by Julie Olivia
Nia: Who?
Ian: Goat man.
Nia: Is it Billy?
Ian: Are you telling a joke?
Nia: Maybe.
Harry waves, but Grant stares at him with eyes glazed over.
The man squints. “What’s with your pal?” he asks.
“Uh, watch out, he’s had a rough day,” Harry says, but Grant seems less than concerned about the local wonder coming toward him.
“Not your fault, eh?”
“No, it was,” he admits. I shake my head and am surprised to see that Grant catches the motion. “What, are you going to judge me, pretty boy? What makes you think you’re any better?”
“I’m not,” I say. “We all have our demons. Hey, I won’t judge yours if you won’t judge mine.”
“I don’t believe you,” he says with narrowed eyes.
“I don’t care.” I shrug. Grant seems like he’s getting angry again, but the goat man puts a hand on his shoulder and hops onto the bar stool next to him.
“Why don’t we all share?”
Ian: I think this bachelor party just turned into a therapy session. Or a teenage girls’ slumber party.
Nia: What color are you painting your nails?
Ian: Bright pink.
Nia: So, what are some of their secrets in this so-called therapy session?
I lift my head, tuning in to the conversation I’ve been too distracted to hear.
Ian: Cam went to circus school for a semester before dropping out.
Nia: Get real.
Ian: Wes says he regrets a tattoo on his butt. He tried to show us. I think it might be Ramona’s name.
Nia: Is it in a heart with an arrow through it?
Ian: Absolutely.
Nia: Should you be sharing all of their secrets?
Ian: Harry steals your cookies.
Nia: Knew it.
Ian: And what’s your secret?
At that, the texts stop. Damn it.
We all gallivant from one bar to the next, eventually ending at the pier as planned. My feet hang over the side of the dock with Grant seated next to me. Harry and Cam wade through the water, and Wes and the goat man bury themselves in sand, making sandcastles that look like more penises.
“Sorry for earlier,” Grant says.
“You shouldn’t have driven,” is all I can get out.
“You aren’t going to accept my apology?” he asks, narrowing his eyes.
“Temper, temper,” I respond, lifting my eyebrow to him but ignoring his comment altogether. “You might want to quell that.”
“You’re an ass.”
“Tell me, do you feel bad about anything?” I ask. “Anything at all?”
His eyes shift to me and he swallows before looking out at the ocean. For a moment we only hear the waves and the laughing of the men below. Looks like Cameron has buried Wes with makeshift sand boobs over his chest.
“You’re bold,” Grant says.
“I like to think I’m charming.”
He scoffs. “I hate you.”
“So, do you?” I ask again. “Regret anything, I mean?”
“I hate myself a little more every day.”
I remember being that person. I remember feeling like the world is on your shoulders and you can’t shove it off. Every day gets harder and the guilt pushes you so far into the ground until you’re burying yourself in it, slowly letting yourself drown under the weight.
“Eventually, you won’t,” I say. “You’ll rediscover what life is and then you’ll grab it by the balls and never let it pass you by again.”
Grant stares at me. He’s swaying under the influence of who knows how many shots, and he’s blinking slowly. I wonder for a moment if he’s going to fall off the pier, readying my reflexes just in case, but he smiles and nods.
“I hope you’re right.”
“I’m always right,” I say, and he rolls his eyes.
Ian: Your brother isn’t half bad.
Nia: You guys are getting along? Cute.
Cute.
“You’re a menace,” he grunts.
“I get that a lot.”
Grant grins, and I think we may have just become friends. Imagine that.
Ian: I miss you, Polly.
21
Nia
I’ve been leaning on the railing overlooking the parking lot for at least thirty minutes, maybe more. Maybe less than that? Who knows; time has begun to blur.
I glance down at my phone, peering over the texts Ian and I have exchanged tonight. The most recent states they’re on the way back. It’s the message immediately preceding that one that I keep mentally stumbling over.
I miss you, Polly.
Shit.
