The Shacking Up Series

by Helena Hunting

  “Did he admit to that?” I don’t want to push for information she doesn’t want to give, but I’d like some insight as to what exactly happened to make her call me. Considering Armstrong’s history of screwing around with the girls I was seeing in the past, it wouldn’t be much of a stretch to believe he’s been cheating on her right from the start. He doesn’t seem to have a moral compass of any kind when it comes to relationships.

  Her sunglasses don’t hide the tear tracking down her cheek. She swipes at it with frustration. “He said he hasn’t slept with anyone but me since we’ve been together. Or kissed anyone. He also said blow jobs don’t qualify as cheating.”

  I grip the wheel tighter, fighting the urge to hit the brakes, turn the jeep around, and finish kicking his ass. “He actually said that? Those are the words he used?”

  “Yes. Those are the words. He made it seem like I should expect him to have women on the side. Actually, he implied multiple women. Mistresses in fact. Plural. That it’s just part of how things are and I should be fine with it. What’s wrong with him? What’s wrong with me that I didn’t even know? How could I be blind to the fact that he was screwing around with other women?”

  I choose my words carefully. “Armstrong has always been very adept at manipulating situations, Amalie. He’s also good at spinning things in ways that suit him, and he’s very used to getting what he wants.”

  “How does one convince himself that a blow job isn’t cheating?” she scoffs.

  “I’m sure in his head his argument was convincing.”

  Amalie rubs her eyes. “This is such a mess. I don’t understand how he managed to get a passport so quickly.”

  “The Mooreheads have connections at the US embassy.” I know this because Griffin had to use them thanks to a lost passport in London last year. It was the same time Bane lost his phone and iPad. That trip was a nightmare.

  “Of course they do. I wonder which woman is on his BJ list over there.” She makes an annoyed sound. “I’m so sorry I dragged you into this again, Lexington.”

  “Don’t apologize. I got to punch my cousin more than once, and in the dick. It’s probably going to be the highlight of this trip.”

  That gets a weak laugh out of her. “Same for me. I can’t believe I did that. I mean, kneeing someone in the balls I get, but I punched him. Hard.”

  “Lot of gratification in that, huh?”

  “I should feel some kind of remorse, but I really don’t.”

  “Same.”

  It doesn’t take long to get back to my resort. I park near the concierge and motion to the bungalows on stilts out on the water. “You have two options, you can either stay out there, or in one of the beachfront villas.”

  “This is where I wanted to stay when we booked the trip.” She jumps down and closes the door. “Where are you?”

  I nod toward the water. “I’m out there.”

  “Would it be okay if I stay there, too?”

  For a split second I think she means that she wants to stay with me. Which would not be a good idea at all. I am well aware that if she stays in my bungalow I will most definitely fuck her. She’s too much of a temptation and I’m compelled to flirt with her. She’s also under far too much emotional stress and much too vulnerable to make good decisions, and I sure as hell don’t want to end up as a bad one.

  I must be silent for too long, because she looks away and fidgets with her purse strap. “You don’t have to entertain me or anything. I know you’re here to work. I won’t be a problem. Just . . . in case Armstrong tries to find me, or wants to talk again, I’d feel safer knowing you were close.”

  “It’s fine. And it’s exactly what I was thinking, about you being safe, I mean. Although, I don’t know how much I actually have to worry since you seem to be able to defend yourself fairly well.”

  She smiles and ducks her head as we cross the lot to check her in at the concierge. “I had to take self-defense courses as part of a punishment when I was a teenager. Turns out I actually liked them.”

  “As punishment? What the hell did you do that would make self-defense classes a punishment?”

  “It’s a long story. One I don’t usually tell unless I’m really drunk.”

  “Huh. Interesting. Remind me to get you really drunk later.”

  “I have a feeling that won’t be difficult. I plan to consume copious quantities of booze in hopes of erasing the past year from my memory.”

  And we’re back to Armstrong and his assholery. For someone as smart as Amalie seems to be, I have a hard time understanding how she managed to fall for his bullshit in the first place. It’s not a question I feel I have the right to ask just yet, though.

