Stifling a sigh, she gave up on sleep. She got out of bed and went to the kitchen, where a bottle of champagne was still in the bucket, the ice long since melted. She grabbed the bottle and, even though she tried not to, glanced at Zach. His face was soft, his arm thrown up over his head. The sheet was around his waist, and she saw he’d unbuttoned his shirt completely.
She wasn’t so pathetic she was going to creepily ogle a man in his sleep. Not yet.
Jenna unlocked the sliding door and went to the deck as quietly as she could, leaving the door open. Even though the beach was empty and the night as quiet as if she really was completely isolated, having the door open even a fraction between Zach and her made her feel less alone.
She sat on a cushioned two-person seat that looked like a cross between a birdcage and a sex swing. It was warmer there than inside the air-conditioned room, so she shucked her robe, which left her in her favorite soft cotton cami top and a pair of yoga pants—the only thing she had comfortable enough to wear to bed that didn’t have a Victoria’s Secret tag attached. She popped the cork on the champagne and took a pull right from the bottle.
Jenna stared at the ocean and stars, hoping for one of those profound moments of clarity and direction that always happen in movies when the character was at a crossroads in her life. She’d look out over the water or see a shooting star and suddenly know exactly what to do. All Jenna saw when she looked at the moonlight rippling on the gentle waves was water, the only things in the sky were airplanes, and the only thing she knew for sure was that those movies were full of shit.
It was only a few minutes before she heard the sliding door and Zach’s voice.
“Drinking alone?”
He eyed the swing and the other seating choice, an Adirondack chair, and chose the chair.
“Not anymore.” She handed him the bottle, and he took a sip before handing it back.
“I don’t like champagne,” he said.
“Neither do I.” Jenna tipped the bottle back and gulped down several big mouthfuls, waiting for the warmth to hit her belly. With any luck, her muscles would ease and all the crack bunnies in her brain would curl up and go to sleep for the night, too.
“Sorry if I woke you up,” she said. “I got tired of counting the palm fronds on the wallpaper and decided to come out here and get drunk instead.”
“I’m a light sleeper.”
An awkward silence charged the air between them.
Finally, he sighed. “I know I’m supposed to say something. Something to make you feel better or some relationship wisdom. Hell, I don’t know.” He shoved a hand through his short hair. “I’ve never been good with that kind of stuff. People stuff.”
“They don’t exactly make a greeting card for, ‘Sorry you effed up your life. Better luck next time.’”
“I don’t think you effed up your life,” he said after a moment. “You swerved at the last second.”
“So marriage is a car crash.”
“Mostly, yes. This one would have been.”
He might have a point. “My parents were together twenty-five years. Happy ones, I think.” She took another drink. “That’s what I expected would happen to me.”
“My parents, too. They’re still together. Most of the other married people I know seem miserable, though. Our parents seem to be the exception.”
“Wow. Helpful.” She took another drink. “A happy marriage is a pipe dream.”
He let out a breath. “This is why I don’t people. I always seem to say the wrong thing and make a bad situation worse.”
“It’s fine,” Jenna said, not wanting him to feel bad, especially after everything he’d done for her that day. “I was joking. Your being here with me is actually helpful. I…don’t think I was ready to be alone tonight.”
He studied her for a long moment. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“Why did you agree to marry Elliot?”
There was the million-dollar question. Something that had been rattling around in her brain every time she’d had a doubt over the last few months about whether she was doing the right thing. “I think it was because he was someone from my past. Someone who reminded me of when things were good. When my parents were here. When things were simpler.”
Zach said nothing.
“And I think…it would have made my parents happy. Elliot’s parents were their best friends. Marrying Elliot felt like maybe I’d get to keep a piece of the home I thought I’d lost forever.” She took a drink and shook her head. “That probably sounds stupid.”
“No, it makes perfect sense,” Zach said. “Especially after losing your parents and the life you had at a young age.”
Jenna drained the last of her drink, the warm feeling of alcohol in her belly relaxing her nerves a bit. “You’re a good listener,” she said.
“I’ve been told I have potential,” he said, echoing her comments about him on the plane.
“Big potential. And seriously, I don’t know how I’d ever repay you. You’re a kind and thoughtful man.”
Something about what she’d said made that crease between his brows come back.
Zach was a mystery. One that wasn’t hers to solve.
Chapter Seven
Jenna didn’t get drunk. But tipsy, absolutely. After they’d shared about half the bottle of champagne, she’d started yawning. Zach ushered her inside before she fell asleep on the sex swing thing she’d been sitting on, because if he’d had to carry her to bed, well, he wasn’t completely sure he’d be able to resist crawling in right beside her. And she’d probably find that just a little creepy.
As beautiful as she’d looked the first time he saw her in all her wedding regalia, clean, natural Jenna was even more breathtaking. Her skin was smooth, almost luminous, with a peach glow that the heavy makeup she’d been wearing had tamped down. Her eyes, without all the goop, looked huge in her face, her dark brows and lashes standing out against the pale skin. And her hair. Damn. When he’d seen her sitting on the deck through the sliding door, the way the moonlight caught random strands of the warm brown hair curling wildly around her face and almost bare shoulders…yeah, it did something to him. He imagined burying his face in that cloud of softness. Tangling his hands in it, feeling it curl around his fingers. He’d been frozen for a moment, staring at her, wondering what he’d ever done to be the man seeing her this way instead of Elliot.
