“About another half hour, miss,” Manny says.
She exhales loudly and peels off her cardigan, exposing a tight black tank top and her toned bare arms. She lifts her hair up off her neck, revealing the tie straps of a bright red bikini under her tank top. She glances over at me, smirks for like one second, and then lets her hair fall back down around her neck and turns to look out her window.
She’s the fucking devil.
And I want to stick my head under that tank top for twenty minutes and then I’m done.
5
Roxy
I’m the devil, I know.
But he needed to know who he’s dealing with.
If you’ve got a penis, do not try to convince Foxy Roxy that you aren’t having a party in your pants, because I don’t even have to look at your pants to know what’s going on down there. I know semi-face when I see it. Keaton Bridges has had it ever since his car showed up at my place.
I must say, though, he looks very attractive with his jaw clenched. And he really has been very polite and restrained so far. Now that we’re at the airport, I have removed my down jacket again, and he helped me to roll it up and shove it into the little pouch it came with so I could pack it into my suitcase. I thanked him by not commenting on how weird it was that he was inhaling so deeply while in my personal space.
We’re heading for the VIP lounge, and he’s had this goofy lopsided grin on his face ever since we checked in. That stupid dimple.
“What?”
“Your name is Roxanne? Roxanne Carter? I saw it on your luggage tag.”
“Is that amusing to you? Roxy is short for Roxanne.”
“I didn’t realize. I’ve only ever heard you called Roxy.”
“You thought my parents took one look at me when I was born and said, ‘This baby looks like a porn star. Let’s call her Roxy!’”
“So you gave yourself a porn star name?”
“People started calling me Foxy Roxy in college. I mean, half the people did. The other half called me Franzia.”
He wrinkles his nose. “Why?”
“Because I’m classy as a box of fridge wine.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t see that. I don’t like that for you. Did Aimee call you that?”
“No. She’s the one who started calling me Foxy Roxy.”
“Good. You’re definitely not a Franzia.” He seems genuinely upset by this. It’s kinda cute.
“You got a better nickname for me?”
“Not yet. I will.”
Before I have the chance to assure him that he can’t possibly know me well enough to give me a nickname, a middle-aged man calls out Keaton’s name as he passes by in the concourse. Keaton does a double-take and stops to talk to him, so I wait a few feet away.
“Tom? Hey.”
“Hey, good to see you!”
Keaton extends his hand to shake Tom’s, but Tom gives him a one-armed hug.
“Good to see you, Keaton. Wow, long time.”
“Yeah, yeah yeah. Hi.”
“Where you headed?”
“I’m just meeting up with some friends in Antigua for a few days. You?”
“Niiiice. I’m just back from Miami. Conference.”
“Great. Sounds fun.”
“Oh boy. A little too much fun, if you must know.”
Keaton emits the fakest and most awkward laugh I hope to ever hear, and after these two men stare at each other while smiling for another ten awful seconds, Tom finally looks over at me and says, “Hi. I’m Tom.”
I wave at him. “Roxanne. Hello.”
“Oh sorry, yeah, that’s my friend Roxy. We’re just heading to the—”
“Yeah yeah yeah, I won’t keep you. So maybe I’ll see you around, now that Tam’s gonna be back in town…”
Keaton looks like he just got slapped in the face. “She is?”
“Oh, you haven’t heard? Tamara’s moving back to New York. Next month…by herself. She’s crazy busy. You know how she gets. I’m sure she’s planning to get in touch.”
“Sure, yeah. Well, she didn’t mention it. At all. But that’s great. Good for her. Great to see you, Tom. We gotta…”
Tom nods and waves and walks off.
Keaton stares at the floor as we continue on our way.
So, his ex-girlfriend is moving back to New York and she didn’t tell him. That’s gotta hurt. I guess. “You okay?”
“Yup.”
And that’s all he says for the next twenty minutes.
We get coffee and snacks in the fucking amazing lounge that I have never been in before, and he just angrily types emails on his laptop.
