend to be married, act like a newlywed couple.”
“That’s it?” I try not to sound too exasperated. “And exactly how does a newlywed couple act? Are you an expert on newlywed couples?”
I go back to pacing.
“You don’t have a boyfriend, do you?”
My feet almost skid to a stop. The question is unexpected and unnecessary, and in my annoyance, I take a few meaningful steps towards him.
“I don’t see how that’s relevant. If I agree to go ahead with this charade, and it’s still a big if, my current relationship status is irrelevant.”
“You know what, fair enough. We’re both here on our own, obviously, and I’m sure you’re a heartbreaking vixen back at home.”
Un-fucking-believable.
First of all, I don’t even know where the fuck to begin with what’s wrong with him bringing up and joking about this shit—especially when he barely knows me.
Second of all, I’m still a virgin.
But I’ll be damned if I’m going to let him in on that little secret.
Asshole.
Arrogant prick. Who the fuck is he to judge me?
“Let’s stick to the point, shall we?” My voice is laced with ice.
“I thought it might be helpful to try and lighten the mood. We’re here to enjoy a kick-ass vacation, after all...”
“I don’t find any of what you’re doing helpful,” I snap at him. “In fact, your entire presence is unhelpful and annoying.”
There, I’ve said it.
It’s strange how this man brings out the worst in me. I’m not known to be rude and condescending. But I don’t seem to be able to help myself.
And yet, and there’s no other way to put this, my body is screaming for his touch.
Before, as I paced past him, our arms brushed past one another. It was the slightest of touches, but my skin felt like it was shooting off sparks as the rest of me ached for more.
If this is going to work, I better have a lot of self-control.
“I guess the first thing we need to do is not snap at each other every time one of us says something.” Once again, Aaron’s voice shatters my reverie. “Both of us, I mean.”
I look up at him.
This is the first time he’s said something I can’t argue against.
“Well, you better make sure not to provoke me, for starters,” I retort.
We’re quite a way from the dynamic of a newly married couple. Are we actually going to have to act on some level like we’re in love?
I sigh.
This is going to be more difficult than I thought.
“That’s kind of what I’m saying, Macy.” Aaron’s not giving up. “Look, why don’t we start over, and you know, give this a try? I mean, what’s the worst that could possible happen?”
And here he finally has a valid point.
What’s the worst that could possibly happen?
We fight and break up. Happens to actual newlywed couples all the time, so I’ve heard.
Slowly, I let my gaze travel over him.
The words are now on repeat.
What’s the worst that could possibly happen?
I try and stop them. But they won’t. I’m sure if I thought about this question a bit longer, a million things would come to me.
“Okay,” I mumble and fold my arms in front of my body. “But just remember the rules: we’re a married couple, for pretend, outside this suite. But inside this suite that’s not even close to reality, so don’t expect the charade to carry over to this suite in any way—and I know you know what I mean.”
Aaron’s grin now goes from ear to ear. He’s about to hug me.
“Don’t even think about it. If you don’t want to feel my knee where it really hurts, stay right where you are.”
To his credit, he keeps grinning at me, but he stays where he is.