Corinne stayed with me after the boys left for their night on the town and we watched television. We settled on the Florida channel with repeating advertisements for boardwalk Ferris wheels and local putt-putt courses. There was even a vampire-themed putt-putt. It’s the middle of July, but sure, why not?
I wonder if the boys ended up going to a strip club. I believe Harry would surely balk at that, but then again, maybe he wouldn’t. I don’t want to picture my baby brother getting lap dances from naked women. He’s named after Harry Houdini, for God’s sake. That fact alone should halt a woman in her tracks. I’m pretty sure my parents’ creative juices were spent when they named the last of us. Thanks a lot, guys.
I lean my head on the cool railing. Do I trust Ian to watch over them? Maybe I do. He doesn’t drink for some unknown reason, but whatever the case, he’s dedicated to the cause. When Ian says he’s going to do something, he sticks to his guns and rarely strays from the path. The motivation of that man is incomparable to anyone else, and while I’ve always believed Harry was the purest of heart, I’m starting to wonder if Ian is giving him a run for his money.
For years, Ian has been nothing but a nuisance to me, and I’ve always considered that to be pure entertainment for him. But, has he really liked me? Has he loved me?
No, what a ridiculous notion. I’ve been the one pining after him, not the other way around. Because, if it were the other way around, how would I feel then?
I don’t know.
The door opening from behind me makes me jump.
“You doing okay?” Corinne asks through a yawn. I nod in response and she leans on the railing next to me. “You don’t seem okay.”
“I’m worried,” I admit.
“About your brothers or about Ian?” She says it in a teasing tone, but I answer honestly.
“Both.”
A pregnant pause lingers between us and she lets out a sharp laugh. “Huh.”
“Huh?”
“Well, it’s interesting,” she says, twisting her mouth to the side. “I wouldn’t have guessed that.”
I exhale. “Me either.”
Cameron’s hulking Jeep pulls into the lot and my heart rises into my throat. I feel like I’m going to both vomit and pass out all at once. I just imagine my brain yelling, Alright, shut her down, folks! And honestly it might be for the best if I just fell over right now, ignorant of the world.
The car door on the rear driver’s side opens, and Wes falls out. His groan when his hands hit the pavement is audible even from here. There’s one. Cam follows suit, his hand placed on Wes’s shoulder like some drunken conga line. Two. Then there’s Harry, laughing one of his belly laughs reserved for good company. Thank God. Three. From the front passenger seat stumbles the much-too-old-for-this swaying figure of Grant. Four. He seems drunk, but that’s to be expected. He doesn’t look as weary as when he arrived this afternoon. The driver’s door opens, and a long and muscled leg extends out. My heart pounds louder, and it’s a wonder Corinne can’t hear it trying to beat out of my chest. Ian. Five.
We rush to the elevator and I press the button, convinced it’s broken based on how long it’s taking to arrive. No matter how many times I signal it, the light is still the taunting, dull orange. It finally arrives and, with more feverish
button-mashing, rumbles down to the ground floor. Grace definitely lied when she said this was a five-star resort.
The doors slide open and there they all are. Harry is still laughing, and he’s helping support Cam and Wes with their arms thrown over his shoulders. Wes is an especially big man, but Harry can go toe to toe with him in stature, so the cooperation looks effortless. Ian is single-handedly dragging Grant by his side, and the smile upon my brother’s face is genuine and unfazed by the fact that he can barely walk.
Ian and I lock eyes, and it feels like something I’ve never experienced with him—or at least not in a few years…
His eyes cut through to me like a stab directly into my chest; I feel the dagger sinking in, driving deeper, and, like I’m close to death, I’m at a loss for breath.
“Polly, I have delivered,” he says.
“What are you, a pizza man?”
He wiggles his eyebrows. “Why? Is that a scenario you’re interested in?”
Irresistible man.
