by Meghan Quinn
“My sister is getting married this weekend and I’m giving her away. Our dad passed away a few years ago from a heart attack, and even though we’d been estranged for two years, she asked if I would be a part of her wedding. So here I am.”
Silently he swings us, my mind whirling with what the truth could be. Both stories were told so effortlessly, so he’s either a really good liar, or some kind of con artist. I should be scared. I should go to my hotel room right now, wishing Beck a good night, but I don’t, because I’m intrigued by this man. Behind the good looks and intelligence, there’s something beneath the surface, something dark that makes understandable the age in his weathered eyes.
Because of that, I go with option number two. It seems the most plausible, because who really crashes weddings? Only crazed women with the tendency to sit in a bush with a notepad and pen and take notes while staring at couples and listening in on their conversations.
Research and all, it comes at a high price, like spikey branches to the tush.
“Hmm, I’m going to go with reason number two.”
He nods and says, “I knew you were going to say that, but you’re pretty little self is wrong. I don’t even have a sister.”
Stunned, I prop myself up as best as I can on the loose woven thread of the hammock and stare him down. “You’re here to crash someone’s wedding?”
He winces. “Uh, yeah, kind of.”
“Unbelievable.” I shake my head in disbelief and lie back down.
“Now before you judge me and give me a lecture about RSVPing—”
“I’m not judging you.” I turn toward Beck, the hammock making the shift slightly difficult. “I’m just a little . . . surprised.”
“I don’t plan on eating any food.” He bites his bottom lip. “That’s a lie. I plan on eating a lot, but hey, I’ll bring the party to the dance floor. If anything, I’m bringing them the gift of dance, so you can’t be mad at me for that.”
“I’m not mad.” I laugh, still surprised. “I’m just trying to comprehend this.” Looking him square in the eyes, I say, “I’m here crashing a wedding as well.”
This causes Beck to sit up, his brawny chest straining the fabric of his shirt. He intently studies me, his eyes flitting back and forth until he finally asks, “You’re serious? You’re really crashing a wedding?”
I press my lips together and nod.
A sharp laugh escapes Beck as he lies down on the hammock and sends our swing into more of a frenzied movement. “I’m just going to assume, given our luck of baby puke, naked encounters—”
“I knew you saw boobs.”
“I didn’t see . . . ah hell, what’s the point? I totally saw your tits and fuck, woman, they’re hot.” I blush . . . horrendously, my face heating up along with every vein in my body. “But like I was saying, with our luck, we’re going to the same wedding.”
Clearing my throat, trying to move past the part where Beck just made my nipples harden and pop out like turkey thermometers, I lamely say, “Yeah, that would be our luck.”
“Let me guess, wedding is on Saturday at The Hemingway House.”
Cue another rush of heat to eclipse my body. “The one and only.”
He nods and lies there silently for a second before saying, “So what you’re telling me is that I have a date for the wedding Saturday night.”
Not expecting him to say that, I laugh out loud and for some reason say, “I’m wearing teal, in case you want to match and take couple pictures. You know, might as well do the whole couple thing up, right?”
This garners, a deep, low, rumble of a laugh from Beck. “Thank God I packed grey pants with a white button-down. There won’t be any kind of clashing in those couple photos.”
“Nope, not even in the slightest.”
Still swinging, I say, “This is weird.”
“Nah, it’s fitting. Got to live life to the fullest, Rylee, because you never know when it will be taken from you.” Sitting up, his statement confusing me, he holds out his hand, and nods toward the building. “Come on, I’ll walk you back to your room.”
I allow him to help me to my feet. I stand there, being towered over by this stranger, this mystery of a man, my apparent wedding date for Saturday, and even though he wants to walk me to my room, I’m not entirely ready for this night to be over.
With a slow, leisurely pace, we walk side by side, the ocean rolling into the shore to our right, filling in the silence. “Have any touristy things planned while you’re here?” I ask, feeling kind of dumb from my question, unsure of what to fill the silence with.