A message from Aimee comes in on our group text, and we both open it at the same time. It’s a shot of the view from their cottage veranda at the resort. It’s fucking amazing. The tops of palm trees and every shade of blue and green, from the sea to the islands across the bay to the sky, and huge fluffy white clouds that you want to reach out and touch.
AIMEE MCKAY: You guys. You. Will. Not. Believe. You will not even believe!
BERNADETTE FARMER: I am never leaving this place. I feel like Harriet and Daisy will be very happy on the farm with my parents. Or with Matt if he doesn’t want to stay with me.
MATT MCGOVERN: I’ll miss them a lot, but I’m not leaving.
Chase sends another picture, this one’s of their private infinity plunge pool.
ME: OMG I cannot get there fast enough. So excited to see all of you! Except Keaton.
I look over at Keaton. Nothing. He’s staring at the picture, and he is as expressionless as Matt McGovern.
VINCE DEVLIN: Gorgeous! Happy for you guys. Also, maybe start another group text for when you’re at the resort that doesn’t include me and Nina? If I see one more picture of that place I will jump out a window.
VINCE DEVLIN: FYI, that is not a dark joke because the tallest building in Indiana is like four floors.
NINA DEVLIN: Not funny, hon. But yeah, maybe start another group chat for the week.
Keaton shuts his laptop without responding to the texts.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yup.” He stands up. “I’m getting a gin and tonic. You want anything?”
I try to suppress any kind of facial or vocal expression that would betray that I’m inwardly making fun of his unbelievable WASP-ishness. “I’ll have a beer, thanks. Any kind.”
He nods and walks off, and I can’t help noting how good he looks in jeans. This guy should wear jeans more often. He needs to loosen up. A lot. He seemed happy when he was with Tamara. Maybe when she’s back she can loosen him up. Who knows.
He returns with a bottle of Blue Moon, which is a coincidence because it’s my favorite beer. “I told him you don’t need a glass. Was I correct in doing so?”
“You were indeed.” I take the bottle from him, and he clinks his glass against it before taking three big gulps of his G&T. “I love Blue Moon.”
“I know.” He doesn’t even sit down. He finishes his highball of gin and tonic and returns to the bar for a refill.
This should be interesting.
When he reclaims his seat next to me, he has already polished off nearly half of his second cocktail and his entire being has loosened up significantly.
“Feelin’ better?” I ask.
“Feelin’ fine,” he says. “I can’t fucking wait to get there. You excited?”
“Yes. Thank you for convincing me to come.”
He cocks his head, looking a little more surprised than I’d like. Is it really that shocking to hear me say “thank you”?
“You’re welcome.” His eyes drop to my rack for a brief second. “I just hope you can handle seeing me shirtless.” His voice has changed. It’s that golden voice that Aimee told me about years ago, when they first met and he was hitting on her. It’s a good voice, I’ll give him that.
“Oh yeah? Most women can’t handle it, I assume?”
“Most women lose their
minds. But you’ll have to control yourself.” He leans in and whispers, “You’ll have to constantly remind yourself that I’m only pretending to be your boyfriend.”
“Trust me, it’s all I’ll be thinking about.”
“Trust me, you’ll be thinking about how good I look in shorts. And FYI, I did just happen to bring a red pair, so we will match.”
Normally, I would be verbally slaughtering him for his stupid tipsy horny bravado, but for now, I will take flirtatious Keaton over silent, unhappy Keaton.
For now.
“I hope you also brought a pair of tasteful leopard print, black, and also white shorts so we match every day.”
“You only brought four swimsuit options? What about Day Five and Six?”
I lean in and whisper, “I plan to spend two days sunbathing completely naked.”
I watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down. He tilts his head toward me so that his lips are dangerously close to mine. “I plan to spend five days sunbathing completely naked. So we’ll match three days out of six.”
6
Keaton
“Okay, now I have a boner,” I mutter, loud enough that only my mildly inebriated fake girlfriend can hear.