We ride up the elevator with most of the men groaning the whole way and Ian next to me near the back. I can smell the sweat, cigar smoke, and sand. The outside of his palm bumps mine when Grant shifts beside him. The heat rising from his body warms me. I’ve experienced a lot of the ocean’s cool night breeze and his touch is comforting, like the blanket of Georgia humidity, a feeling of home wrapping over me once more.
“I want to barf,” Cameron groans. It jerks me out of my thoughts, and Wes grunts in what sounds like agreement.
“Almost there.” Ian’s tone is deep, and it’s obvious he’s been in command all night. The low voice is intoxicating, running over me, sending nerves coursing throughout.
He adjusts Grant hanging from his side by shrugging my brother’s arm farther up on his shoulder. Grant leans in to grumble something inaudible to him and Ian laughs.
“Dude, thank you,” Harry whispers. Even from the opposite side of the elevator, his breath reeks of alcohol and flat soda. I sniff to see if maybe I can smell anything resembling a strip club, but then I remember I have no clue what strip clubs smell like.
“Don’t forget you promised me you would cut your hippie hair earlier tonight,” Ian says. “I’m holding you to it.”
“I don’t remember that.” Harry squints at him. The squint must be too much to handle, because he ends up closing his eyes the rest of the way.
“He didn’t promise that, did he?” Grant asks.
“Nah,” Ian says.
“You devil,” Grant growls.
Ian’s return smile is kind and gentle. There are no judgments, no sneers, no nose pointing at the ceiling in disgust at everyone’s sloppy behavior. Instead, he’s joking with my brothers, and it looks so natural. I’ve never seen Harry or Grant mesh so well with anyone outside our immediate family. It’s jarring, but my chest feels warm.
We proceed out of the elevator with the grace of newborn giraffes exiting a clown car. Wes waves goodbye and somehow finds the correct hotel room. After he stumbles inside, I count once more. There’s Corrine and me plus the four men left.
Cameron’s index fingers massage his temples, making him look like a caricature of a mind reader.
“Are you trying to remember your room number?” Ian asks.
“It’s here somewhere,” Cameron slurs, peering to each room on the hall. “I’m going to wake Grace up, aren’t I?”
“I am totally on board with irritating Grace at one in the morning.” Ian laughs at his own idea and holds his hand out for Cameron to place the room key in his palm. Ian walks to the correct door and shoves him in. Three men left—my men.
“You two can stay in my room,” Ian says. “I think Nia needs some shut-eye tonight.”
“I won’t sleep anyway,” I say, putting my hands on my hips and eyeing the two drunk brothers with a shake of my head. “They can stay in my room.”
“Polly, you worry too much.” He chuckles. The sound sends flutters through my stomach, but I lift an eyebrow in protest.
“Yeah, Polly,” Grant slurs. “You’re a worrywart. Worry, worry, wart, wart.”
“Act your age, old man,” I shoot back, index finger extended as if I’m his mother instead of his younger sister. He holds his hands up.
“You can come with us,” Ian says. He finally meets my eyes again and it makes my stomach lurch, freezing over my insides until they’re ice cold and hardened. My nipples quickly follow suit, and I’m hoping my shirt is thick enough to hide them.
“Sure,” I agree. I agree?! Who am I? What am I getting myself into?
And why is lightning zipping through my every limb?
“If you need any help, just knock on my door,” Corinne says, making me jump. I had almost forgotten she was there.
She scans the card to her room. Then it’s only me and Ian—and two drunk men who need more drinks almost as much as I need to be alone with Ian Chambers.
Which is to say, absolutely not at all.
22
Ian
Ever since Nia barreled into that lobby with her ivory cheeks flushed pink and heavy breaths accompanying every intake of air, there’s been some unexplainable tension between us.
I’ve felt this type of shift in a relationship before, but I must be misinterpreting my pseudo-Spidey-sense because this feeling is one that comes at the conclusion of a night of close contact and suggestive talk. I’ve been on dates before. I’ve had one-night stands. This spark is the electricity of a woman longing to sleep with me—except Nia just isn’t that kind of woman.
