All I Do: Paradise Beach #3

by Lush, Tamara

  “How come?” He looks around, then shrugs out of his suit jacket. He lays it in his lap and blinks at the carpet. At least he isn’t vibrating with anger.

  Oh God, maybe he doesn’t care. Maybe I’ve misjudged his words and actions all along and this is just a lark. I’m just another woman to him. What we have is so casual, he can’t even register any discernable emotion…

  I stand up, feeling claustrophobic and sweaty. If I could somehow transport myself to the water, where I could swim free, I would. It might be the only thing that could calm my pounding heart right now. He glances at me and winces ever so slightly.

  It’s too difficult to look into his amber-colored eyes, so I focus on his big hands instead.

  “I’m getting too attached to you. I know we have our sex pact. And all of our rules and regulations about being friends with benefits. The other day, you said that someday I’d want a boyfriend and a husband and a family. And it’s true. Someday I do want that. And I don’t want to just have mindless sex in the meantime. I got to thinking after we last talked. I’d like all that stuff with you, but I know it’s not what you want. So, I’m going to spare you the trouble of breaking up with me, and spare me from further heartbreak. I need to be honest about how I feel and what I want out of life.”

  Did I just say all that out loud?

  His jaw drops. A terrible, toxic silence hangs in the air. Exactly what I’d feared — he’s not going to fight for me. For us. Because he doesn’t feel the same way.

  A thick blob forms in my throat, and I have to swallow a few times before I can talk again. “I’m going to leave now. I’m sorry about all this.” I wave my hand helplessly in the air and reach for my purse. “Thank you for helping me with the project. I’ll see you around.”

  I run out of the suite, as fast as one can in four-inch-high heels.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  REMY

  I fling myself into the booth at Over Easy, the island’s hottest breakfast spot. It’s a classic 1950s diner, with a stainless-steel exterior shell and a red, white, and black color scheme inside.

  Natalia’s already there, sitting in her usual corner spot. Today her hair is piled on top of her head, blonde mixed with hot pink. She’s also wearing black, cat-eye glasses and a light pink cardigan over a black shirt. I guess she’s going for the beach, goth, librarian look or something. I can never tell with her.

  She lowers the newspaper from her face and studies me for a beat. “Dude. You look like shit.”

  “Good morning to you, too,” I grumble.

  Joey, our favorite waiter, rushes over with a mug of coffee and sets it on the table without me asking.

  “Christ, do I look that tired?”

  “Yes,” both he and Nat say in tandem.

  I run my hand over my face and down my beard. “I’ll have the usual.”

  “Same,” Nat adds in a chipper tone, and Joey scoots off.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Nat asks.

  I shrug. “Around.”

  “I haven’t seen you for years.”

  “Don’t exaggerate.” I take a sip of coffee and nearly spit it out, it’s so scalding.

  “Okay, maybe ten days. You didn’t come to dinner at Ma’s on Sunday.”

  “Busy. Boat.”

  She purses her lips. Nothing gets by my sister. “Oh, I see. We’re talking in monosyllables today.”

  She picks up the paper. “Nice writeup on your friend in the Island Gazette today.”

  My pulse kicks into high gear. Leilani. But she’s not even my friend anymore. I haven't talked with her since that dismal night at the resort. Every time I try to message her, I feel ashamed. Like I fucked up too bad to ask for forgiveness.

  I snatch the paper out of my sister's hands. Sure enough, Leilani’s on the front page, with her megawatt smile and long, curly hair. Jesus, she’s even showing off her dimples in the photo. So fucking beautiful, it makes my chest ache with longing.

  Mer-mazing New Business Coming to Paradise, reads the headline.

  I sigh miserably. Breaking: The Playboy of Paradise Beach is Lovesick. That should be the headline.

  “How is Leilani, anyway?” Nat asks. “I haven’t seen her around.”

  I toss the paper aside and take a gulp of my coffee, hot liquid be damned.

  “Shut up,” Nat leans in. “Don’t tell me you two broke up.”

  I shrug.

