by Ann Denton
I swallow my disappointment. “Okay. Okay,” I look back at Kenneth, who’s silently eyeing my mini-meltdown. Great. I smile weakly. “Can I just see the menu your boss came up with?”
Kenneth’s grin grows wide. He winks. “He generally likes to keep it a surprise, but …” he glances around conspiratorially to ensure we’re alone and then leans in, “Maybe just this once.” His hand comes up and he pushes back a strand of my hair.
When he’s touching me, Kenneth’s guy-next-door aura takes a turn. His eyes dilate and he keeps them locked on me as he leans in further and tucks that strand of hair behind my ear. His face is only inches from mine, and I can see the flecks of amber in his eyes. I smell cumin and fresh bread on him, and a wild mix of other scents that assault my nose with a rainbow of smells.
I can’t help how my body responds to his nearness. My breathing instantly speeds up. Blood rushes to my cheeks. Fuck. Maybe it’s the tropical air. I’ve never been this horny before. I’ve never been turned on by three guys so quickly.
Is it because I don’t have Jeremy to scratch that itch anymore? Is it the dirty thirties? I’ve heard of that … Or is there something in the water in Oklahoma that makes the guys there less attractive? Like some kind of chemical that puts a damper on their testosterone. Maybe Danny and Alec and now Kenneth have been like a one-two-three punch. Maybe after all these years, that good-guy-next-door vibe is my downfall. I’ve been avoiding guys like that for years. Guys who seem good-hearted. Guys who seem like they could envision something long-term. Nope. I’ve avoided them in favor of the Jeremy’s of the world. Quickies and disappointments. Those are my jam.
Until now. I stand, frozen, but enraptured, as Kenneth leans in and his lips come close to my right ear. He stays there for a moment, a warm trail of air blowing up and down my ear, then along my neck. Shit. I have to fight against arching my back and shoving my neck onto his lips.
“Um, did you say something?” I ask, throat tight.
“Not yet.”
I laugh uncomfortably. “Oh, I thought I didn’t hear you.” I take a step back. I can’t stand the tension. It’s gonna make me do something completely unprofessional.
Kenneth’s eyes twinkle playfully. He doesn’t explain his hovering.
I give a big, fake grin and say, “Is creepy breathing the normal way to greet people here?”
“You smell like our handmade orange candies.” He wags a scolding finger at me.
Relief floods me. Oh. That’s what it was. He smelled the candy. I toss up my hands. “Busted. Shh. Don’t tell anyone. There might not be any left in any of the rooms.”
His brows raise. “You stole them all?”
“I prefer sample. I sampled them. The orange just happened to be the best.”
“Better than the pineapple?”
“That was too creamy,” I wrinkle my nose.
He gets thoughtful for a moment. “I always thought of the pineapple like soft afternoon sunshine, whereas oranges are that bright midday sun that just punches you in the face with flavor.”
I smile at his poetics. “Guess I’ve never thought of food in detail like that before.”
“Try it. What’s pineapple taste like to you? If pineapple was an emotion, how would that feel?”
If pineapple was an emotion? Maybe this guy’s drank one too many Mai Tais. But I can’t say that to him. I worked food service in high school. The fastest way to get your steak dropped on the floor before it’s served to you is to start some beef with the chef. Or his assistants. “Ummm. I think of pineapple as more flirty and fun. But those candies were all like pineapplely milk. Milk is not flirty. Milk is blah.”
He taps his lip. “Hmmm… interesting. What about the blueberry?”
I shrug and wave my hands in a so-so gesture. But something in his face makes me halt, mid-gesture. “Oh, wait. You didn’t make those did you? Cause it was all good. Just … I happened to like orange best.”
Kenneth smiles. “Tell me more about the blueberry. Too bland like pineapple? Or what?”
I swallow hard. He totally did make them! Crap. I just insulted his work.
“I need to know what you thought. Details. Like the pineapple.” He takes a step closer.