She giggles. This is like the fifth time I’ve made her giggle today, and I’m secretly over the moon. Her usual laugh is this controlled husky chuckle that always seemed manufactured to me. I had suspected her real laugh was some evil witch cackle, but she makes this musical girly sound that’s completely charming and nothing like the rest of her.
But neither that, nor the prospect of seeing this woman in a bikini is the most boner-inducing thing in my life at the moment.
It’s the tropical wet dream we’re going to be living in for the next six nights.
Now that we’ve stepped out of the slightly rickety ancient shuttle that brought us here from the airport, I can safely say that Roxy Carter is not the most jaw-droppingly beautiful and sexy thing I can see for miles.
Okay, she’s not the only jaw-droppingly beautiful and sexy thing I can see for miles.
The Coco Beach Resort is a knockout. I want to drop to my knees in gratitude. I mean, I like New York, and I don’t know if I could ever really live anywhere else long-term—but this is heaven on earth and I already feel better than I’ve felt in years.
I can’t decide what to stare at—the vibrant lush flora, the carpet of mowed lawn at our feet, the expanse of blue sky and friendly white clouds overhead, the brightly painted cottages all around the cliffside of the peninsula, the peek-a-boo view of the white sand beach and crystal clear sea that lie just beyond the infinity pool, or the impossibly erect nipples that have been protruding through the fabric of Roxy’s top since she removed her coat back in New York.
It is most definitely not cold here in Antigua, Roxy Carter.
I tip Ajay the driver before he grabs our suitcases and carries them down the paved path to the cottage with the front desk and lobby.
“I’ll let them know we’re here,” Roxy says, reaching for her phone.
It’s interesting that neither of us has thought to text our friends since we started drinking at the airport lounge in Newark.
The front desk clerk is a middle-aged lady with a stunning smile, and she says, “Ohhh, you must be the other beautiful couple we have been expecting.” She shakes her head. “Six of the most beautiful guests we have ever had here!”
I put my arm around Roxy’s shoulder, and she wraps hers around my waist. “We are a beautiful couple, aren’t we? See, honey?” I muss up her hair. “She’s so insecure about being less attractive than me, but I keep telling her—I’m not out of her league at all.”
“Aww, sweetie,” she says, patting my chest and grinning at the clerk. “You’re in a league all on your own. Nothing will ever change that.”
The lady smiles and hands our passports and my credit card back to us, along with two keys and a map of the resort. “You are in the Hibiscus cottage. We are here.” She marks an X on the map with a pencil. “Your cottage is here.” She circles the Hibiscus cottage with a heart. It is way at the end of a winding path, and if my mind goes to whether or not our friends will be able to hear us should we make any loud noises—well, it can’t be helped.
“Ajay will take your luggage to the cottage for you.”
When I see the clerk look over my shoulder and swoon a little bit, I know my friends have just walked in.
Sure enough, Matt and Chase are strolling toward us, looking like an underwear model and the lead singer of a grunge band on vacation. They remove their aviator sunglasses at the same time, almost as if they rehearsed it. Roxy sees Bernie and Aimee outside and runs to meet them, patting Matt and Chase on the shoulders as she passes by. The sudden loss of her arm around my waist is surprisingly upsetting.
“Welcome,” Matt says to me. “How was your flight?” He’s wearing off-white drawstring linen pants and an unbuttoned white shirt with flip flops and a straw panama hat, but he doesn’t look the least bit douchey. I hate him.
“How do you already have a tan?”
“I’m from California.” He shrugs. “I’m good at tanning.”
“’I’m good at tanning.’ That’s not a thing. I hate you.”
He shrugs again, pats me on the arm, and walks back outside to join the women.
Chase lowers his voice and hooks his arm around my neck, only somewhat menacingly. “Getting along with your girlfriend, I see.”
“To a degree.”
“Which degree would that be?”
“The one that allows for good-humored friendly flirtation and does not involve any form of penetration. Yet.”
