The Two Week Stand (Sizzling Beach 1)

I walk toward it and pick up the card. Removing it from the envelope, I read it.

I don’t realize I’m crying until a tear hits the card, smudging the ink.

Fuck this.

I dry my face with my hand. Toss the card onto the floor and grab the champagne from the bucket. Unwrapping it, I pop the cork with proficiency that I didn’t know I had, and I take a long swig from the bottle. Fuck the glass. It’s not like I’m sharing it with anyone.

Grabbing a banana from the fruit basket, I walk out onto the terrace, into the heat, and sit down on one of the two loungers.

Two loungers and only one of me.

I glare at the empty lounger, like it’s somehow its fault that my life went to shit in the span of a few seconds.

A few seconds … walking in and seeing something no person ever wants to see … was all it took for my life and future dreams to dissolve into pieces before me.

Honestly, I’d toss that sun lounger into the ocean, but I don’t want to have to stump up the cash to replace it.

That, and the sea life doesn’t deserve to have its home invaded by my anger.

Still, I put my foot up against the side of the lounger and push it as far away from me as I can.

God, look at me. I should change my name to Eeyore. I’m like a sad fucking donkey.

I need to sort my shit out. Cheer the hell up.

But first, I need something to eat; otherwise, I’ll be a cheap date tonight.

Putting the bottle down on the floor beside the lounger, I peel open the banana.

It’s actually a hella big banana. Bigger than my ex’s dick—that’s for sure. Probably has more potential to fill me as well.

I snort a laugh.

Tim used to hate it when I snorted, so I used to try not to do it.

See, there is an upside to all this. I can snort a laugh without the prick complaining.

I snort again and then a couple more times, just for the hell of it. Then, I take a big bite of banana. Chew and swallow and then chase it down with some more champagne.

I might be alone and miserable. But I’m in paradise. In the most gorgeous bungalow, looking out over the water. I have an outside bath and alcohol, and that always helps dull the pain, making me feel less alone and sad.

I’m a happy drunk, always have been, so I’ll just keep drinking this champagne until I’m feeling happy.

Or as happy as I can.

I get my phone and open up the Music app, and then I select a song that never fails to lift my spirits and pump a bit of strength into me—Christina Aguilera’s “Fighter.” I hit play, and then I put the champagne bottle to my lips and take another drink.

two

West

I notice her the moment she walks in the bar. She’s hard to miss for a few reasons. One, she’s clearly drunk and trying to act like she’s sober. It shows in the rigidness of her walk. Two, she’s wearing a hell of a lot of clothes for this kind of heat. Even at night, it’s hot as balls here, and this chick is wearing black leggings and a long-sleeved black shirt, like we’re in for a cold flash. And three, which probably should have been the first thing I listed … she’s hot as fuck. She reminds me a little of Selena Gomez. Long, dark, wavy hair. She’s tiny, but compared to me, a lot of women are. At a distance, I’d say she’s five-three, max. For a short chick, she has surprisingly longish legs that would fit nicely around my waist. I have a mental flash of her pressed against a wall with me up against her, my cock buried deep inside her, those legs of hers tightly hugging my hips.

My dick twitches. I bat the image aside. Every woman on this island is either married or has a boyfriend, and attached women are not my thing. Neither are drunk ones.

Taking a sip of my cold beer, I watch her navigate her way toward the bar, where I’m perched on a stool. It’s cute, seeing her try to walk in a straight line. She’s already stumbled twice—over thin air.

Reaching the bar a few feet away from me, she leans her stomach against it, and I get a side shot of her chest. She has decent-sized tits.

“Bartender.” She slaps her hand down on the bar top. “Drink me.” She’s English.

There are quite a few Brits on the island. As an American, I’m a rarity here. The flight here from the States is an absolute fucker, so it’s not the first vacation destination on our list, which is exactly why I chose to come here.