My heart rate ratchets up. Fuck. I don’t want to tell him. But he grabs my hand and blinks down at me, batting his lashes. And I’m suddenly very aware of how fucking adorable he is. “It’s important,” he whispers. His thumb traces the inside of my wrist.
It’s like my wrist has an on-switch wired to my mouth. The truth just spills out automatically. “Blueberries aren’t really sweet. They’re like, I dunno, the goth berry. They don’t taste like happiness.”
His smile is blinding. “Brilliant.”
I smile back, relieved and maybe … something else. Something I can’t quite identify.
But then Kenneth’s pretty brown eyes narrow and his mood changes on a dime. “Wait. Why were you in all the rooms? You don’t trust our staff?”
“No!” I lie, stepping back and holding out a hand to wave off any offense. “No, that’s not it. This is my first huge event like this. And so, I’m just paranoid. Plus, Heather’s my best friend and I don’t want to disappoint her. I just wanted to make sure everything was good before her guys arrive.”
He nods. “Ah. First time. Got it. First time I had to make a five-course meal to pass a class, I had to have a trash can next to me. Puked three times. But I got through it. Because I wanted to graduate and get to call myself a chef.”
I nod like a bobble head. Because he gets it. That’s how I feel. This isn’t school and there’s no pretty diploma or title for me at the end. But paying off my loan, putting this on my website, and hitting Mom with an ‘I told you so’ seem just about as real and important as any piece of paper with a gold sticker and a white-haired man’s signature. I wave my hand and say, “Yes. Like that. But, without the puking. Hopefully.”
I start to smile when it hits me. I’m such an idiot. I go white as I stare at Danny. “You’re the chef.”
He raises an eyebrow. “What gave me away?”
“You said you’re a frickin’ chef.”
He shrugs. “I like to make my own menus. So sue me.”
I rub my eyes. I already have Danny playing games with me. I don’t have the energy or the patience for someone else.
I turn away from Kenneth. I don’t even know how I’m going to handle him. All I know is I’m not going to right now. I check my watch and pray evening’s getting close enough that I can leave without any more awkwardness.
Score! For once, my watch is in line with my wishes. The guys will be here in about half an hour. I hope Heather’s getting ready. My heart starts to pound, and I press my lips together. I try to remind myself that I get this adrenaline rush before every wedding. Only this is not a simple outdoor wedding. It’s far from it. It’s Heather’s tropical orgy dream. “It’s almost time.”
“You mad at me?” Kenneth asks.
I half turn and give him a fake smile over my shoulder. “I just wish you’d told me. Now, I feel like an idiot.”
He waves that off. “Don’t.”
I start walking off, but he calls out behind me. “Quick question. I heard this incoming group is a sex cult?”
I let out a harsh, booming laugh. I can’t help turning around, because I have to see the look on his face. Is that … hopeful? I squint and study his face. I don’t know him well enough to be sure the expression was hopeful. But maybe. I say, “Not quite. Or not yet anyway. I wouldn’t put it past Heather to start a religion outta it.”
“But … the things that have been scheduled …”
I shake my head. “I really wish someone had read my emails all the way through.” He either doesn’t get it or else he ignores my passive-aggressive jab. “Heather wants to create a male harem. This is the culling. The trials, the …” I search for another metaphor because Kenneth still looks confused.
He furrows his brow. “I’m sorry, a male w
hat?”
My face heats. I can’t believe I have to explain this to a staff member. At least it’s not my mother, I tell myself. I clench my hands uncomfortably. Why am I having trouble talking about this?
He’s just a stranger. Just a chef. Poor guy is probably gonna end up seeing way more than he ever wanted to in the male genetalia department. I should be able to just give him a quick rundown, right? But, my stupid tongue ties itself into a knot and refuses to come undone.
I reach into my bag and pull out a copy of Sunshine and Bullets, a hot-as-fuck dark read that I’ve been using to get myself through the Jeremy-free days. It’s easier than explaining to him. Particularly when I’m kind of annoyed at him right now. “Here. Read this. It’ll help you understand.”
He takes it from me suspiciously.
