Page 5 of The Trouble with Players

Gina’s eyes lit up. “What?”

“We’ll hit the bars. We deserve a night out.”

She smiled, and I could see how grateful she was for the offer.

Even though every part of my body wanted to curl up in bed because I was exhausted, jetlagged, and pissed I was there and my mom wasn’t, I’d do it for Gina.

“Let’s meet out front at nine,” she said, pushing herself to her feet.

“Okay,” I said, standing up beside her.

We parted ways by the path. I headed to my back patio, stopping where the broken chair should’ve been. I twisted around, seeking any of its remnants, but someone had cleaned it up.

I could see my father through the kitchen windows. In no mood for another run-in, I circled the house to the front door, climbed the stairs to the second floor, and headed to get my suitcase from my room.

“You people don’t knock in this house?”

I stopped short a few feet into my room. Crew lay on my bed staring at the phone in his hand. I huffed my frustration. “Let’s get something straight. This is my room. And I’m only gonna play nice because…well because I don’t need any more aggravation here.” I snatched up the handle of my suitcase and rolled it into my bathroom. If he thought I’d be giving up that easily, he was sorely mistaken. I slammed the bathroom door shut for the whole house to hear and locked it behind me.

I rummaged through my suitcase for a clean shirt and cutoffs. There wasn’t a chance in hell I was leaving this bathroom until I was clean and dressed for a night out. If he needed it, he could use the guest bathroom.

In the shower, I let the water rain over me for a long time. The water pressure overseas was lacking the power I needed. I lifted Crew’s bottle of shampoo to my nose. Sandalwood. Figures. I placed it back down and used my own products on my hair and body, then grabbed a towel from the white linen chest.

After I dried off, I shimmied into my shirt and cutoffs. As my hair dried, I could see the beachy waves return. I’d been accustomed to just pulling it up in a ponytail when I was in Europe, so I’d forgotten how nice it felt to wear it down. I brushed on minimal makeup and slipped on my flip-flops. It was eight-thirty, so I closed my suitcase and opened the door. Crew wasn’t in my room when I stepped out.

Smart move on his part.

CHAPTER THREE

“You clean up well,” Gina teased as I met her at the end of my gravel driveway.

My eyes drifted over her sundress and wedges. “One of us has to look presentable.”

She laughed as our Uber pulled up, and we slipped into the backseat.

“Monty’s, right?” I asked her.

“Of course,” she said with a grin.

We’d been getting into Monty’s with fake IDs since we were seventeen. Now, we were legit twenty-one-year-olds. After a short drive along the coast, our driver dropped us in front of the beachside bar. We showed the bouncer our IDs and slipped inside to grab a drink. The place was pretty busy for a Wednesday night. But, then again, most people were vacationing, so the days of the week on the Cape were irrelevant. We wove our way through the tables until we reached the bar. The bartender lifted her chin in my direction.

“Two Coronas,” I called before scanning the bar for familiar faces. Most looked like tourists. A group of guys near the pool table caught my attention. They were around our age but didn’t pay us the least bit of attention.

The bartender returned with the beers, and I paid before we walked out to the back deck. Tiki torches surrounded the deck, and big bulb lights were strung every which way above our heads. I leaned against the railing and gazed out at the ocean. The roar of the waves was more prominent in the darkness. “It’s so beautiful at night,” I mused. “I really missed this.”

“You sure you want to leave?” she asked.

“I don’t want to leave. I think I need to leave.”

An older guy wearing a straw hat stepped up, leaning against the railing beside us. “Hey, ladies. You come here often?”

I looked to Gina. “Is he serious?”

She stifled a grin.

“Of course I’m serious,” he said, a slight slur to his words.

“Sorry to break it to you,” I said. “But that pick-up line went out with the denim shorts you’re wearing.”

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