My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon

In contrast, Abigail looks sexy and sleek in her suit. It’s a triangle bikini, nothing fancy, but the teal color is perfect on her and the ties at her hips and back make me want to tease them loose with my teeth.

Since Emily’s question seems mostly rhetorical, no one answers, but Doug continues helping her clean off as he tries to talk her down like she’s a wounded wildebeest on the verge of going amok. “No worries, babe. We’ll soak in the tub when we get back like we talked about, okay?”

It’s enough to stop her bitching at Dylan, who does seem genuinely apologetic about the whole thing even if he does occasionally start chuckling again for ‘no reason’. And though we feed the flamingos the rest of the shrimp treats, the mood is soured, so we get back in our kayaks to head to the resort.

“Thank you for inviting us,” Abigail tells Emily politely. Even the manners frustrate me because I know Abi wasn’t happy about going today. But she’s doing what’s expected, what’s right.

“Of course!” Emily says, equally as fake. “What about tomorrow? You wanna—”

“No,” I interrupt, giving zero fucks to rudeness. “We’re busy tomorrow. All day.”

Abigail looks at me in surprise, maybe because of my tone or maybe because she’s wondering what I have planned this time. The truth is . . . I’m busy. I have to work tomorrow, cooking for a small portion of the bridal party.

“Oh, sure. I understand. Another day then.” Emily isn’t going to stop going after Abigail, and though I wish Abigail would just tell Emily to go to hell because she doesn’t care what she thinks, Abigail isn’t prepared to do that. Yet.Chapter 9AbiBack in the room, I hop in the shower and clean up from the fun in the water. And to give myself some time and space to think.

Lorenzo gave me a lot of his heart and even more of his mind today. In holding up a mirror to me, forcing me to see myself through his eyes, he exposed quite a bit about himself.

He is dangerous.

But unfortunately, maybe not in the bad boy tattooed and motorcycle way I originally thought. If that was all it was, I could probably have a fling with him and walk away unscathed with nothing more than a good story to tell when I’m old and gray.

But he’s dangerous in a way that’s much more terrifying. He’s deep and observant, philosophical and expressive, all things that go straight to my heart and my core. And that would all be good—hell, it’d be amazing—except that he’ll leave. That’s why he’s dangerous. He’s a drug, getting me addicted to him and making me want him, knowing all the while that he’s a limited supply, short-term use only.

And like an addict, I need rehab, time away from him for just a minute to get my head on straight.

The shower isn’t enough. Especially when I come out of the bedroom to see Lorenzo standing on the balcony wearing nothing but black swim trunks and a heated look. His chest bare, his tattoos beckon me, tempting me to trace them, to torture him into promising things he isn’t capable of.

But if he’s going to respect my free-spirited wildness, I need to respect his.

“I’m going down to check on Janey in the cooler. Make yourself at home, of course. Don’t wait up. I’ll be a while,” I tell him.

His eyes narrow, as though he can see right through me. Hell, he probably can. He’s proving that he sees me more clearly than I do myself.

He turns around, giving the view his back as he stretches his arms out, hands resting on the handrail behind him. “Can I do anything to help?”

Fuck. So, so much. And I’d bet my batteries that he could do it better than my favorite vibrator.

I shake my head. “No, it’s okay. I’m going to see what progress Janey made today so I know where we’re at.”

He’s quiet, not believing me. He knows I’m running. But I’m only doing it now so he doesn’t have to do it later. It’s better this way.

“Yeah, so . . . bye.” I bolt for the door, pulling it closed behind me.

As I wait for the elevator, I text Janey . . .

How’s it going? I’m on my way to help.

I’m fine. Don’t worry about this. Clean the rust out of your pipes.

Ugh, Janey! She’s given me shit about my pussy being as bad as a ‘rusty tin can’ for months now. I guess she’s switching to rusty pipes. Not sure which is worse because they’re both gross and sound painful.

There’s also no way I’m not going down to check on her, the cooler, and the flower situation tonight. It’s my name and reputation on the line, and while I might’ve been able to delegate for a while, I’ll never sleep if I don’t know for certain that I’m ready for tomorrow.