“Nothing planned. Just kind of winging it.” Why does that not surprise me? Beck seems like the guy who on a Wednesday, drops everything and flies to Tahiti because he wants to, hence, crashing a wedding. At least I have a somewhat sound reason for crashing. You know, rekindling my romantic brain and all.
“Me too. If Victoria doesn’t want to tear me open with her pre-historic mammoth claws tomorrow, I might try to convince her to go sightseeing with me.”
“Yeah? Going to tour the island? You know it’s only a two-by-four, right?”
My brows pull together. “What do you mean a two-by-four?”
We stop in front of our rooms, the doors only a few feet apart. Hands in his pockets, looking sexy with his mouth quirked to the side, and his short haircut emphasizing his lovely hazel eyes, he says, “The island, it’s only two miles wide by four miles long. It’s incredibly small, so I think your sightseeing will only last a few hours at the most.”
“Huh.” I ponder this. “Shows how much research I did before I came here.”
Chuckling, he answers, “A little ill-prepared, but there is nothing like a good adventure that gets my blood roaring. I’m right there with you, Rylee. I did zero research before hopping on a plane down here.” I laugh. I’m learning that Beck is Mr. Impromptu. Why bother spending hours in front of a computer planning his trip? Shrugging, he continues, “Who knows, maybe we’ll run into each other tomorrow.” With that he tips my chin with his finger and says, “Have a good night.” Pulling a key card from his back pocket, he enters his room, fist raised to the sky and shouting, “Long live your sweatshirt.”
The declaration to my burned-up threads makes me snort inelegantly, but before he can see the snot spray unattractively from my nose, his door closes.
Thank God for quick-closing hinges.
I wipe my nose, pull my key card from the bra of my dress, and enter my room.
How strange. This random man, who not only witnessed puke apocalypse on the airplane, but also walked in on me while I was naked in his room, who then shared a weird sweatshirt burial, is now resting his head only a few feet away from mine. It’s weird, almost like Cupid is waving his bare ass in the air, laughing and shooting darts in my direction.
That fucking chuckling cherub.
I wave my finger to the sky. “Nice try, dude. Guess who’s not interested? I came here to witness love, not dive deep into the emotion myself.”
Chapter Six
RYLEE
Think you have on enough sunblock?”
The paste-covered human next to me glares from beneath her sunglasses and sun hat, as well as an inch of sun block that has yet to be rubbed into her body. It’s like she’s making a seven-layer dip of only her skin and sunscreen.
“I’ll have you know, skin cancer is not to be toyed with. It’s a serious thing.”
“Well aware, that’s why I’m wearing sunscreen, but it’s okay to show a little skin.”
“Better to be safe than sorry.” She caps off her bottle and sets it inside the pink and green Vera Bradley bag next to her. “Butterscotch candy?” she offers, the crinkling of the wrappers mixing with the ocean waves crashing a few feet away, as well as the playful sounds of kids around us.
“I’m good. Thanks.” I down half of my water bottle and let the sun warm me up to my very core. “My body is not used to this kind of heat.” I can feel myself sweating in areas I was
unaware had sweat glands.
“Yes, a far cry from Maine for sure. But the sun is lovely, isn’t it?” Victoria stretches her lily-white arms and tries to soak in the rays . . . which is impossible with the amount of cream covering her skin. “So what was last night’s phone call all about? You interrupted a very intriguing dream of mine.”
“Sorry.” I cringe, knowing how much Victoria relies on her dreams for her writing. She always tells me her best ideas come while she’s sleeping. “I met this guy yesterday—”
“Already scouring the streets, are we?” There is a light, playful hint in Vitoria’s voice.
“Ha, no, believe me, meeting this guy was all by chance.”
“Ah, there you two are.” Zoey’s voice startles us from behind. “I’ve been texting you. The hubs went on some early morning fishing trip and has been gone all morning, and I just rolled out of bed looking for coffee.” She takes a giant sip from a Frappuccino in her hand. “Ah, that feels good. What are we talking about?” She flops a giant beach bag next to me and pulls a lounge chair through the sand to saddle up close to mine.