And then he realized that she wasn’t his and never would be. So maybe this was a punishment instead of a reward. His own personal hell, earned through all his shortcomings.
This time when she went to bed, she fell asleep almost immediately, the strain that had lingered in the muscles of her face and in the cute little crease between her brows finally gone.
Zach went back to the couch, peeling off his shirt before resuming his spot on the lumpy sofa and trying to get comfortable. Now he was the one chasing sleep. How was he going to get up in a few hours, wish her good luck with her life, and just leave, knowing she was here alone? What if she couldn’t sleep tomorrow night? Or the next? What if she was miserable the whole time she was here? What if some scumbag—a resort staffer or something—saw she was alone and decided to take advantage of her vulnerability? All because of his bright idea to send her to a resort stuffed with sappy couples happily screwing their brains out in cheesy, over-priced hump-huts, while she was only half a couple and here alone.
The logical side of Zach’s brain told him it wasn’t his problem, and anyway, he was assuming she’d react in a certain way, while in reality he had no proof. Of course she was grieving. In a few days, she’d likely be fine. How long did it take to get over a breakup, anyway? Maybe he’d Google that in the morning or ask Marcy. That was the kind of stuff she knew.
He was still a little miffed at Marcy. No, not miffed, more confused. After the oddest conversation he’
d ever had with her in three years of employ, she’d moved the planning meeting that was supposed to take place first thing in the morning and told Billy to take the night off. Never had she done such a thing without Zach’s directing her to do so. He should be mad as hell. He really needed some prep time with his team if he was going to go after the Tower Media account.
But the truth was Zach was actually kind of glad she’d done it. It let him stay just a little longer for Jenna before returning to his own life. A moment out of time. That’s what this was. Marcy hadn’t explained, but she had been nagging Zach to take a vacation, stop and smell the roses, she said. Maybe this was her way of nudging. Okay, more than nudging…basically stranding him here in honeymoon hell with a woman who was not his bride. Not anyone’s.
And that brought him full circle back to the problem at hand. How could he come this far and then just walk out on Jenna? Answer: He couldn’t. Zach was no one’s knight in shining armor, but maybe he wasn’t as thoughtless as Marcy suggested, either.
Zach grabbed his shirt off the arm of the couch and took Jenna’s honeymoon itinerary out of the pocket. By the light of his phone’s flashlight, he read through all the couples’ activities she’d planned. His mind began to work. Jenna wouldn’t do any of the things she’d planned. Instead, she’d sit alone in her hut, knowing other couples were enjoying the honeymoon she wasn’t. But what if she wasn’t alone?
Couples’ yoga. He wasn’t sure exactly what that was, so he turned down the volume on his phone and researched it. Thank you, YouTube. And no, that wasn’t going to happen. Grinding and stretching and laying on top of one another? Uh, no. He wouldn’t make it past the first pose without Jenna feeling some very non-platonic physical reactions.
He turned off the phone, staring at the ceiling. Even if they did the couples’ yoga class, would it really take her mind off of things? Wouldn’t it remind her that she wasn’t here with her other half? And some of those moves looked downright…erotic. What if they did something that was the opposite of couples’ yoga?
Wait, they? As in Zach and Jenna?
Tomorrow’s schedule was clear, thanks to Marcy, so yeah, he guessed he was staying another day. Plans began to populate the spreadsheets in his brain. Thinking, organizing, planning. Jenna would love this. Or at least it might make drinking herself to sleep every night less likely, especially when he wouldn’t be here to make sure she got into bed safely, and alone.
By the time Jenna woke up, looking slightly confused and a lot sleep-mussed, sunlight was streaming through the windows, and Zach had already been to the gift shop to procure a change of clothes and a few toiletries, ordered breakfast for them, showered, shaved, and talked to the concierge about putting his plan into action. All he had to do was sell Jenna on it.
“I didn’t know what you liked for breakfast,” Zach said when Jenna emerged from the bathroom, once again swathed in the oversize robe.
“Just coffee,” she said, her voice sleep husky.
“You’re going to need your energy,” he said, setting a coffee cup in front of her. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I ordered, well, pretty much everything.”
The room service guy had cleared last night’s dinner remnants and brought in an extra table. Both were stuffed with covered dishes.
She glanced at the table then back at Zach, a half-awake grin making her eyes sparkle. “Is there anything left for the other guests?”
“Don’t know, don’t care.”
She got up to investigate, lifting the lids, smiling like a kid on Christmas morning.
“What are you eating?” she asked, turning back to Zach.
“I had oatmeal, two slices of toast, a banana, coffee. Same as every day.”
“You eat the same thing for breakfast every day?”
It wasn’t just the same breakfast. He basically had the same three meals each day, unless he was forced to take a client to dinner. It was just easier. No wasting time on deciding what to eat, more time for work. But he wasn’t eager to fly his freak flag for Jenna just yet.
