The Two Week Stand (Sizzling Beach 1)

one

Dillon

I’m the first to step off the seaplane and onto the jetty, saying hello to the staff member waiting to greet us all.

Moving aside so the other passengers can get off, I stretch my back out.

Eleven hours on a flight from Manchester to the Maldives and then a forty-five-minute flight on a cramped seaplane to the island, and I’m finally here.

Alone.

Nope. I’m not going to get upset.

I’m not gonna think about him.

Or her.

I’ve spent enough time crying over what they did to me. No more.

I’m literally in paradise, surrounded by beauty. I cannot be sad here.

Even though I tell myself this, I still feel my throat start to burn, the hurt wanting to climb its way into my eyes.

I get my sunglasses from my bag and slip them on.

Swallowing back my emotions, I take a deep breath.

The air is heavy. The heat here is like nothing I’ve ever known.

I’ve been abroad before but only to Spain with my girlfriends. I thought it was warm when I was there. It’s nothing compared to the heat here.

When I landed at Malé airport, I began to seriously regret the leggings and long-sleeved shirt I wore to travel here. It had been freezing when I left home to head to the airport. Thought I was being smart, wearing something comfy to travel in.

But being here now, on the island, I can feel the sweat starting to gather around the nape of my neck and my armpits.

I need to shower and change ASAP. Then, eat something and fall into bed.

I’m knackered after all the traveling.

Retrieving a scrunchie from my bag, I gather my long hair up off my neck and tie it up in a haphazard bun. I know for a fact that it looks like shit. I’m not one of those girls who can put her hair in a messy bun and it come off looking amazing. I usually end up looking like I lost a fight with a bush.

But I’m not here to impress anyone, and I’m fucking melting, so shit hair bun it is.

I press my hand to the back of my neck to remove the sweat there, and then I surreptitiously wipe my hand on my leggings.

I look to my left, and the woman standing there, who was on the seaplane ride here, is watching me, a judgy look on her face, like I’m the grossest thing she’s ever seen.

Of course she’s totally put together.

We can’t all look amazing after a long-ass flight. Some of us are smelly and gross.

Deal with it, lady.

I give her a pointed look—through my dark glasses, of course—and she looks away.

The guy she’s traveling with comes over and kisses her. She lifts her hand to his cheek.

My eyes catch on the massive rock and gold band on her finger.

An ache deep inside of my chest tries to claw its way out.

What the hell was I thinking, coming here?

It’s going to be full of couples and happy newlyweds, who are going to make me want to poke my eyes out.

Come on your honeymoon alone, Dillon. It’ll be fine, Dillon.

Note to Dillon: you’re a fucking idiot.

The greeter guy asks us all to follow him down the jetty to the island.

I let everyone else go first.

All fucking couples.

I am the only solo person here.

What did I expect, coming here?

The Maldives is couples central. Not sad, pathetic, single women central.

I should have stayed home.

And lost thousands of pounds on this trip.

I couldn’t get a refund.

Apparently, my fiancé fucking … I can’t even say it without wanting to throw up.

Basically, cheating fiancé wasn’t listed on my travel insurance as a reason for cancellation.

And the travel company wouldn’t let me change to a different destination. It was literally two weeks before I was due to get married when I found out the truth. And a week before I could even bring myself to contact the travel company.

So, it was either stay home and drink myself into a coma. Or come to paradise and drink myself into a coma.

I chose the latter.

I just didn’t take into consideration the happy couples I’d be surrounded by.

Looking at these blissful bastards in front of me makes me wish I were back in my home with a few bottles of Prosecco in front of me and a serial killer documentary on TV for company.

I hear my phone ding in my bag, and I pull it out.

Text from my aunt Jenny. I texted her when I landed in Malé airport to let her know I’d arrived.

How is it? Send pics ASAP! Love you. xxx

I smile at her message even though I blame her for me coming here too. She was the one who first suggested it. I asked her to come with me, take Tim’s place, but she couldn’t get the time off work with such short notice. Neither could any of my girlfriends.