Keeping her eyes closed, the brim of her hat covering her face, Victoria says, “Rylee was just telling me about a man she’s seeing.”
“Say what?” Zoey cranes her neck to the side like it’s made of elastic.
“I’m not seeing him. Jesus, Victoria. We just, hung out . . .”
“Why did you trail off like that? Did you guys have sex last night?”
“I think they did. She called me for a recommendation. I told the guy to run for his life.”
Zoey clutches her chest and laughs entirely too loud. “You did not.”
“Unfortunately she did,” I mumble, pulling my legs into my chest.
More laughter, from both of them now. Can you hear my heavy sigh?
“Oh that’s so great. So what happened after you failed to get a recommendation?” Zoey pauses and then whacks my arm. “Hey, why didn’t you call me? Am I not good enough to give you a sex-a-mendation?”
“I tried! You answered the phone asking about scissoring with Art.”
Zoey nods, the corner of her lips turns down in agreement. “It’s frightening how accurate that is. Okay, so I was hyper-focused on my own pleasure. What happened after Victoria cock-blocked you?”
Sitting up some more and crossing my legs, I say, “For the record, I wasn’t looking for a sex-a-mendation. I was just trying to prove I’m not a psycho killer.”
“Smart man.” Zoey nods and sips on her drink.
“Well, you know after he saw me get barfed on, and then after the whole naked thing, he came up to me—”
“Wait.” Zoey and Victoria both sit up and lean over to look at me. “What naked thing?”
“I don’t really want to get into it. Let’s just say there was a mix-up with hotel rooms, and I wanted to get the puke smell off me.”
“I’m so confused right now,” Victoria says. “I thought there was no sex.”
“There wasn’t. We didn’t have sex or even kiss. He just saw me naked.”
“Talking about me?” A deep voice pulls our eyes off each other and toward the man standing in front of us wearing a pair of low-slung black board shorts and nothing else besides a long necklace around his neck that’s made of leather and a small gold key. His tan skin glistens under the sun, the contours of each and every one of his muscles flexing tightly with every move. His smile stretches across his face, his eyes are full of intrigue, and his hair begs for me to run my hand over the short strands.
Turning toward me, thumb pointed at Beck, Zoey asks, “Is this the guy you wanted the sex-a-mendation for?”
Want a sure-fire way to make me blush? This, this right here will do it.
My cheeks heat up, my ears burning with embarrassment.
“Sex-a-mendation, huh?” Beck scratches the side of his jaw, his eyes trained on mine. “I wasn’t aware that’s what we were calling friends for.”
“It wasn’t. There was no sex involved. None.” I can feel my forehead start to sweat. Damn sun. “Just making sure we weren’t going to murder each other, that’s all. Sex is off the table. There will be no sex.”
“No? That’s a damn shame.” Beck smiles and then leans over to shake Zoey and Victoria’s hands. “Ladies, nice to meet you, I’m Beck.” Zoey and Victoria introduce themselves, their mouths agape like fishes out of water as they stare at the mound of muscles in front of them. Hell, I don’t blame them.
“Beck, wow even your name is hot.” Zoey pokes me in the side with her elbow. “You should use that name in one of your novels.”
“I agree.” Beck wiggles his eyebrows. “Maybe he could convince the heroine to go sightseeing with him in the book.”
“Ooo, that’s a good idea.” Zoey picks up my bag and puts it on my lap. “Rylee was just leaving to go tour the island.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Yes, she was,” Victoria chimes in. Traitor. “She wants to rent a Vespa. She tried to get me to get on one but I refused. You seem like a gentleman who knows how to handle that kind of machinery. Why don’t you go with her?”
“Beautiful idea. Grand actually,” Zoey adds, and after digging through her purse, lifts a five-dollar bill to the sky and waves it. “Ice cream is on me.”