“Not a reader?” I ask. “That’s cool. Just skip to page 197.” There’s a delicious scene there where one of her guys admits how much he liked watching. How cool he is with sharing after that. “I gotta go check on Heather.” I take a deep, centering breath.
Kenneth puts his hand on mine. “It’ll all be okay.”
I nod. My thoughts are already flying to Heather. I need to check that she’s dressed. It’s a formal dinner tonight. And for Heather, that will mean a three-hour hairdo. If she hasn’t already finished her hair, we’re gonna be in trouble. I have ten hungry men who’re about to land. I don’t want this trip to turn into a Lord of the Flies situation. I look down and realize that Kenneth’s still holding my hand. Also, my hand is shaking slightly. I meet his eyes. Words escape me. What comes out is: “Heather. Food. Book—don’t bend the pages.” At least I stutter out the important things.
Kenneth nods. “It’ll all be fine. Dinner will be amazing.”
I head out the door quickly. I double my speed when I take a quick look back and realize that Kenneth is just watching me walk away. After I round the corner, I swipe at my skirt, hoping that he wasn’t staring at how wrinkled it was. Nope. He wasn’t. My fingers close on a crinkled square of cellophane. I yank it off only to find part of a pineapple candy stuck to it. Great. Half-eaten candy has been stuck to my ass. What a way to make a great first impression.
Normally, I would stress over embarrassing shit like that. But, tonight, I don’t get a chance. Because Danny, the lying tennis instructor, trots over to me and says,
“You told a lie.”
“What? No, I didn’t,” I scoff.
“You did check all the rooms because you don’t trust the staff. I watched you crawl around on the floor in my room and check for dust bunnies under the bed.”
My face turns fuchsia. “How do you know that?”
“I was there,” he says smugly. “I’d just hopped out of the shower.”
I whirl around. I’m pissed after this afternoon, after Kenneth’s stupid deception made me look the fool, and now Danny’s trying to call me out? “No, you weren’t! I checked in the bathroom!”
“Not in my room. You must be confusing my room with someone else’s.”
“I checked every room!”
“I’m asking Heather if I can get extra cash every time you lie,” Danny gives me a smug face.
I clench my fingers so I don’t smack him. “I’m not the one with a lying problem.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Oh, then it’s worse. You’re delusional,” he taunts.
I growl and stomp all the way to Heather’s villa. I throw her door wide open and shout into her living room, “Heather! I’m pretty sure I can commit murder here and not get tried for it.”
She comes around the corner, her hair still in curlers. When she sees Danny standing beside me, she grins. “She got pissed enough to threaten you with death?”
He nods.
She narrows her eyes. “Threaten you to your face?”
He shakes his head.
I balk. “What the mother fuck? You’ll tell her the truth?”
Heather grins. “Danny, you just earned yourself a raise. Keep up the good work.”
I yank at my hair as I stomp off into the night. If she wasn’t my boss right now… If I hadn’t quit my job… If I wasn’t stuck on a deserted island… who the fuck am I kidding? Whatever I do to Heather, she’ll have no problem coming back at me twice as hard. I need to be zen. I need to be a zen duck. Let it roll like water off my back. A zen rubber duck. Whatever they do needs to bounce off of me and stick to them…
I need to stick it to them.
I’m so ready for Alec to land. Because I need to ruin another of Heather’s dates.
Chapter Nine
A line of dudes stumbling off a plane does not look like it does in the TV shows. There are no GQ winks and hands in the pockets, no confident descents down the stairs that are built into the swing-down jet door. There’s yawning, stretching, bed hair (the non-sexy kind), wrinkled shirts, and a stale smell wafts from the plane that might be farts mixed with gym socks. In the dim light of an April evening, I can hardly match these guys to their hot pictures.
Fuck. These assholes better clean up good or Heather’s gonna yell at me.