“You need to rein it in.”
“You need to have sex with your wife a couple more times, and then we’ll see if you feel the same way about what my dick’s up to.”
He considers this and releases my neck. “Fair enough.”
“I ran into Tamara’s brother at the airport,” I say as we walk out of the lobby. “She’s coming back to New York. By herself. She didn’t tell me.”
“Sorry, man. You okay? You’ve moved on, right?”
“Obviously.” I glance over at Roxy—but only because she squeals loudly and bounces up and down when she’s talking to Aimee and Bernie.
Chase pats me on the back and then picks his wife up, cradling her in his arms. Aimee just grins at him like a horny idiot and kicks her feet up in the air. “We’re gonna go Skype with Finn and then figure out a way to pass the time until dinner. See you guys at the restaurant.”
Matt and Bernie exchange looks. “Um, we’re actually gonna go Skype with Harriet and Daisy now too,” Bernie says as she laces her fingers with Matt’s. “Unless you want us to have a drink with you at the bar or something?”
Matt is already pulling her down the path away from the common area. “See you guys at dinner!”
And once again, I can practically hear Roxy thinking, “Thanks for leaving me alone with this guy.”
But she doesn’t look annoyed. She removes her shoes and dangles them from her fingers.
“You want to get a drink at the bar?” I ask her.
“No way. I want to see the cottage! Race you there!” She takes off running, passes our friends, and gives me that little smirky look over her shoulder once she’s a safe distance away from me.
Oh, don’t you worry, honey. I’m coming for you.
The Hibiscus cottage, which is Pepto-Bismol pink on the outside and bright white with glossy dark wood on the inside, is perfect but for one slight problem.
There’s no sofa.
Roxy and I are staring at the mosquito-net-covered king-size bed that dominates the room. There are flower petals sprinkled over the top cover. There’s a wood bench and one chair in the room. Outside on the veranda, there are two Adirondack chairs, a daybed, a hammock, an infinity plunge pool, and a clawfoot tub.
“Guess we’ll have to share the bed,” I say, feigning disappointment.
“We can ask for a
cot.”
I give her a look. “No we can’t.”
“Why not? Not all couples want to share a bed…You can sleep on the veranda.”
“I would get eaten alive by mosquitos.”
“I would stab you to death if any part of you touches any part of me in bed.”
“I will take that risk. It’s a huge bed. There’s plenty of room for both of us.”
She gives me a look. The fists are on the hips.
“You honestly don’t think I can keep my hands off you? You’re that irresistible and I’m that much of a horndog?”
Her big gorgeous mouth is sealed shut.
“Or is it you that you don’t trust around me, Miss Carter?”
“Give my regards to the mosquitos, horndog. It’s either that or the floor.”
We both look down at the shiny dark hardwood floor, and we both know I won’t be sleeping on it.
“I hope you realize what a fucking awesome gentleman I’m being by not bringing up the fact that I’m the one paying for this entire vacation.”
“I hope you realize how fucking not awesome it is that you just brought it up. And I will pay you for half of everything. I told you I don’t need your money.”
“And I told you I won’t take your money.”
“So what are you saying? That I should sleep outside?”
“I’m saying that no one should sleep outside.”
She is still and quiet and thoughtful for a blissful surprising moment. “We can sleep in four-hour shifts.”
“No way. I’m on vacation. I travel internationally, and I have to deal with jet lag all the time. I am not going to mess up my sleep pattern while I’m on vacation in the same time zone as New York. That’s not going to happen.”
“Fine. I will sleep outside.”
“Absolutely not. We’ll revisit this again later tonight.”
“A higher blood alcohol concentration is not going to affect my decision. I have an extremely high tolerance for alcohol and a very low tolerance for having men in my bed except when they’re fucking me.” My eyebrows shoot up, and she continues before I can say anything. “Especially if I have no plans to fuck them.”
The Brooklyn Book Boyfriends Page 66