  Owning the resort means it’s easy to secure an over-water bungalow for Amalie when we’re typically fully booked a year in advance. Interestingly, the one beside mine just happens to be empty for the next week. Very convenient. I’m sure we can shift the guests around so she can stay there as long as she wants. I help Amalie bring her bags out to the bungalow. The bed—a massive king—is set in such a way that it provides an unobstructed view of the inactive volcano across the water. The bar fridge is stocked and a bowl of fruit sits in the center of the small table.

  “Everything will be taken care of, all your food, drink, everything’s included while you’re here and feel free to take advantage of the spa. I’ll have credits applied to your room so you can use it whenever you want.” I open the sliding doors and we step out onto the deck.

  “That’s not necessary. You’ve been more than generous bringing me here.”

  “Consider it market research. We need to update the service list, and your experiences will help me make better decisions on what changes should be implemented.” I point to the left, at the neighboring bungalow. “That’s me, right there. I have to attend a meeting shortly, but I’ll be back later this evening, just knock on my door if you need anything.”

  “Right. Of course. Thank you again for your kindness.” Amalie closes the gap between us and wraps her arms around my waist. She’s wearing flip-flops instead of heels, so the top of her head doesn’t even reach my chin.

  I return the embrace, enjoying the feel of her body against mine. I’d like to stay with her and help her settle in, but I have a meeting to prepare for. I can check on her when I get back. She looks a little lost when I leave, and I hate to admit it, but I kind of like the way she seems to need me.

  Eleven: Martini Mouth

  Lexington

  My afternoon meeting turns into dinner and drinks with several of the managerial staff and a few of the high-rolling clients who frequent the resort on a regular basis.

  My father sending me here is a big deal. While it gets me out of the line of fire for Armstrong’s bullshit, it’s also his way of telling me, not so subtly, that he’d like to see me up my game. Until the past six months, he thought I was coasting.

  I can attribute it in part to my mother’s illness, and it’s for that reason that my father hasn’t really pushed for more from me. Until now. But the truth is, it’s more than that. Griffin is good at what he does, but he’s quiet and the people part of the business isn’t really his thing. Bancroft shows promise in the renovation side of the business, but he doesn’t want to head the company. I’m the one my dad is relying on to keep the Mills empire running when he’s set to retire. It’s what I want, even if I haven’t been particularly good at expressing it up until now.

  That’s a lot of responsibility for me since I’ve been seen as a fuck-up for most of my life, thanks to my constant battles with Armstrong. He’s done a great job of making me look incompetent, and more often than not, I’ve fed right into the games he played. It hasn’t been helpful in restoring my father’s faith in my ability to manage this business with a level head. He worries about me being reactive, which has been a valid concern.

  Bancroft joining the team last year has pushed me to look at how I haven’t been doing my best. I don’t want to let my father down, and m
ore than that, I don’t want to let myself down. This is my opportunity to demonstrate to him, and myself, that I’ll be able to take over the business when he retires. It’s not that I was a complete slacker until recently, it was more that I was used to getting great results without putting in maximum effort. That’s changed, though. I see how hard Bane works, and I recognize that if I put in the same amount of effort, we’d see even greater results. It’s not a competition, it’s a collaboration.

  My father will never walk away fully, but my mother’s cancer scare has made him realize just how important she is, and that he doesn’t want to miss out on these years because he still feels compelled to work seventy hours a week. There’s some good in the bad, I suppose.

  It’s late by the time I return to the resort. I’d like to check on Amalie, but her bungalow is dark. I don’t want to bother her if she’s sleeping. Still wired from the day, I change and head to the bar for a quick drink.

  The nightlife here is always on point. Unlike Amalie’s previous resort, this place isn’t all couples and honeymooners, although there are plenty of them. Singles come here for a getaway. Families and their nannies will spend two weeks enjoying the sun and scenery. It’s a mixed group, which makes it a better option for those who are unattached.

