by Ember Leigh
“Just stating facts.”
I grin, twisting so that I can snap a picture of him. His heartbreaker smile fills my viewfinder. That wrench in my chest returns.
“Speaking of facts…” Weston says, wetting his bottom lip. “Damn, Nova. You’re looking pretty good too.”
I snicker, resting my head on his shoulder. “Don’t toy with me. I know it’s the sunrise you’re after.”
“Sunrise, and a little extra. You still down to do the dancing in the waves thing?”
“Oh, my God.” I slap my forehead. “I can’t believe you got pictures of that.”
“So you found my secret.”
“Yeah, I did!” I expel a sigh, but as the strawberry streaks turn into a brighter, clearer sky, I soften. “And you know what? Those were really lovely pictures.”
“Thought you might think so. And if you didn’t think so, I was ready to plead my case.”
This attention doesn’t just feel nice, it sizzles through me. Some part of me wants to curl up in his arms and never leave. Is this what all his other vacay-lays experience? The magical charms of Weston Daly have conquered probably too many women to count. Way more than I care to know about.
I didn’t want to be just one more notch for him. But I couldn’t resist. He’s too thoughtful, too much of a snarky softie, for me to care right now.
“I guess we can dance in the waves, if it’s so important to you,” I say, snapping another picture.
“Look at those colors.” Weston shakes his head. “Looks like a damn ice cream sundae.”
“Does it?”
“Strawberry right there.” He points at the sky. “Peaches there. And a dollop of whipped cream.”
I grin so hard my cheeks hurt as I follow his vision. He’s not wrong. “I bet it would be the best-tasting ice cream sundae of all time.”
He looks down at me, laugh lines appearing around his eyes. For a moment, I get lost in his gaze. It’s almost full daylight now, so I have no trouble drinking in all the details of his face. His nose is just this side of crooked, which makes his lopsided smile even cuter.
“Why did we never hook up before?” he asks, voice softer.
I shrug, looking back at the water. “You were always interested in other girls.”
He scoffs. “Yeah right. I tried with you the first time we ever traveled together.”
My jaw clatters to the towel. This information is so outrageous that I barely know how to process it. Weston actually liked me since the beginning? “You are crazy. You never tried.”
“I did. And I was Rejected with a capital R.”
I shake my head. “I don’t believe you.”
“You were so bristly, I never tried again.”
Now my eyes pop wider. “Bristly? You were always the bristly one!”
“I’ve never been anything but an accommodating gentleman,” he says, with a shit-eating grin on his face.
“Right. Like in the yoga class on Monday night?”
His eyes narrow. “I still want to redo that class.”
“From what I remember, when we were in Amsterdam four years ago, on the very first night, you chose some Valley girl backpacker to bring back to the hostel.”
His lips curve downward. “I don’t remember any Valley girl.”
“I do. And you chose her. Trust me—when I first met you, I would have done anything you asked of me.”
“Is that why you’ve been full of bristles? Like a hairbrush,” he says.
I snort, even though he’s spot-on with his assessment. It feels wrong to admit that it was something so trivial that turned me off him. But he didn’t do much to combat his playboy image over the years. And maybe he’s truly no different now. I don’t know—and for now, I just want to sit here and enjoy this.
“Calling me a hairbrush is the best insult you’ve got?”
His smile goes smooth. “Trust me. I wasn’t trying to insult you.” This time, when he looks down at me, the air goes taut between us. My breath evaporates, and then our lips are getting closer, ever closer, until we kiss in the strawberry swirl of the morning.
Whatever I thought prior to this moment about happiness was wrong. This, right here. This is true happiness. An exhaustion-tinged sunrise with a body buzz. The warmth of a man—no, this man—improving upon the already perfect air. Equal parts barbs and tenderness floating between us.
And I wonder, has it felt like this for him with anyone else?