I eye the bill, hating both my friends right now. “We’re going to need more than five dollars.”
“Here.” Victoria tosses a twenty at me. “Have fun.”
“See, all set. Just tuck those bills in your bra with your license and go have fun.” Zoey starts pushing me off the edge off my lounge. “Go on. Sightsee with the hunk. Thank us later.”
“You know he’s standing right here,” I grit out in utter embarrassment.
“Oh, don’t mind me.” Beck rocks on his heels and crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m just here for the free ice cream and great company.”
“How can you turn down free ice cream?” Zoey now waves both bills in front of me, a knowing look on her face.
Sighing, I snag the money from her, stuff it in my bra top along with my phone, room key, and ID and stand from my lounge chair. I point at Victoria and say, “You’re in charge of my bag.” Turning toward Beck, I say, “You’re in charge of renting the Vespa, come on.” I grab him by the hand and pull him toward Duval Street.
Thankfully I’m wearing a little black cover up over my white bikini because driving around in nothing but a bathing suit isn’t on my to-do list today. Although, it seems like it’s on Beck’s.
“You know, you don’t have to sprint. We can walk leisurely.”
Noticing my giant and very awkward steps propelling us forward at an alarming pace, I slow down and straighten myself. “Eh, sorry. Just wanted to get out of there before those two said anything else embarrassing.”
Beck nudges me with his shoulder. “Oh come on, they weren’t that bad. I liked them.”
“Yeah, because they practically pushed me into your arms.”
“Into my arms? I would have remembered that.” His smile is devilish and I’m very much aware of how that little tilt of his lips affects me.
“Don’t be cheesy.”
“Not cheesy when it’s the truth.” Nudging me again, he says, “And what’s with this tough front you’re putting on? I catch you talking about our night and now you’re acting like you want nothing to do with me? That’s not the truth, right?”
Man, is he upfront. I don’t think I’ve ever had a man call me out like that before. I should have known after one look at Beck that he was going to be different than I’m used to.
Letting out a long breath, I turn toward him, stopping him on the sidewalk and say, “That’s not the truth. I’m just . . . aware of our situation, and it makes me nervous.”
“Aware of our situation. What does that mean?” He takes a step forward, closing an immense amount of distance between us.
“You know.” I gesture between us, my nerves jumping. “This, uh, attraction.”
&
nbsp; “What about it?” He places his hand on my hip, and legit, my mouth goes dry.
It’s just a hand on my hip. It’s not like he stuck his hand down the back of my swimsuit and started massaging my ass. No, it’s a hand to the hip, but with the way he so powerfully grips me, and his unwavering stare, he has my body tingling, anticipating so much more.
Wanting to be honest, since he gets to the point, I say, “I’m not looking for anything serious, or to start anything with anyone. I’m here to write, to be immersed in love, and then be on my merry way. That’s all.”
A larger smile splits his lips. “Sounds like a plan, but I see some holes in it I would like to fill.”
“Beck—”
He places his finger over my lips, shushing me before I can protest. “Listen, Rylee. I didn’t come here to fall in love. I came to have a good time and live in the moment. I find you sexy as hell, interesting, and someone I want to spend some island time with. I’m not looking for anything serious either, but to hell if I’m going to take you as my wedding date and not spend some time with you beforehand.”
I snort, just like last night and quickly cover my nose. How grossly unattractive. When I glance at Beck, he doesn’t seem to think so from the heated look in his eyes.
“You want to spend some time with your wedding date, huh?”
He nods. “You got it, Saucy.”
I press my lips together, trying to mull this over. “Nothing serious. Just fun?”
“Living in the moment is what I like to call it. Saying yes, rather than no.”
I can jump on board with that. It might be good for me actually, to step outside of my little box I like to bury myself in, and actually experience life with nothing holding me back.
It almost seems . . . freeing.
Before the worrisome side of my brain kicks in, I say, “I would love to live in the moment with you. But no strings attached, right?”