  I was born to socialize. In high school I had friends in every group. I had connections with the potheads; I spent time with the rockers and always went to dive bars to listen to them play; I was tight with the study nerds, the kids in metal shop, the drama geeks, you name it, I could find a way to relate. It’s why my father sends me on these trips. Beyond the fact that I’m unattached and he doesn’t need to worry about taking me away from someone important, I’m good at schmoozing. People like to talk to me. It’s as much a gift as it is a curse.

  I make my way to the bar and watch people interact. Singles mingle and flirt, couples and honeymooners close-talk, eyes straying to the people on the dance floor. It’s loud in here. I survey the length of the bar and take note of the familiar long wavy blond hair. Amalie.

  She’s not hiding out in her room. She’s angled toward the man leaning on the bar next to her. His intentions are clear in the way his eyes roam over her body when she crosses her legs. Nope. No fucking way am I going to allow some random douche to hook up with her.

  As I close in on them I notice a few things. Her dress is a second skin, clinging to her toned, luscious body. I have my doubts Armstrong would approve of her wearing something like this in public. And I get why. I wouldn’t want anyone else to see her in something quite so provocative unless she’s hanging off my arm, and everyone in the room knows she’s off-limits.

  I move in behind her, sizing up the guy flirting with her. He glances up at me, gives me one of those conspiratorial smiles that says, Watch me bag this one. I keep my gaze locked on his as I lean down until my mouth is at her ear. “Having a good time?”

  Amalie gasps and spins around. Sweet mother of fuck. She looks like sin. The neckline of the dress plunges low, giving me an incredible view of her cleavage. And the dress, if it even qualifies as one, is white. And so very, very short. I bet when she stands up it barely covers her ass. Her lips are glossy pink and pouty, and those pretty blue eyes find mine.

  She bites her lip, and then her tongue peeks out as a slow smile spreads across her face. She puts a hand on my chest. “Lexington. You’re here.” She makes a fist and taps on my chest. “I knocked but no one answered.” She turns back to her friend, her hand still on me. “Rick. Rich. Ricky?”

  His smile is stiff. “It’s Eric.”

  “Right! Eric.” She smacks her forehead and giggles. “I’m so bad with names. Eric, this is Lex. He’s my friend. He’s so nice to me. He punched my husband in the dick today.” She leans into me, her head resting on my pec as she looks up, smiling. “It was so sweet. You’re so sweet.” She pats my cheek. I wonder if she might be a little tipsy.

  Eric’s smug smile drops. “Husband?”

  Amalie waves a floppy hand around in the air. “Non-husband. Or he will be when he signs the annulment papers. He got a blow job at our wedding, not from me.”

  “Eric, could you excuse us, please.” I smile, but it’s not friendly at all.

  “He doesn’t have to go.” Amalie frowns and turns to Eric. “You don’t have to go. He’s being rude.”

  He glances from Amalie to me and back again. He seems to realize that his conquest is over. “Nice to meet you, Emily. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

  I move into his now-vacant seat. “Emily?”

  “He got it wrong the first time and I didn’t feel like correcting him.” She sips her martini. “Why’d you send him away? I liked him. He was a good listener.” She crooks a finger and beckons me closer. “I think Eric wanted to fuck me.”

  “Oh, and why do you think that?” Of course he wants to fuck her. Every guy in this room wants to, married, single, almost dead, it doesn’t matter, as long as he has a dick and it’ll get hard, they want to get in her. Myself included.

  “Well.” Amalie props her chin on her fist. “He said he wanted to fuck me, so that’s how I know.”

  “He what?” I scan the bar, looking for Eric, who I’d like to punch now, but Amalie fists my shirt, drawing my attention back to her.

  Her eyes bounce around my face. “Do you wanna fuck me?” She drags her fingertips down my cheek. “God you’re so hot. Why’re you so hot? Did I say that aloud? I did. I can hear myself talking. That was supposed to be in my head.”

  I cup her chin. “How many drinks did you have?”

