Hooked On You (Bliss Brothers Book 3)

by Amelia Wilde

  The sunrise is in full swing when I swipe at the screen of the phone to get the time. It’s a hell of a thing, a sunrise over Ruby Bay, and I get the same sentimental ache behind my breastbone that I get when I think of being at home. Maybe it’s pathetic, to be this homesick as a grown woman, but there it is.

  I get the time, all right.

  I also get an alert from an app called PeriodThrive. The little window, with its graceful rounded corners, winks at me merrily from the screen.

  Day Three of Your Period :)

  Make sure to hydrate and take some time for yourself!

  It’s not day three of my period.

  My stomach plummets down through the deck slats and lurches back up to my throat.

  Maybe it’s day one of my period. Maybe some phantom, slightly late hormone crash forced me to sleep outside last night against my will. The wild part of me, the part that will walk down the beach to the Bliss Resort and pretend I’m staying there for a few minutes at a time, would shove down her pants right here on the deck to find out.

  I’m not feeling nearly so wild this morning.

  The sliding glass door opens with a whisper under my hand and I make a beeline for the bathroom off the kitchen. One flick of the wrist and the light is on, warming up slowly.

  Peeing. This is about peeing. I do have to pee. The toilet is in a separate, smaller closet from the rest of the bathroom, which I’ve heard online is at least a thousand times more sanitary than a traditional bathroom setup. I leave the door wide open, pretend this is really regarding a full bladder, and push down my pants.

  There’s nothing.

  My period is late.

  I don’t even stand up. I dial Sophie’s number.

  “Hello!” she sings into the phone. “What’s your emergency? You forgot to call me back yesterday. What are you doing up so early?”

  “Why do you sound so chipper at three in the morning?” Machines whir in the background of the call and Sophie huffs good-naturedly into my ear.

  “What happened?”

  “Why do you think something happened?”

  Why am I hedging about this?

  “Hey, Holly?”

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s a phone call between friends. You forgot. Don’t lose sleep over it.”

  “Oh, that’s not what I’m calling about.” Sophie laughs. “I mean, I do feel bad about not calling.” I feel bad about not calling, but mostly I feel like I have the world’s worst case of vertigo and I can’t tell if it’s from my non-period or the throwing up or this atrocious hour of the morning. “But…”

  Three beeps sound in the background and Sophie lets out a satisfied sigh. “That was a killer workout.” There’s some rattling around—she must be stepping off the elliptical and wiping down the machine—and then her voice comes closer. “You’ve got five minutes before I hit the showers. The pie stand opens at noon and I want to start on some backups.” Her schedule is unreal. Three o’clock at the gym, just to run a pie stand? It’s real dedication to the craft. Also, thank god she does, otherwise I’d have nobody to call during what very well could be an emergency.

  I’ll never fully understand her.

  My heart pounds, mouth dry, ass firmly against the now-warm toilet seat. “So,” I begin.

  “So?” she prompts.

  “My period’s late.”

  “Hol, that’s not a big deal.” I can picture her walking through the gym, dark ponytail swinging behind her. “All kinds of things can affect it. Are you feeling stressed about the book?”

  The book. I haven’t even thought about the book since I fell out of the hammock.

  The book is the second reason I’m here. My parents wanted me out of the house, and I was going to finally write the book I meant to write when I was in college. I’ve got three weeks left before I move to the city to start the most entry-level of entry-level editing jobs at a publishing house in the Seaport District of Manhattan. I’ll be working on other people’s books then, and I won’t have time to work on my own.

  But I haven’t been stressed about the book—not for the last couple of weeks. I’ve barely been able to concentrate on it. I’ve barely been able to stay awake.

  “Besides,” Sophie says into the silence. “It’s not like you’re having a bunch of crazy sex. You won’t even agree to throw a party.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Hol?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I didn’t like the sound of that. First, if you’re having a bunch of crazy sex, you should tell me, since this girl’s baking too many pies to get some. And second…are you having a bunch of crazy sex?”

