Makena

After a long, hot shower and a nap, I do the one thing Quinn told me not to – I go online.

At the Shamrock, I’d only had the chance to read a few lines of the article. I probably should have left it alone. There’s nothing I can do about what people say about me. Or the fact that Hollywood’s new Golden Boy just happens to be my sociopathic ex-husband, who for some reason, wants to ruin my life.

“Tell your story,” Quinn had begged. “Let the world know what an asshole he really is.”

“Then I’d be no better than him,” I’d said, knowing I could never hurt someone the way he’d hurt me. “And I don’t want the world knowing my secrets. Knowing I couldn’t…I can’t…” I’d swallowed hard on the confession that had broken me more than finding out Chad had been unfaithful.

But reading through the article now, seeing the way my bitter truth had been twisted into an altered reality fueled a rage inside of me that had my entire body shaking. The majority of the article was about his recent shotgun wedding. But what was written about me was cruel and untrue.

It was Chad’s quote, “I just hope she’s finally getting the help she needs,” that made me nearly toss my laptop across the room.

I had suffered from depression.

After three years of trying to have a baby, and two false positives, I’d received the devastating news that I’d probably never have a child of my own. I’d taken it hard. Growing up as an only child to a single mom, and watching my cousins in their big, dysfunctional - but loving - family, being a mom had always been something I’d dreamed about.

And when that dream was taken from me, I felt like I’d lost a part of myself. It was Quinn who helped me through the depression. She’d pushed me to start designing, to create something. My shop, and the outfits I poured my heart and soul into, became my baby.

Chad had fought me on it. Called it a reckless pursuit. Until it started making money. Then, he’d pushed me to work harder.

And I had. Until I’d nearly burned out, and I was too tired to see that my husband had lost interest in me.

With a sigh, I start to shut my laptop, then stop, my fingers hovering over the keyboard, ready to type Shane Hayes into the Google search bar.

Don’t do it, my brain warns. But why not? I’m sure he went home and did a search on me. Or worse, read the most recent article in Starz.

I type out, then delete, his name twice, before finally pressing Enter.

A groan bubbles in my throat when the first thing that pops up is his Wikipedia page. Of course the man has his own page. He’s famous.

Most of the posts are about the band. A few fan-girl pages pop up. Clicking on images, I sigh when a pair of sage eyes sparkle with mischief at me from my laptop. It’s a professional picture, one that was probably part of a magazine shoot. And the photographer captured his personality perfectly.

With a half grin that pulled at one dimple, he glances slightly sideways at the camera like he’s about ready to fuck whoever is on the other side of it, giving the impression to the viewer that he’s looking straight at you.

God, the man is gorgeous.

“What am I doing?” I shut my laptop on the photo and toss it on the opposite side of the couch.

This is not going to end well. Not for me.

“Just friends,” I mutter the words he’d used to get me to go see him again, then say on a sarcastic sigh, “Right.”

I pace the cottage for most of the afternoon, fighting with my demons and typing out a dozen messages to Shane, cancelling dinner tonight. I never send them. I should, but I don’t.

Finally, I call Quinn back, needing to hear a familiar voice.

“Are you okay?” she asks when she answers. “I can’t stop thinking about what that asshole said-”

“I’m fine. I’m not calling about that.”

There’s a few seconds of silence before Quinn chuckles and says, “Only one way you could be fine, and that’s if you finally had a good fuc-”

“Quinn.”

More laughter. “You did.”

“I did,” I admit on a sigh. No point dragging it out, when it’s the reason I called her.

“It’s about freaking time. How was it? Who was it? Tell me. I want all the details.”

“It was…” I close my eyes, shivering at the memory. “Perfect. He’s perfect.”

Silence.

“Quinn?”

She sighs, and says warily, “You like him.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“I just know you. When you give your heart, you give it all.”

“You’re the one that told me I needed to meet someone.”

“I told you to have sex. Not fall in love.”

“I’m not in love. I barely know the guy. We’re just…friends.”

“Mhm. And I’m Mother Teresa,” she says knowingly.

“Maybe her alter ego,” I tease.

She chuckles. “So, what’s this guy’s name? And do I have to send one of my brothers to make sure he behaves?”

“No.” I hesitate before answering. “And his name’s Shane.”

“Last name, please. And date of birth, if possible. I want to make sure I do a full Google search.”

“Seriously, Quinn.”

“And you haven’t?” When I don’t answer, she exhales loudly. “Rule number two from my dating handbook, don’t leave the house with the guy until he passes the Google test.”

I roll my eyes. Sometimes, I think she has more trust issues than I do.

“Yes, I Googled him,” I admit.

“And?”

I inhale deeply before admitting, “His name’s Shane Hayes.”

There’s that blasted silence again.

She finally lets out a low whistle. “As in Wild Irish’s Shane Hayes.”