  “Just two? Fuck-me Eric bought me one and I had one before that on my own. Wasn’t that nice? What time is it?”

  “It’s an all-inclusive resort, Amalie, he didn’t buy you anything.”

  “Oh, right. Hmm. Well, now I’m less impressed.”

  I laugh, because I’m not sure how to gauge her right now. She’s definitely tipsy, but not full-out drunk as far I can tell. “I’m going to get you some water, okay?”

  “That’s probably a very good idea. I spent a lot of time in the sun today. Water might help me keep my inside thoughts from coming out of my mouth.”

  “I like it when your inside thoughts come out of your mouth.” I signal the bartender and order water. A few drinks is understandable after what she’s been through. Although, I would prefer if she didn’t get drunk without me around to keep her safe. She’s far too vulnerable to be left to her own devices.

  “Of course you do. All my inside thoughts about you are filthy.” She makes a face, like maybe she didn’t mean to say that.

  I push anyway, because tipsy, filterless Amalie is fun, as long as her lack of filter isn’t directed at douches like Fuck-me Eric. “Is that right? How filthy are we talking?”

  “I think I should take a vow of silence for the rest of the night. Talking to you is going to get me into trouble.” The bartender sets a glass of water in front of her. “Oh! Thank you.” She drains the glass in three long gulps. I wait until she’s done before I introduce them.

  “Declan, this is Amalie. She’s a personal friend, here on vacation from New York. Amalie, this is Declan, the head bartender.”

  “Hi.” Her hand shoots out. “Excuse my rudeness. It’s so nice to meet you.”

  The bartender gives me a questioning look but takes her hand and kisses her knuckle. My expression must tell him I’m not pleased because he releases it quickly and offers her a refill.

  I sit at the bar and chat with people most nights, but I don’t get involved with guests. That’s bad for business. Amalie isn’t a typical guest, though, and I’m taking it upon myself to make her well-being my priority.

  Declan sets a fresh glass of water in front of Amalie.

  “Thank you. I didn’t even realize how thirsty I was. Plus, if I’m chugging water it saves me from saying more incriminating things to this one.” She thumbs over her shoulder and pokes me in the chest. “He already knows he’s hot, so he doesn’t really need me to tell hi
m. But seriously, so hot.” She raises her glass, takes a few small sips and chugs the rest. She frowns as the ice cubes clink in the bottom, then turns to me. “I don’t think the water is helping me censor myself the way I’d hoped.”

  A few stray hairs stick to her glossy lips. I carefully pull them away, skimming her cheek. “I think we’ve already established that I don’t mind your lack of censor.”

  Her eyes flutter shut, fingers coming up to graze the back of my hand. “When you touch me like that I feel it right between my . . .” Her eyes pop open and she purses her lip. I’m disappointed I don’t get to hear the end of that sentence. “I should probably go back to my room before my mouth embarrasses me more than it already has. I’m not always this unstable. I promise I don’t do this all the time. The drama or the martinis.”

  I fight to keep my smile from turning into a laugh. “Would you like me to walk you back to your bungalow?”

  “You don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine.”

  “There’s that word again. Let me make sure you’re safe, Amalie.”

  Her eyes are wide and searching. “You’re so nice to me. Why’re you so nice?”

  “Do I need to have a reason?”

  I hold out a hand and she places her warm hand in mine as she slips off her chair. Her hands are delicate, just like her face.

  Her heel catches though, so she stumbles forward, grabbing for my bicep as she steadies herself. “I’m not drunk, these heels are just new.”

  “However you want to spin it.”

  “Seriously. It’s the first time I’ve worn them.” She uses the edge of the bar for balance and adjusts the strap at her heel.

  “I’m not judging.” But I sure am checking her out.

  I don’t want to think about what might’ve happened with Fuck-Me Eric if I hadn’t shown up when I did, though. I don’t know Amalie well enough to be able to say with any certainty how compromised her decision-making is when she’s been drinking and under stress apart from at her wedding, and those were extreme circumstances.