  Not a bunch, no.

  Just the one time.

  That night on the beach, with Driver Bliss.

  “I’ll take your silence for a yes. You rascal. I don’t say that often, but you are a real rascal. Having men over to that house every night—”

  “It wasn’t every night.” Driver’s skin glowing in the streetlamp. His expert fingers between my legs. The particular cool of the air in his room against my skin, making my nipples harden into sensitive peaks. “It was just once.”

  Just once doesn’t do it any justice. It sounds like a quick, anonymous fuck in a bar bathroom, but it wasn’t that.

  There was a condom. I’m sure of that. I’m sure there was a condom. I can see him rolling it on.

  But there were other moments.

  “It was just once,” I repeat, louder.

  “Well, there’s only one thing to do for peace of mind,” Soph says briskly. “Go get a test.”

  3

  Holiday

  The test was positive.

  So was the second one I bought from the drugstore in downtown Ruby Bay, and so was the third one I drove to Lakewood to buy in case the entire supply in Ruby Bay had a manufacturing defect.

  All positive. Not a hint of doubt. PREGNANT, they read in big letters. I took a picture in case anyone asks for proof.

  Not that anyone is going to ask for proof.

  Especially not out here on the beach in front of the Bliss Resort, where I’ve been pacing back and forth for forty-five minutes, my eyes on the sand. Nobody can blame a girl for looking for sea glass, even if that’s not how this journey down the beach started.

  After the third test I picked up my phone to call Sophie and got her voicemail. She’s busy selling pies. And even if she wasn’t, what’s she going to do from Portland? Listen to me breathe heavily into the phone?

  Even I couldn’t stay in the house with news like this. My feet had to move. My uncle’s property wasn’t wide enough to contain the shock, so I kept walking. Technically, a certain amount of beachfront where the water laps on the shore can’t be owned by anybody, so technically I’m not doing anything wrong by tracing my nighttime route across a couple of other properties as long as I keep my feet in the water.

  The resort came into view bit by bit. First, the bluff. A couple of beach chairs poking above the rocky outcrop are the only sign that there’s a small, secret pool up there. I found it years ago when I was hiking as a kid. Past the bluff the land curves, opening up the view of the massive main hotel building, white and shining as a castle. The Bliss stretch of beach features a wide patch of accessible flooring where they host yoga classes and parties. There’s a gazebo in the far distance. The biggest pool throws reflections up onto the side of the hotel, and the rest of the resort stretches out behind it, leading to the hill where the wealthier people have private homes.

  I’m headed for a far-off gazebo on the other end of the resort for the third time, going a few steps beyond my last footprints. A round, blue chunk of sea glass catches my eye in the sand. I pick it up automatically. It rests in my palm, the same color as Driver’s eyes.

  “Fancy meeting you here.”

  Oh, sweet Jesus.

  I whirl around, coming face to face with none other than the father of my baby.

  The father of my baby—oh, god. I hadn’t thought of him in th
ose explicit terms before this moment, but that’s what he is.

  His feet sink into the sand and I can’t help trace a path from those feet all the way up past his shorts to the tan skin peeking out from underneath a white t-shirt. And those eyes…

  “Hi.”

  “Holiday.” I hear an echo of the night we spent together in my name. “You dropped your sea glass.” He steps forward, bending to pick up the blue glass, and a breeze off the lake wafts his scent over to me. “Here.” Driver presses the sea glass back into my palm, his fingertips brushing over skin that I never thought of as sensitive until this moment. I catch myself staring at it, then back into his eyes. He wears an easy grin, like he’s totally untroubled by anything in the world.

  My stomach does a slow turn.

  “Thanks.” I choke on the word, turning it into a whisper, and then clear my throat to cover for myself. As if he’s going to miss how unbearably awkward this is while we’re standing here in broad daylight. “Why—what…” Driver’s smile widens. “I didn’t expect to see you out here.”