“Yeah.”

“Holy shit.” She sounds impressed. “Well done.”

I laugh at the approval in her voice. “It was only one time.”

That’s not exactly true. But it was just one night. I won’t have sex with him again.

“So, you’re not going to see him again?”

“Well…”

“You are.”

I start to pace. “He asked to see me again.”

“And you said yes?”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have.” I make my way down the hall towards the bedroom and flop on the bed. “I know what he wants. A fling. But at least he’s being open and honest about it.”

“Do people still say fling?”

“Do you have a better word?”

“Be honest, the Irish hottie wants a sexcapade with you and you’re worried about falling for him.”

“Maybe.” Or, maybe I already have.

“Just be careful. From what Collen told me about him, he’s a decent guy, but he has no intention of settling down.”

“Neither do I.”

She huffs. “Even with your heart broken, you still believe in fairytales and romance.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You do,” she insists. “And I’m glad. Because you deserve someone who will sweep you off your feet and give you the happy-ever-after that you’ve always dreamed about.”

I can hear her unspoken words. Just don’t get your hopes up that this guy is your Prince Charming.

And I know she’s right.

“Have fun,” she says. “Just keep your emotions out of it.”

“I’m starting to think you and him would be a much better match.”

She chuckles. “I actually have my own date tonight. He’s no Shane Hayes, but he’s cute in his own way. And Kade hates him, so that’s a bonus.”

Quinn seems to enjoy driving her older brothers insane with the men she chooses to date. Not that they’d ever be satisfied with anyone their little sister chose. They were overprotective to a fault, especially with Quinn.

After I hang up, I glance at my reflection in the bathroom mirror.

“What are you doing?” My reflection shakes its head back at me, but there’s color in my cheeks and a twinkle in my eyes that hadn’t been there a couple days ago.

Sex with no strings attached - I can do it. Guard my heart, and when the time comes, I’ll walk away. Or, he will. Either way, it won’t hurt, because he’s just a guy and I’m just a girl who have nothing in common except the pleasure we can bring each other.

It’s simple.

Except when I hear the harsh rap on the door, my stomach does a three-sixty.

Shane is leaning with his forearm on the frame when I open it, his perma-grin tugging at one corner of his lips, his dark green gaze roaming down my body. Just like that, I’m caught, a captive to him, drawn like a moth to the flame, knowing I’ll be burned but unable to resist.

“Ye look good,” he murmurs in the sexy Irish brogue that makes my knees go weak.

I don’t correct him, even though it’s my natural inclination to. I’m just in jeans and a t-shirt. My hair was unruly, so I’d tied it up in a bun, and what little make-up I put on earlier is nothing compared to what the woman I’d seen him with in those pictures online wore.

“I Googled you.” I regret the words the moment they come out of my mouth.

One brow arches, and I see a mix of humor and concern flash in his eyes. “And?”

I shrug and tease, “Typical playboy photos. Wouldn’t have expected any less.”

He doesn’t seem to like my answer, because his lips tug down and he grunts. “I can’t help the photos people take.”

“I wasn’t criticizing.”

“Just judging.”

“No. Maybe…” I sigh. “Tell me you didn’t go home and Google me.”

“I didn’t.”

“Really? Even after you found out who my ex was?”

“Half the shit they write online isn’t true anyways. Or it’s a half-truth. Either way, it’s dangerous to believe something without knowing the full facts.”

It’s a bit of a reproof. One I shouldn’t need, considering it’s my name that’s been dragged through the mud lately.

He reaches out and grazes his knuckles across my cheek, then takes my chin between his thumb and index finger and leans down, his gaze searching mine.

“I’m pretty much an open book,” he says. “Ye want to know something, ye just have to ask.”

I give a small nod, but the only thing I can think about are the lips that are inches from mine.

He chuckles knowingly. “Ye keep looking at me like that and we won’t make it to dinner.”

“I…” Swallowing hard, I breath in deeply, and try to ignore the heat that pulses through my body. “It’s probably not a good idea to be seen in public again.”

“I figured ye’d say that, so I made other plans.” One arm wraps around my waist, pulling me against his hard body.

“What kind of plans?” I squint up at him.

“Plans that can easily be rearranged if ye’d prefer to stay here.”

My body hums at the idea, but I’m out of groceries, and as incredible as it seems, there aren’t any food delivery places anywhere near here.

“I have nothing to eat here.”

“I’d disagree with ye.” He leans down and nibbles on my ear. “I can think of something I’d like to eat.”

I whimper despite myself.

“Food,” I say, pushing on his chest.

He gives a small grunt of disappointment, but when he pulls back, he’s wearing his typical grin. “Fine. We’ll have dinner out.” He leans closer, his sage eyes blazing with promise. “But we’re coming back here for dessert.”