With This Fling (Summersweet Island 5)

Once again, this man says something completely unexpected, wagging his eyebrows at me as the corner of his mouth tips up into a teasing smirk. My tears quickly disappear, and a bubble of laughter immediately bursts out of me.

I know he’s being sarcastic to try to provoke me. An attempt to get me to stop freaking out and crying and go back to just being mildly annoyed with him. But I’m in the middle of a nervous breakdown right now and cannot be held accountable for my actions. I’m also pretty sure this is exactly what I don’t need, but the part of my brain that makes rational decisions is no longer in working order.

“You just worry about your own hands, buddy,” I warn him.

YOLO, bitches!

I see a quick flash of surprise in Dean’s eyes as I fist the front of his shirt in both my hands, filling me with triumph.

And making me forget why this is a really, really bad idea as I yank his mouth down to mine.

Chapter 5

Laura

“Son of a bitch! Not again!”

“It’s not that bad.”

I pull my dark sunglasses down the bridge of my nose just enough so Karen can see me glaring at her. When the bright, early-morning sun shining through the windows of The Barge makes my entire face hurt, I quickly push my sunglasses back in place with a groan, swiveling to face the counter on my diner stool once more.

The clattering of plates, orders being called, bells dinging, cash register drawer slamming, and the hum of conversation during the breakfast rush at the only diner on Summersweet Island makes me vow to never drink again. I wish I’d never gotten out of bed this morning—along with about a dozen other things I wish I’d never done in the last twelve hours. Like canceling the sleepover I’d planned with my grandson, because his Lala had too much to drink and made an ass out of herself.

“In what universe is this not the absolute worst possible thing that could have happened?” I demand, bringing my cup of coffee up to my mouth and taking a much needed sip.

“I’m sure you’re not the first woman to have too much to drink and then… spill your guts to him.” She doesn’t even last three seconds with a straight face before throwing her head back and cackling.

“How long have you been holding that one in?” I mutter over her loud laughter.

“At least fifteen minutes,” Karen continues to chuckle as she reaches over and pats my back. “It’s really not as bad as you’re making it seem.”

“Oh really?” I laugh sarcastically, smacking my coffee cup down a little too aggressively as some of the hot liquid sloshes out and onto the counter. “Let’s review! I made all of my internal thoughts external after two glasses of wine, four glasses of champagne, two tequila shots, and one nervous breakdown. And then I grabbed good old Uncle Dean’s shirt and yanked him toward me, my head connecting with his chin so hard I’m pretty sure I’m still concussed, and then I proceeded to vomit at his feet. How is that not as bad as it seems?”

I screech that last part, immediately regretting it when the sound makes my hangover headache even worse, and half the diner turns in my direction.

After I wave them away with my hand and a weak smile, everyone goes back to their breakfasts, while Karen just continues to chuckle through my pain. But she’s nice enough to reach over the counter and grab the carafe of coffee from the warming plate, topping off both our cups without bothering the busy waitress. Putting my elbows on the counter and dropping my head in my hands, every horrifying second of last night rushes through my aching head again.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean shouts in pain, holding onto his chin where my head just connected, while I groan in my own misery, pressing both my hands to the top of my skull.

“Why did you jerk your chin down?” I complain.

“Why did you jerk your head up?” he fires back, still rubbing at his chin. “What just happened here?”

“Nothing. Nothing happened. Nothing at all. It was nothing, and now I’m going to go back to the party and forget about this nothing that never happened,” I ramble.

“Did you just… try to kiss me?” he asks, a little bit of shock and whole lot of humor written all over his face, putting this moment in time at the very top of my list of most mortifying moments in my life.

“No!” I scoff. “It was nothing. I was just….”

“You were just trying to take me up on my offer and make out with me.”

I don’t know if it’s the twinkle in his eye or the blow I just took to my head, but I suddenly don’t feel very well, and he seems to be enjoying my misery a little too much.

“It’s a good thing I didn’t make the first move, or you probably would have punched me in the face.”

“No one was making any moves!” I argue with a stomp of my foot in the sand like a petulant child, immediately regretting that decision when it makes the nausea in my stomach churn even more. “We’re just going to chalk this up to me having a bad night. Forget any of this ever happened. I’m going to go back to the party before I do anything else to humiliate myself this evening.”

I barely get the last few words out before I’m bending over and vomiting all of my bad decisions out into the sand between us. My hair is immediately pulled back from my face, and Dean gently pats my back and rubs small, soothing circles against it, while I purge all of the demons.