  “It is a little weird for me to be standing on my family’s property.” He laughs and the sound sends warmth from the center of my chest to the tips of my fingers. “Really. I’m not here much.”

  “I’m not here much either.” I run a hand though my hair, painfully conscious of the way the hem of my sundress moves in the wind. For some reason, I dressed up for the trips to the drugstore this morning, as if to provide the illusion that I have my shit together. “I’m usually inside.”

  “You? The midnight beach walker?” Driver scoffs. “I don’t believe it. This is twice now I’ve caught you on my beach.” He doesn’t look at all upset about it. “It must be a sign.”

  It’s not a sign, my brain argues. You’re here for a reason. Tell him.

  “It’s definitely a sign of something.” Oh, god. Where was I going with that? It’s definitely a sign that I’m pregnant and it’s your baby? Is that what I was going to say to Driver Bliss, who in the lemon sunlight of eleven a.m. in August looks even more like a man-god than he did the night we conceived said baby?

  I don’t feel brave enough in broad daylight to say it to him. I feel the opposite of brave. Out here on the wide-open beach, I’m exposed to the world. Anyone with any sense knows the world isn’t always kind.

  He’s saying something.

  “—a sign of?”

  The shallow-water blue of his eyes threatens to knock me out again. Or knock me up again. Oh, Jesus. “Pardon?”

  Driver steps closer. “If it’s a sign of something that we’re meeting again, what do you think it’s a sign of?”

  He’s close enough that I could reach out and twist my hand into the collar of his shirt, bringing that cut jaw and those perfect lips straight to face level. Do not pass go, do not collect any more sea glass, just kiss me. If I got that out of my system, I could tell him the truth about what happened. If I got that out of my system, I could come up with some kind of plan. Right now I am plan-less. I’m supposed to leave for New York City in three weeks. He said he was usually out on the road, but I don’t know what that means.

  I don’t know anything, except that the sand feels treacherous under my feet. My balance is off. No—my stomach is off. No—my stomach is rebelling.

  No. No.

  I leap backward on the beach, praying for distance. The impact of my feet on the beach is the final straw for my stomach.

  There’s a certain relief in retching onto the sand as powerfully as I ever have, with tears stinging my eyes and sweat beading at the back of my neck. It’s over almost as quickly as it started, but not quickly enough to avoid the fact that I just hurled in front of Driver.

  Blood rushes to my cheeks, hot and horrible, and I force myself upright.

  “I—”

  “Come this way.” Driver’s at my side, one hand above my elbow and the other on my back. “No need to stand in that spot. There’s plenty of beach.” We move down the sand and he stops, lifting my chin to look into my face. “I think you should probably sit down.”

  “My ass will get sandy,” I blurt out.

  “And I would never want your ass to get sandy.” He wraps his arm more firmly around my waist like he’s worried I’ll fall over into the water and float away. “But you’re a bit pale, and my mother always taught me to have a seat if my face got pale.”

  “How would you know your own face was pale?”

  Driver keeps walking back toward the resort building. My heart stutters against my ribs. There are people there—lots of people. The Bliss Resort is a popular spot. “Never thought of it,” he says with a laugh that’s tinged with concern. “Just thought I’d make conversation while we go up by the pool.”

  “By the pool?” I shouldn’t be seen by the pool.

  “If pools aren’t your thing, I know of plenty of other places to sit.”

  We’re getting closer. “I don’t…need to sit. I’m not sick.”

  Driver shoots me a look. “I don’t want to embarrass you, Holly, but you did throw up on my beach not long ago.”

  “Did I? If we both pretend it didn’t happen, then who’s to say?”

  “I’m willing to pretend it didn’t happen if you sit with me a while.”

  We cross the remaining stretch of sand, go up a low, wooden staircase, and move down the center of a path that leads to a wrought-iron gate. Driver opens it with one hand, keeping a steadying pressure on my lower back.