My heart is throbbing, so I break the kiss and look back at the morning. This got too intense, way too quickly, but this peach cobbler dawn isn’t helping things. Weston shifts at my side, resting his head against mine.
“I think this is the best sunrise I’ve ever seen,” he says.
“Really? Of all the places you’ve been?”
“Yeah. Look at those clouds.” He points. “You don’t see those too often.”
I snicker. But I agree with him. Not because of the clouds, though. It’s the best sunrise because for the first time in a long time, things make sense.
“You don’t see this too often, either,” he says, his hand slipping down to squeeze my hip.
“Now you’re referring to my enormous ass.”
“No. I’m referring to this.” He looks over at me. “Look at us. We’re not fighting, for once.”
“Give it time,” I warn him with a grin. “If you aren’t careful, I’ll sign us up for another partner yoga class.”
He leans in and kisses me again. “Go for it. We can only go up from here. Failing at yoga one day.” The smile on his face grows slick, almost mischievous. “Farting in my face the next.”
My eyes nearly pop out of my head as all sorts of conflicting responses clamor for airtime. Shock. Humiliation. Maniacal laughter. He must be able to read the shellshock on my face, because he just laughs and leans in again.
“Don’t give me that face. It was cute.”
I cover my face with my hands. “Weston! You can’t say that me farting in your face was cute!”
“Pretty sure I just said it.”
I laugh despite the embarrassment. Where else to go but up, like he said? “Couldn’t you have just done the sweet thing and pretended it never happened and continued acting as though I don’t have a butthole?”
This time, his laugh is a guffaw. “Sorry, but no. Your ass is one of the best things to happen to humanity.”
For how uncomfortable this all is, he’s sure making it right. “Fine. I disagree, but fine.”
Weston releases me, pushes to standing, and then offers his hand. The breeze is moving his longish chestnut tresses, and the wild sparkle in his blue eyes is something I could get lost in for the rest of my life.
I understand why Weston has throngs of women in his wake. He’s too easy to fall for. He’s sexiness layered with middle school teasing and something undefinably magical and laidback. He’s irresistible. And I, for one, cannot resist him.
I take his hand, allowing him to help me to my feet. When he pulls me into a hug and brushes his lips over my ear, I already know that I’m going to acquiesce to whatever it is that he wants of me.
“Let’s go dance in the water together.”
And with this cotton candy sunrise, how could I say no?
I just need to remember to protect my heart. Because with Weston, I can already tell he’s going to make it too damn easy to fall headfirst. And if there’s any souvenir I don’t want from Aruba, it’s a broken heart.
Chapter 16
WESTON
Despite only four hours of sleep, Nova and I do not rest. Not even for a minute. There are too many important things to do, like flirting and taking pictures and readying ourselves for another amazing day of paradise.
After we dance and laugh our way through the waves of the Caribbean Sea, we tumble back into her hut, where we shower together and have sex one more time under the warm rush of water. I hoist her onto the built-in ledge of the ocean pebble-themed shower. We don’t break the seal of our k
isses even once as I ease into the glorious hot silk of her pussy, over and over. When I ask her if this is better than what she imagined yesterday, she moans and comes so hard that her head hits the wall.
There’s some serious chemistry here, and it’s got me reeling. But our day is too busy to think much about it. Once we’re dressed for breakfast—her in a green and white sundress that I helped pick out, me in chinos and a light button-up that I snagged in the thirty seconds I left her side—it’s hard not to walk around with a silly smile that says it all. I might as well have a sign on my forehead that says, “I got laid sooo fucking much last night.”
A knock sounds on her door at eight forty-five. We share a guilty glance. “Who is it?” she asks.
“Hey, babe, it’s me.” Amelia’s super-chill voice wafts through. “Heading to breakfast now, just wanted you to know!”
“All right, girl, I’m almost ready.” She grimaces at me, the question in her eyes: Do we out this now?
“We were up all night with my uncle. He got really drunk and started fighting with the receptionist,” Amelia says. “I am sooo tired.”
