Dean
“Fucking weddings.”
“Nice hat.”
“What the fuck’s wrong with my hat? You wanna fight me?” I mutter to my nephew, taking a healthy swallow of my beer.
Palmer just laughs and shakes his head at me, giving me another pat on the back. “I know it physically pains you to be in a good mood, but could you stop glaring for five minutes and share a toast with me? I’m getting married, and I finally got your grumpy ass to come to Summersweet Island! Hell yeah!”
Palmer’s excitement actually does make me crack a smile. I clank the neck of my beer bottle against his and force my eyes away from the irritating woman on the other side of the room.
Irritating—because I can’t keep my fucking eyes off of her.
I am not this person. I don’t flirt. I don’t tease. I don’t get easily distracted by a great ass and a nice pair of tits. And yet, in the span of twenty-four hours, I have suddenly become this person.
“I’m happy for you, kid,” I mutter, bringing the beer up to my mouth again before I say anything else.
Like all the reasons why he shouldn’t get married. She’ll make you change. You’ll do everything to make her happy, and it still won’t be good enough. And then one day, a week before your tenth wedding anniversary, you’ll come home early from work to surprise her and find your next-door neighbor balls-deep inside her.
Palmer has asked for my advice on a lot of things over the years, except for love and marriage. He knows my view on those topics—that being alone is better than being fucked over. But I keep my mouth shut, and I say what I’m supposed to say.
No one can deny Palmer is over-the-moon happy to be marrying the woman he’s been in love with since he was a teenager. And I am happy for him. I’m happy he’s happy. What I’m not happy about is that my eyes keep straying to the other side of the room to get another good look at the mother of the bride. I feel like a damn kid again, wanting to chase her around like a fucking puppy, when I had every intention of coming here and continuing to dislike her from afar.
Of course I knew who Laura was when I walked up to the Dip and Twist last night. Even if I’d never actually met her before, I’ve been hearing all about the great Laura Bennett since Palmer was fifteen years old. I heard all about how perfect she was, how amazing she was, and how supportive she was. How she’s always running around, taking care of everyone else, even though she’s busy raising a family and running her own business.
Along with spending more time with my nephew than I ever could, able to be there in person for him, when the majority of my support over the years has been through phone calls while we were on opposite sides of the world most of the time. I always pictured her as a frumpy soccer mom, haggard and hard from being left alone to raise two girls and run a busy ice cream stand on her own. Nicotine stains on her teeth from hiding out behind the stand, chain-smoking her stress away. I resented her and all the time she got to spend with my family member. The only family member I have who wants anything to do with me, and vice versa. I wanted to hate her on sight for being so perfect and amazing, when I’m just an irritable asshole who gives zero fucks about pretty much everything.
I never expected to find a smoking-hot blonde with an adorable attitude I couldn’t stop thinking about ever since I walked away from her last night. After making those idiotic comments about love—I don’t even know what possessed me to say those things. I took one look at her, and a bunch of bullshit I wouldn’t normally say came flying out of my mouth. And now that I’ve seen her again, and annoyed her again, I still can’t stop thinking about her, and all the other things I could say to get a rise out of her, just to watch her roll her eyes at me again.
Fucking weddings. They make people crazy.
“…and then the sightseeing tour, a beach volleyball competition, movie night on the beach, a party at Dockside Eddy’s, and I think we’ve got…”
Even now, as Palmer rattles off the plans for the next week, my eyes automatically scan the room until I find her again. And my goddamn dick twitches in my jeans, just like it did the previous night when she bent over that freezer.
Last night, she was adorably sexy with her blonde hair piled on top of her head in one of those messy bun things, her ass that I wanted to sink my teeth into barely covered by her tattered jean shorts. Tonight, she looks like a beach vacation wet dream, wearing a gray-blue sundress that matches the color of her eyes and clings to all of her mouth-watering curves, stopping midthigh and showing off a whole lot of leg. Long, sun-kissed, toned legs that I can already feel wrapping around my waist. All of that blonde hair is now hanging loose and wavy around her shoulders, and I just want to gather it around my fist, preferably while I bend her over that freezer.
Perfect Laura Bennett, smiling that perfect smile, surrounded by people who love her for being so perfect, who doesn’t have a care in the world, because her life is so amazing and put together. Everything about her should annoy the piss out of me, but all I can think about is walking over there and sniffing her goddamn hair again. Someone should have warned me she’d smell like the same vanilla ice cream she flings to customers all day long, making me want to lick every inch of her body to see if she tastes that way too.
I haven’t gotten laid in longer than I care to admit, which is the only reason I have to shift my feet and subtly adjust my dick in my jeans when I watch her lean over a table to grab something out of her purse. I’m sure at this point, anybody will do. The blonde hair, big blue eyes, ass that won’t quit, and sassy little mouth is just an unexpected perk.
Maybe a quick fling is just what the doctor ordered to get me out of the funk I’ve been in lately, and even more so since I stepped foot on this godforsaken island. Get whatever this is out of my system so I can stop wondering why her laugh makes me feel like someone punched me in the gut and why trying to annoy her is the most fun I’ve had in ages. Maybe dirtying up perfect little Laura Bennett’s life before I leave is just what I need.
“Whatever you’re thinking, stop it.”
Palmer’s voice cuts into my thoughts, and I look away from Laura guiltily, hoping he doesn’t know I was just thinking about bending his future mother-in-law over that table and fucking her until she stops rolling her eyes at me.
“Look, I know you aren’t a fan of weddings, or people, or being out in public, but you’re on vacation on the most magical island there is,” he says, making me realize he assumed I was having murderous thoughts instead of X-rated ones. “Have some fun for once, make new friends for once, and if you’re still thinking about finally settling down and staying in one place, there’s a cottage for sale right down the street from me and Birdie that I can show you while you’re here.”
“Will you give that a rest already?” I mutter with a shake of my head.
I made the mistake of casually telling Palmer on our last phone call a month ago that I might be getting tired of the nomadic lifestyle. Tired of living out of hotel rooms and extended stays, renting out workspaces to get jobs completed, and never really having a place to call home. Aside from my storage facility, which is just depressing as fuck. He’s been like a dog with a bone ever since I let that internal thought slip out, constantly telling me about all the good things Summersweet Island has to offer and why this would be the best place for me to finally put down roots now that retirement is looming.
The only roots I want to plant are inside of that maddening woman who keeps glancing at me over her shoulder, pretending like she isn’t seeking me out just as much as I am her.
I could definitely have some fun with that one.
And that’s all it would be. Just a little fun so I could stop feeling so… lonely all the damn time suddenly. I like my solitude. I like my peace and quiet and only having myself to worry about. But some days, especially lately, it’s just too quiet with only the thoughts in my head to keep me company. Driving across the country on my bike used to be my favorite thing to do, with nothing but the sky above me and road below me to keep me company.