  “What did you do to her? So help me God, if you screwed around on her and broke her heart, I’m going to stab you in the nuts. She’s the sweetest person I’ve ever met. Well, other than Isabella. And Kate. I don’t know how you clowns keep finding decent people to partner up with, when I can’t find jack shit for dates on Tinder.”

  My sister picks up a fork. I think she’s joking about stabbing me, but I’m not a hundred percent sure.

  “I don’t know when you appointed yourself in charge of my love life, but for your information, I did not screw around on her. I was completely faithful. Like a puppy.” I lean back and fix a tired glare on my sister. “She broke my heart.”

  Nat rolls her eyes. “Please.”

  “Truth.” I press a hand over my heart.

  She humphs in response.

  “I didn’t come to Ma’s because I didn’t feel like talking about it. Didn’t want everyone asking about Leilani, because I know you all adored her.”

  “We did adore her. Do adore her. What happened? I don’t get it. You two seemed perfect for each other.”

  “I thought so too. And I thought we had a… you know. A thing. An understanding.”

  Nat lifts an eyebrow. “A thing?”

  “Yeah, no strings attached, no demands. Casual. Yet respectful. Fun.” A breath hisses from my mouth, and the bottomless chasm of shame is back in my stomach. “I’d told her that I didn’t want to lose my freedom. Didn’t want to get into a relationship that killed spontaneity. Like Tate and Max have.”

  “You idiot,” she snorts. “That’s where you screwed up. Good relationships don’t do any of that.”

  I slurp my coffee. “So she broke up with me. Said she was falling for me and that she wanted something more. Happened the night she won the Chamber contest. I’d gotten a suite for us at the resort and everything.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I didn’t say anything. I was so shocked. I’d thought that she wanted the same thing I did. Thought she felt the same way I did, about being free and all that.”

  My sister shakes her head. “You are so obtuse. Christ, you’re a child when it comes to women, you know that?”

  I let out a snort. “No, I’m not.”

  Just as I’m about to retort, Joey appears with plates filled with food. He sets my western omelet in front of me and Nat’s waffle with berries near her.

  “More coffee?” he asks, and I wave him off.

  Nat immediately tucks into the waffle, and I push my food around with the fork. I haven’t been hungry lately. Haven’t felt like doing much of anything, other than lying around on my boat and drinking beer, feeling sorry for myself.

  “Where did I go wrong with her? I gave her flowers and gifts. Spent lots of time with her. Gave her foot rubs, even.”

  I saw into my eggs with the fork. Deep down, I know what happened, though. I was a dick. And I don’t deserve someone like her. Which is why I haven’t contacted her.

  My sister stuffs a berry in her mouth, chews, then swallows. “Leilani went through a lot with her ex.”

  “He was an asshole. She told me.”

  “That means she doesn’t trust easily. I’m sure she thought you weren’t serious about her, and she didn’t want to be hurt again.”

  “But I was serious.”

  “Did you tell her that?”

  My hand holds the fork halfway to my mouth. “No. I didn’t think I had to, in those words.”

  Nat’s mouth is full, her cheeks pouched like a squirrel. She rolls her eyes in response.

  “Like, did you ever
consider that you might need to go the extra mile with her because of what she went through? That maybe she thought she’d never find a man to love her properly, and when your stupid ass came along, your attitude reinforced that?”

  “How would I have reinforced that? I was nothing but good to her.” I pause and take a bite of toast. It goes down like a lump of paste in my throat.

  “Because you probably went on about that friends with benefits bullshit. How you didn’t want anything serious. Of course she wanted to break it off before she got in too deep. She’s used to being hurt, Remy. She just wanted to protect her heart from the likes of you.”

  I open and close my mouth. “That’s not what I meant, though.”

  “What did you mean, exactly?”

  I let the fork clatter to the plate and throw my hands in the air. “I thought I’d lose some freedom if I was in a relationship. But I’m realizing that in losing her, I’ve lost my joy. And that’s just losing a different kind of freedom. Hell, I don’t know. You’re right. I am shitty at this. I’m ashamed of how I acted and I don’t know how to apologize. I don’t know if I can fix this.”