“I can’t even imagine,” Nova says, though she absolutely can.
“All right. I’ll see you at the table!” Amelia’s footsteps scuff away, and Nova casts me a curious look.
“Okay, so, I don’t know how to handle this.”
“Handle what?”
She waves her hand dismissively. “These…beach affairs, or whatever.”
I snort. “I don’t know. We can say whatever we want. Though I’ll warn you, if your suggestion is to continue acting like there’s nothing between us, that plan is going to fail almost immediately.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because there’s no hiding the way you look at me now,” I tell her, easing my hands over her hips. My own silly grin is back in full force because it’s impossible to hide.
“I just won’t look at you then.” She slides her palms over my chest.
“Lies.”
She snorts. “I know. But would you be able to not do this?” She gestures to the way I’ve gathered her against me. “I mean, hell, after what happened in the bathroom this morning, who’s to say you wouldn’t do the same thing in the buffet line?”
“If you want me to fuck you on top of the scrambled eggs and pineapple, just tell me,” I whisper seductively into her ear. She dissolves into laughter, and my cheeks hurt from how hard I’m grinning. She kisses me, cupping the sides of my face as if she’s afraid I might drift away.
“I don’t know how to do this. I don’t actually…do things like this.”
“Have sex on salmon?” I ask.
“You know what I mean.” She nibbles on her lip, looking down at the ground. “Hooking up. I’m not really into one-night stands or—”
“Trust me, this won’t be just for one night.” I’ve been doing the mental math since I caught her masturbating. We’ve got ninety hours left until my flight departs. We can fit an eternity of nights into that span of time. At least, I plan to.
“I know. I just don’t want to…make things weird. I don’t want Amelia to have a ton of questions, or for her to be all, Oh my god, what’s happening between you two.”
“So I need to kiss you in secret,” I say slowly.
“Yes.”
I grunt. “Okay. If that’s what you want.”
She leaves the hut first, checking both ways to see if the coast is clear. When she waves me out, we walk side-by-side up the boardwalk for a while. She’s got her camera around her neck already, her red hair pulled up into a loose topknot. I keep my distance as we walk, though every inch of me wants to sling my arm over her shoulders.
Once we get to breakfast, the energy of the wedding group is buzzing and distracting. Nova immediately slips into stealth picture-taking mode, and Rhys waves me over so that I can place my drink order while the server is there. For all the drunken antics and lack of sleep from the night before, everyone is in good spirits.
Conversation swells along the massive table, and I get pulled toward one end, Nova to the other. Breakfast melts away in a happy, delicious blur. Still, I find myself looking her way too many times to count. Our gazes snag a few times across the long table, each time prompting a little smile and a blush from her.
It’s shit like that that makes it impossible to stay away from her. But she wants me to play it cool, so I’ll try. I’ll honestly try. It’s just not gonna work.
Our group heads to the first activity, which we pile into two huge vans for. First stop is a dock, where we get onto a boat and head to a private island. Nova is in her element, snapping photos, chatting with Amelia and Laney and Rhys’s sisters. The white sand beach of the private island is honestly jaw-dropping. Our group wanders around the crystalline shoreline, dipping our toes into the water, posing with the vibrant pink flamingoes who wander around completely unamused by us until food is involved.
While Nova is paused in the ankle-deep water, engrossed by images on her camera, a flamingo wanders her way. The elegant pink bird starts nipping at the frill of her bathing suit. Right at her butt cheeks.
Nova squeals, splashing away from the bird, who continues to pursue her. I grab for my phone to record the attack for posterity.
“They really don’t get engaged unless food is involved…” our tour guide is saying.
The flamingo is just highlighting what I already know: nobody can resist Nova’s ass. Not even a pink bird. Least of all me. I’m doubled over with laughter once Nova finally races to safety, crouching behind a lounge chair underneath one of the various sun umbrellas dotting the beach. Amelia squeals, and Laney races to provide moral support.
