Page 18 of Strictly the Worst

“I’ll just keep my clothes in my suitcase.” I shrug.

“Won’t they get wrinkled?” she asks me.

“Probably. But I know how to use an iron.” I grab my luggage and walk into the bedroom, putting it on the luggage rack and opening it up, before taking out a pair of shorts and a t-shirt from the clothes I threw in there this morning. I grab a pair of slides for my feet, and within two minutes I’m ready to leave.

“Okay. I’ll be back in half an hour or so.” I hook my sunglasses into the neckline of my t-shirt.

She nods. “Over dinner we should talk about our plan.”

“What plan?”

“We need to review the presentation. Decide how we’re going to incorporate the new videos into it.” She’s looking at the list of excursions the receptionist gave us, already making notes on it.

“Okay,” I agree. “Let’s talk about it over dinner. Do you need anything else?” God, my mom would be proud of me.

“No. I’m all good.”

“Okay then. I’ll be back in around half an hour.” It won’t take longer than ten minutes for me to shower and get changed when I get back from my walk. And I get the distinct impression she needs to be alone right now.

Not that I can blame her. I kind of feel the same way. In fact, I’m kind of kicking myself for not double checking our reservation. I know the staff think they’re doing us a favor by giving us one of their nicer cottages, but it’s made for couples and families, not co-workers. I should have specified that we needed two separate cottages, not beds.

I guess I’m lucky she’s going along with my stupid mistake. Most people wouldn’t. And if my spine is tied up in twenty different knots by the morning, that’s the price I pay for being an idiot.

I lift my hand in goodbye and head out to the deck, taking in a long breath of air. It really is beautiful here. I’ve traveled to a lot of places. I spend half my life on an airplane, after all, at Roman’s behest. I’ve even been to the Bahamas a few times before. But this is my first time on Grand Exuma and I’m kind of blown away.

And that’s when I decide it’s time to start being a professional. I pull my phone out – state of the art with a hell of a great camera included – and start recording some video of the cottage and surrounding area. I even manage to catch a few seconds of the Bahama Woodstar bird that is hanging around our cottage before he flies up into the trees.

As I make my way around the cottage ready to head to the ocean, I suddenly hear Tessa’s voice.

“Yes,” she says. “One bungalow. As in I have to share with him. And get this… there’s only one bed.”

I can’t hear the other side of the conversation. She must not have the call on speaker phone. But my curiosity is piqued anyway.

Yes, I know that eavesdroppers never hear good of themselves. But they also don’t get blindsided. And right now, I want to hear her pure, unadulterated response to having to share a bungalow with me.

“Of course he took the sofa,” she’s saying. “He’s an asshole, but not that much of an asshole.”

I blink, because that’s almost exactly what I said to myself. Damn, are we that similar?

No. She’s nothing like me.

“Oh shut up,” she says quickly, giving an awkward laugh. And it’s at this point I realize she’s not talking to her daughter. I should have guessed that earlier. Why would she be telling a little kid she was sharing a cabin with me? But anyway, it makes me want to hear more. So I stay completely still.

“I’m not going to ask him to share a bed with me,” she whispers. “Stop that.” And hell, now I’m more than interested.

I’m fucking fascinated. I never for a moment considered that we’d share a bed. Heck, I’d be worried about getting covered in spikes because she can be that prickly. But now I can’t stop listening if I tried.

“It’s not one of your romance novels, Ange,” she says. “And no. Because…”

Because what? I stand as still as a statue, waiting to hear her response. I’d kill to hear the other side of the conversation. A bird flies down and lands at my feet, pecking around the sand.

“You know why,” she says softly.

I grimace. No I don’t. Tell me!

There’s a long sigh. “You know how long it’s been. Two years.”

Since what? Her divorce? Since she’s been on vacation?

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