Yes, I must be misinterpreting.
I lead Grant and Harry into my hotel room and let them lumber to the bed. It’s just barely able to fit the both of them, and I’m realizing now that my bunk may be in the bathtub tonight. Nia is quiet when I glance over to her, but when our eyes meet, that familiar sensation washes over me once more.
Her brown doe eyes are large and dilated. Her bottom lip is pouting as if she’s resisting the urge to let it slip into her mouth. Her fingers run through her hair to move it to rest behind her ear.
My breathing quickens and I try to mask my sharp inhalation as blood rushes downward. She’s so damn sexy, and she probably doesn’t even know it. I’m familiar with harsh, demanding, controlling Nia. I’ve never seen this timid version of her. I want to take it all in.
The men on the bed are already passed out on their sides. Harry exhales small breaths of air, but Grant’s obnoxious snoring directly oppose him like he’s in competition with his brother. Even in sleep, he needs to be the alpha.
Slowly walking over, I wiggle a pillow out from under them and stuff it under my arm. I nod toward the bathroom and Nia does as I intended, tiptoeing in.
I’d be an idiot to imagine this will lead to anything. It would almost be unfair to the rest of the world if the universe granted me this one wish. Plus, I’m not pushing it. She doesn’t want me.
I shut the door behind us, immediately tossing the pillow into the tub.
“Who says this isn’t a resort?” I say, grinning from ear to ear.
“Are we sharing that?” she asks, pointing to the bathtub with the lone pillow slumping against the side.
“What? Do you think I’m a monster? I always offer pillows to the ladies.”
I step one leg into the tub and lower the rest of myself in, stopping midway to pick up the pillow and toss it to the other end. Nia makes her way in as well with a less graceful motion. I instinctively reach for her forearm to steady her, but she doesn’t need it. The reaction earns me a smile, though, and my chest is like a tiny bonfire igniting and popping embers through my limbs.
“Nice to know you’re such a gentleman with bedding,” she says, keeping her voice low.
“Are you imagining me in bed?”
She rolls her eyes, but a smile still peeks through. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You’re blushing,” I point out. She wasn’t, but now her face flushes a bright red.
“Sometimes you say things that
offend me.”
“Oh really?” My jaw drops in mock surprise. “I had no idea.”
“Let’s count that as one of my answers for our twenty questions game.”
“But I didn’t ask a question.”
“You didn’t have to.”
I shift in place, trying to wiggle into a more comfortable position, but it’s impossible given both my height and how uncomfortable this situation is. My long legs, though bent at the knee, still reach the opposite end of the tub. Nia settles between my shoes, and we stare at one another—yet another pause filled with what feels like so many unsaid things.
“Okay, twenty questions then,” I say. “Your turn.”
She squints, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, humming softly. “Hmm,” she muses. “Tell me your deepest, darkest secret.”
“Oh, are we going there?”
“We’re going there,” she says with a devilish grin I don’t think she’s ever thrown my direction, nor would I have imagined her wearing it around me in my lifetime. “Spill, Ian.”
I want to admire her smile more, but my gut clenches at the question.
Some people may struggle when asked their “deepest, darkest secret” because their life has been so awesome and uneventful, while others may instantly think of an exact event that crushed their naïve excitement about the world. I am one of the latter.
Thoughts of a car barreling toward me, my friend beside me with wide eyes and a mouth ready to scream, glass flying everywhere…then nothing, only the blinding lights of the hospital.
I gulp and let my finger rub against the lip of the tub. I’m desperate to have Nia know me for who I am, and I’ve come close to telling her before, so what am I scared of?
“Nah.”
“You said the other night you would tell me.” Her eyebrow lifts and my stomach drops.
How long have I waited to see her look at me like that?
I take the plunge.
“I told you about my car wreck.” She nods. I’m surprised she fully remembers it after her night of drunken debauchery. I long to relive our other intimate, sexier conversations, but I’m now bound to this type of intimacy instead. “I survived. My friend didn’t.”