“Usually.”
Jenna grabbed an empty plate and loaded up with something from every dish, munching on a piece of bacon as she did. It was adorable. When the plate was overflowing, she sat down and made a happy sound.
“I swear I don’t usually eat like this,” she said.
“No judgement,” Zach said, holding up his hands.
“Nice shirt,” she said, gesturing with the salt shaker before seasoning her eggs.
“GROOM” was emblazoned across Zach’s chest in swirly blue glitter letters. Not exactly his style.
“The gift shop had a limited selection. It was this, one that said ‘game over,’ or one with ‘under new management.’”
“‘Game over,’ seriously?”
“The gift shop had lots of interesting honeymoon, uh, aids.”
She almost snorted her orange juice. “I don’t even want to know,” she said, holding up a hand.
“No, you really don’t. That’s why Al Gore made the internet and anonymous ordering.”
“Exactly.” She scarfed down a few more bites then wiped her mouth. “Billy and the rest of your flight staff are going to love that shirt.”
“About that.” He leaned forward, suddenly nervous. “I have a proposal.”
She tucked a wayward curl behind her right ear. “A proposal?”
Zach drummed his fingers on the table. He hadn’t been this unsure of himself since he’d pitched his very first client when he’d gone out on his own. It had been a point that was going to make or break his fledgling business. This felt just as consequential.
“Yes.”
She put down her fork. “Not the kind that requires your getting down on one knee, I hope. I’ve had enough of that for a while.”
The image of kneeling in front of Jenna, presenting her with a ring in a velvet box, popped into his head, and he quickly shook it away.
“No.”
“I’m listening.”
“I think you need some anti-honeymooning.”
“Anti?”
“Yeah.”
“Explain, please.”
Zach pulled out the itinerary and flattened it out on the table. “You’ve got a whole list of couples’ activities here. Couples’ yoga, dinner on the beach—”
“I know what’s on the list,” she said quietly. “I picked out all the activities.”
“Right. And you planned to do them with Elliot. But now…well, what if you still do your list?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I feel like I just want to hole up in the room, watch a lot of home improvement shows on TV, and order room service. I don’t really want to be the only singleton amongst the newlyweds. Couples’ yoga when you’re not a couple is just sweating in unnatural positions.”
“This is where the ‘anti’ part comes in. We’re not going to do couples’ yoga.”
She stopped chewing, took a drink of her coffee, then looked at him. “We?” she asked finally. “So you’d be the anti-groom in this scenario?”
“Well, I thought I’d get you started on this plan. I’m free today, as it turns out. That is, unless you want me to leave.”
“No,” she said quickly. “You can stay.”
Zach thought he detected a slight flush in her cheeks. “I mean, you’re good company. If staying for another day really isn’t going to put you out—”
“It’s not.” He smiled, feeling suddenly more relaxed. “Eat up, then. And you’ll need to change. Our first ‘anti’ is scheduled for about an hour from now.”
Chapter Eight
Jenna’s shoulders and biceps were screaming in pain as she landed another half-hearted punch on the sand-filled bag hanging from the ceiling of the resort’s workout space. The kickboxing instructor—Kimi, she’d said her name was when they’d wa
lked in—had hardly even acknowledged Jenna. But she eyed Zach as if he was a Tootsie Pop she wanted to unwrap and lick clear down to his gooey sweet center.
Not that it mattered to her. They weren’t a thing. But what if they really had been newlyweds? Would she be using every available opportunity to show Zack the correct boxing form by pressing her boobs—which were definitely not the boobs God gave her—into him? She’d be livid by now if Zach was her husband and some fitness-model wannabe was sliming all over him right in front of her. Maybe he’d told her they weren’t really a couple when he’d booked the lessons, though. That was like throwing up a red cape in front of a very over-sexed she-bull.
She really couldn’t blame the woman for trying, though. If Zach Ruiz was hot in a tux, he was boiling lava on the hotness scale now. He had stripped out of the groom shirt long ago, his muscles bunching and releasing as he went through the moves Kimi demonstrated.
He was a desk jockey, not a fitness freak, which Jenna kind of loved—less intimidating to work out with than someone who looked like the Rock. He didn’t have a six pack, just a flat, tight torso with a light dusting of dark hair leading to the elastic waistband of track pants emblazoned with the resort’s name. If Jenna hadn’t just ditched a groom, she could see herself punching her ticket for a ride on the Zach Express.
On second thought, maybe not, since she was not a one-night-stand type. She was more of a let’s-get-married-and-start-a-family type. Or at least she thought she was. She seemed to have blown all that up at the last moment when she’d had the chance to get everything she’d always wanted.
Zach was trying to be a friend. Operation Anti-Honeymoon was in full effect, and he’d gone to some trouble to arrange this anti-couples’ yoga kickboxing class for them. Jenna hit the bag again, thinking that if her arms fell off, that would be okay, because at least they wouldn’t hurt anymore.
“You’ve got great form, Zachary,” Kimi said to him, with a smile and a boob thrust. “You must hit the sack a lot.”
The Anti-Honeymoon Page 6