  Nat chews another hunk of waffle, her eyes glittering. “Why don’t you tell her all that?”

  I shake my head. “Might be too late. Probably is.”

  “You could start slow. Text her. Don’t pressure her.”

  I reach for the phone in my pocket and swipe to a blank message. “You think? What should I say? Jesus, I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. That I’m taking advice from you.”

  Nat laughs. “You sound like Dad when he tries to say something emotional and tender.”

  I groan and begin typing. On the water, I'm second to none. On land? I suck at feelings.

  Hey, girl. Saw your article in the paper. Real nice. Just wanted to say I’m proud of you.

  I show Nat the screen. “How’s that?”

  She takes a sip of coffee and studies my phone. “Not a bad start. Let’s see if she responds.”

  Taking a huge breath, I press send.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Leilani

  Crap, crap, crap.

  My bar opens soon and the air conditioner is broken. It’s late summer.

  In Florida.

  A miniscule, yet annoying, puddle of sweat has formed in the hollow between my bottom lip and chin, and I wipe it for the tenth time this morning. Dammit.

  My nails make clacking noises against the keys of my laptop. I pull up a list of AC repair companies and grab my phone.

  The first one doesn’t answer.

  With the second, I leave a voicemail. “Hi, I’m Leilani Kostas, the owner of Mermosa. You might know me. I'm in the paper today. My air conditioner’s dead. Can you help? I’m on Beach Drive, next to the discount T-shirt place.”

  A third business answers on the fourth ring. Static fills my ear.

  “Hello, can you hear me?” I yell. "Hey. Hi!”

  “Hey, I’m on a boat, I’ll call you back later,” the male voice yells back.

  I stab the red button on the screen to hang up. Doesn’t anyone work on Paradise Beach on a Saturday?

  If only I were still talking to Remy. I bet he’d know who to call. Or he’d try to fix it himself…

  I imagine him walking into the bar with that sexy smile and his toolbox. The thought puts me in an even worse mood. I’ve been missing him something fierce these past ten days, and not just because of his toolbox.

  Why did I break up with him? Oh, right. Because he’s emotionally unavailable, and probably always will be. That little detail.

  While steeling myself for another round of calls to the AC companies, my phone vibrates in my hand. I look down.

  Speaking of the devil himself…

  Hey, girl. Saw your article in the paper. Real nice. Just wanted to say I’m proud of you.

  Just like when I saw him last, my throat goes thick. Every cell in my body yearns for him. Why do I have this reaction to him?

  Hey. Thanks, I type. Too cold. I erase everything and glance around the room. The contractors still need to put the final touches on the tank, and there’s a random pile of two-by-fours near one wall. Dammit. So much to do. But all I want is to talk to Remy. To spend the day with him on the boat.

  To kiss him.

  Hi. Thanks! I didn’t think it would be on the front page. I hit send before I can second guess my response.

  There are three flashing dots, which means he’s going to respond. I stare at the screen, willing him to text back. My heart beats fast at the thought of having even a text conversation with him.

  I loved the part where you talked about having mermaid parties for kids. I think that’ll be really popular. You’ve probably already gotten emails about that.

  I grin. The paper’s only been out for six or seven hours, and yeah, I have gotten emails from moms who want to throw mermaid birthday parties.

  I have, in fact! I’ve decided to set one morning a week aside for kids’ parties.

  Awesome idea!

  Holy crap, we’re having a conversation. I long to ask him if he misses me as much as I miss him. Probably not a good idea.

  Then again, why not be up front, like I was in the hotel room? What can that hurt? Why hide my emotions?

  My thumb hovers over the screen, and a message pops up.

  I’m having brunch with Nat. She says hi.

  Tell her I said hi, too. I’ll text her about bringing your mom over. I’ll put her in a mermaid fin and she can take a swim.

  Should I ask him over? Ask if he wants to get a drink tonight? I can probably resist sleeping with him, and that way, I’ll still retain some of my dignity.