Once her girlfriends have wandered back toward the water, and Nova is resting on the lounge chair, I go to the empty seat at her side.
My shit-eating grin must say it all, because she immediately says, “I don’t want to hear one word about being attacked by the flamingo.”
A laugh snorts out of me. “But it was so fucking epic.”
She’s smiling and shaking her head.
“That bird just wanted a piece of your ass.” I look around for curious ears who might be too near. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell him what he missed last night.”
She’s shaking with silent laughter, gaze stuck on the ocean. Is she pretending we’re not connecting as hard as we are, or not wanting me to know how funny I truly am?
“Your ass cheeks are that delicious. I never thought part of my achievements in Aruba would be to make a bird jealous, but here we are.”
This time, a sharp laugh rockets out of her. Victory.
“You are ridiculous,” she says, covering her face with her hands.
“No, I’m just factual.” I glance around again, locating the bulk of our group of friends at the shoreline. “I want to kiss you.”
She jerks her hands down to her side, scoping out our surroundings as if we’re going to pull off a heist. “Here?”
“Nobody’s looking.”
“But the flamingo will get pissed.” Her lips quirk into a smile, and I take that as my cue.
I dip forward, smiling like a fool, and snag a sloppy, passionate kiss from her. The electric jolt that courses through me feels like we’ve been denying ourselves this for years, not hours. I go for a second kiss, and then a third, but she pushes on my chest, eyes cloudy with lust.
“Weston.”
“Nova.”
“Are you trying to be publicly indecent? Because we’re going to be arrested or evicted if we keep following that train of thought.”
She’s not wrong. My cock is already making the slow trek toward iron-weapon status, and we’re just three kisses deep. I grunt, pushing back onto my own lounge chair.
“Fine. You’re right.”
She makes a big display of checking a watch she’s not wearing. “Well, that lasted a whole two hours.”
“What?”
“You keeping yourself off me.”
I s
mirk, stretching out on the chair. “I knew it wouldn’t last long, but I didn’t want to dash your hopes.”
Nova and I linger around each other for the rest of the day, always ready to snag a moment alone when the friends aren’t looking, as we move from lunch on private flamingo island to shipwreck snorkel expedition. Nova initially offers to stay behind and take photos, and she catches an epic bro shot of me, Rhys, Elliot, and Keko. Amelia, Laney, and I finally convince her that she deserves a shot at experiencing a real, live shipwreck for herself, too. Once Nova gears up and is paddling through the crystalline waters, the shipwreck barely visible through the lapping waves, I document her experience as best I can. It just seems right.
Nobody ever takes pictures of the photographer, and if I can give her anything, I want it to be some pictures of herself to look back on. I would have done it for her even without our tiki hut hanky-panky in the mix. I caught my older brother Dom’s marriage proposal to his girlfriend London last month on video, and let me tell you—that was a rush. I kind of love documenting moments for people, which only throws a bigger wrench into the whole question, Where does Instagram-influencer Weston go from here?
Because the truth is, even though I’ve chosen Thailand, I can go anywhere. I can do anything. And no matter how many skillsets I have—at this point, my resume is looking more like a scroll than a neatly tailored professional document—nothing seems right.
Nothing except keeping moving.
Catch the next flight.
See what comes next.
Maybe what you’re looking for is at the next destination.
It’s late afternoon by the time our group hits the island again. Everyone is readying to head back to the resort, lining up for the two shuttle vans coming to pick us up. There’s a fun dinner tonight with live dancers, so most of the older family members want to go back and take naps before then.
Nova’s got something else on her mind, even though she hasn’t said anything. She keeps glancing up and down the street, where locals amble by and cars make slow passes on the gravel-edged road. Spiky bushes edge the asphalt, looking both desert and tropical. Her thumb rubs back and forth over the shutter button of her camera.