I’ve cleaned up decently, at least for me. And in under ten minutes, too. My hair’s up in a no-nonsense bun, I’m wearing a pastel blue suit that’s got a slightly risqué slit up the right thigh, and super cute flower-patterned heels—an outfit Heather surprised me with but makes me feel totally and one-hundred percent professional planner. The only thing that would make it more official was if I had a headset with a microphone. And maybe one of those clipboards.
The men line up in front of me and I do a quick head count before I start making announcements. Eight, nine, ten, eleven… eleven?! I double check, thinking maybe Alec came down and I counted him in … but I definitely would have noticed if Alec came down.
Nope, a quick scan shows me Alec is not lined up in front of me. Instead, I do a double take. Two guys, in matching shirts, with matching grins, matching eyes, and huge matching biceps grin down at me. Twins.
I didn’t fucking pick any twins! I mean, the face looks familiar. So, maybe I picked one of them. I’m not sure and my fingers itch to double check my files. I mentally kick myself for not thinking about it in the first place, because it’s total harem gold, but I eye the two suspiciously. How did both get on the plane? We had a roster. I know one of my picks got sick and replaced at the last second by the matchmaking company. But they didn’t tell me they sent two guys. I didn’t really open that file on the flight like I should have, though. I’ll ask the twins to walk with me and see what’s up. I’ve been busy with way more than just checking the rooms and the menus since we landed—the activities Heather wants are fast and furious—so I haven’t checked my phone. Maybe the matchmaking company sent one extra as, like, a bonus? They should, considering the amount of money Heather dropped.
I shake my curiosity off so I can deal with the matter at hand. Introductions.
I put on my hostess smile and spread my hands wide. Then I feel stupid and clasp my hands together as I give the speech I practiced forty times in the mirror. “Welcome to Thais Island. We’re so excited to have you here to meet with Heather Graham. Over the next three weeks, you’ll get to know her and see if you are compatible with her and one another. Be ready for a wild ride, guys. I know you all have agreed to be open to an unconventional relationship and let me tell you, the path to getting there with Heather is also going to be … unconventional. There are going to be lots of adventures ahead for you. The first week or so will focus on group dates to test your compatibility. Then there will be some competitive games to showcase your skills.” I give my practiced wink and then continue, “I’m hopeful that tonight is the start of a wonderful future for several of you and Heather. As a reminder, right now, she’s looking to settle into a relationship with three men. Just to be clear, if—at any time—you or Heather decide you aren’t compatible, I will escort you back to this very plane and your time here will come to a close.”
Alec appears in the doorway of the plane. He doesn’t descend the steps, just leans against the open doorway and smirks down at me. His attention immediately makes an electric buzz run under my skin, which makes me stumble over my words and feel as clumsy as a newborn calf. My cheeks burn as I wrap up, “I’m Katie McPherson. I’m the event coordinator, so if you have any questions or need anything, please, don’t hesitate to ask.”
My speech is met with a few nods, some blinking, and one sneeze. Overall, not the glorious fireworks and cheering kind of response I’d hoped for. But I write it off as jetlag. Besides, I don’t have time for cheers. I’ve got men to get to their rooms, a dinner to oversee, and the first interview to pull off…
I hand out maps that I printed at home on my new handy-dandy laser printer. “Here are your villa assignments. You each have a private room with an en-suite bathroom. Two men to each two-bedroom villa.”
One guy grabs his phone and asks me, “Can I take a quick pic with you? This is just so awesome!” When a guy who looks like he belongs on a firefighter calendar asks me to take a picture with him, I have a rule: don’t say no. In fact, that rule applies to anything that guys as hot as firefighters ask. I smile and lean in close, placing my hand on his rock solid chest as he snaps a picture of us. He turns around and snags one of the jet.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Anthony Drake.” He puts out a hand and we shake. He’s the only blond in Heather’s group since she tends to prefer the tall, dark, and handsome type. But he’s got a great smile.
I turn back to the group and say, “I’ll lead you all toward your villas right now, so you can freshen up before dinner. Each of you should find a tux in your closet. Tonight’s dinner will be a formal event. The staff will bring your bags down in the next few minutes.”