  She says that’s cool. Mom has talked about nothing else for the past two weeks.

  Love it, I text back automatically, my heart feeling full. I adore Mrs. Hastings.

  Make sure you get photos. Want to give them to Dad. What are you up to today?

  Does he want to see me? Maybe he wants to talk…

  Oh, you know, the usual. At the bar, making lists in a new notebook :)

  I pierce my bottom lip with my teeth. We’re chatting like we used to. Easily, about mundane things. Why?

  That’s it. I’m going to ask him to meet tonight at Lime and Salt, to clear the air.

  I tap on the screen. Remy, I’d like…

  There’s a banging on the bar door. It’s so loud and insistent that I’m startled, and my thumb slips. The three-word text has been sent. Ugh. There’s more banging at the door.

  Oh! Maybe it’s the air guy I’d left the message for. Yesss. That was quick. I’ll finish the text to Remy after I let the guy in. Setting the phone down, I leap off the barstool and run to the door.

  I push it open. Because the Florida sun is so bright, white even, I don’t instantly recognize the man standing on the other side of the door.

  But when he roughly pushes past me and into the bar, my stomach tightens with a sickly, familiar feeling.

  It’s Brent.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  LEILANI

  I try to dart out the door, but Brent clamps a hand around my bicep. He drags me in while slamming the door shut. Fear squeezes my chest and my breathing is short, sharp, shallow.

  A familiar nausea fills my body, making my stomach lurch and my heart rate kick up. Brent’s back in my life, looking like a demented, arrogant, J. Crew model with his khaki shorts, perfect polo, and casually mussed hair. I hate him with every cell in my body, with every invisible molecule of my soul.

  “Stop it,” I yell, anger taking over. I’ve tried so hard to build a healthy life for myself here on Paradise Beach, and I’ll be damned if he’s going to bust in and ruin it. “Get the hell out.”

  I’m screaming and writhing the entire time as he drags me a couple of feet from the door. My nails dig into his arm, and I try to take a swing at him. I’m swearing like a sailor and trying to whirl away. But he’s too big and too strong, and he slams me against the wall. T
he back of my head connects with the plaster, making a sickening thunk.

  Tears spring in the backs of my eyes.

  “You never said a proper goodbye, Leilani,” he hisses while gripping my chin in his hand. “Kind of rude, no?”

  My heart’s beating as fast as a hummingbird’s wings, and I screw my eyes shut. After all these months, he’s come for me. Never did I dream that he would — I had thought he wouldn’t care once I’d left one morning and never returned. Thought he'd move on.

  I was wrong, apparently.

  “What do you want?” I whisper. A line of icy sweat slides down the back of my leg. My phone pings from its place on the bar. It’s probably Remy, wanting to know why I only texted those few words.

  I begin sobbing, thinking of him. Of how he always treated me kindly, how every kiss, every touch — even when we were having sex — was reverent and respectful.

  “Still a little bitch, aren’t you?” Brent whispers, making me cry harder. “I happened to be down this way for a banking conference this weekend, and saw the article about you in the paper. What a coincidence, no? My girlfriend, who left without saying a word, suddenly opens a business. Imagine that?”

  I open one eye and glare at him. Obviously, fighting him won’t work. “Let go of me and we’ll talk.”

  He presses his big body into me, his expensive, lemon-verbena-tinged cologne invading my nostrils. My stomach heaves, and I think I’m going to throw up soon.

  “What if I don’t feel like talking?” His other hand, the one that’s not roughly clutching my face, grabs my breast. “What if I feel like doing something else? You look so pretty, Leilani. Lemme have a little taste, for old time’s sake.”

  “Fuck you,” I whimper. He wouldn’t dare. Even at his worst, he didn’t force me to have sex. “Let go of me.”

  “Maybe after we get reacquainted physically, we can talk about your business and how we’re going to run it.”

  “Go to hell,” I hiss. “This is mine. It’ll never be yours.”

  “How did you get the money?” He squeezes my breast again, and bile rises in my throat. I try to make a break for it, but he pins me to the wall with more force.