  “After you.”

  I hesitate at the gate. There are people around the pool, but it doesn’t seem too crowded.

  “First option.” Driver points at a pair of deck chairs in the shade beneath a wide, striped umbrella. In this moment the walk across the sand catches up with me. Both calves ache, and so do the soles of my feet.

  “I’ll take it.”

  “Good call.”

  Driver leads me over to the deck chairs and helps me into one, which makes me feel strangely like a princess. I lean my head back against it as he takes a seat in the other one, his elbows balanced on his knees. I close my eyes and listen to the water in the pool lap against the tiles. This feels good.

  Too good. This is all fleeting, temporary, and Driver…

  “Where’d you go?” I hear the rustle of clothing as he shifts in the seat. “For the last month, I mean.”

  “Were you looking for me?”

  “No.” I’ve said it too quickly, and he laughs. “I mean—no, I wasn’t out on the beach again. Until today. You said you were never here, but you were here, and now you’re back.”

  “I do a lot of traveling, all over the country, on behalf of the resort.” A soothing breeze moves across my skin. “I mostly set up sponsorships and other partnerships that bring in extra exposure or revenue for the resort.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “I love it,” Driver says. “Sometimes, when I’m here…” I open my eyes long enough to see him run a hand through his hair, a faraway look in his eyes. “It feels like the resort runs my entire life. When I’m out on the road, I’m the one with my hands on the wheel.” He cracks a smile. “My mother would tell you that I’m the kind of guy who has to be in control of everything.”

  “Cute name, then.”

  “Very cute.”

  We both laugh, and I think of the way he brought me to this deck chair. It didn’t matter that he looked so at ease, standing there by the water. He was in charge the entire time, his hand on my back…

  Tell him.

  I gather the words together, and there’s no way to dance around the facts. We had a one-night stand, and now I’m pregnant, and there hasn’t been anyone else. My chest squeezes. A man who loves the sensation of a steering wheel under his hands, who wants to be the driver…oh, god. He’s not going to take this well. I can live with it, I realize suddenly. I can bring a baby home to four solid walls and let the world outside go by.

  “Driver…”

  “Yeah?”

  “Driver.”
The voice that cuts in, cutting me off at the pass, is a deeper twin of Driver’s. I shade my eyes, looking up at the man who stands at the edge of the shade. “You’re back. We need to talk.”

  “I’m a little busy, Roman.” Driver glances at me, an apologetic smile on his face. “Holiday, this is my brother Roman. He’s…in charge, as long as everyone lets him play the king. Roman, this is…Holiday.” There’s no other way to describe it, other than my name.

  “It’s lovely to meet you,” Roman says. He and Driver have the same blue eyes. He bends to offer his hand for me to shake, then straightens up. “Holiday, you’re welcome to stay by the pool. But it can’t wait, Drive. I’ll meet you in my office.”

  4

  Driver

  “What’s the big emergency?”

  Roman sits behind his desk in his office, concern written across his face. “Hey, Driver.”

  “Hey, Driver, my ass. What’s going on? The last time you summoned me to your office, it was to ruin a sponsorship or two.”

  “Are you ever going to let me forget that?”

  “Not likely.”

  “I need you back on the road.”

  I drop into a seat on the other side of Roman’s desk. “You need me out on the road?” It’s more than a little weird for Roman to rush me out of here, and my gut reaction is that I don’t like it. I want to be the one who decides when I leave and when I come back. Roman saying this sounds an alarm at the back of my head.

  “Yeah. Something’s not adding up with the numbers.”

  “Sorry, what numbers?” Something’s not adding up with what he’s saying. Back in the beginning of the summer, after Jenny—Roman’s current girlfriend and the resort’s social media goddess—accidentally posted a revealing picture of Roman on the resort’s Instagram, bookings exploded. They didn’t slow down for another month. Roman seemed fine after that. “Roman, if something’s going on with the resort, just tell me.”