Page 23 of Strictly the Worst

I’m getting full. And I want to leave some space in my stomach for dessert, but it feels churlish to refuse. It feels more like a peace offering than a piece of bread. So I take it.

“What else is better on vacation?” I ask.

He smiles and I roll my eyes.

“Do you think about anything other than sex?” I ask him.

“Not really, no.”

At least he’s honest.

I clear my throat, because I’m blushing. And I’m thinking about sex, too.

Thanks, Ange.

“Can I ask you a question?” he says, breaking the silence. He’s actually cleared his plate.

“You want my last taco?” I ask. “Because have at it. I can’t eat anymore.”

“That wasn’t my question, but I’ll take it anyway.”

He eats the taco like he consumes life. Like it’s the best thing ever. When it’s gone, he’s still looking at me.

“Okay,” I say. “Ask me your question.”

“Why do you hate me?”

Oh. That’s not what I was expecting. I blink, trying to think of how to respond.

“I don’t hate you.” What a great response. Especially when it’s been clear that I really dislike him. Or I did. For a while.

Okay, until today when I tried to broker some peace.

And maybe I still do. Maybe this third – yes third – cocktail is responsible for my mellowing out.

“Yeah you do.” There’s a look of amusement on his face. “Maybe we should make an agreement. We don’t lie to each other while we’re on this island.”

“Why would I agree to that?”

He lifts a brow. “Because I’d have to agree to it, too. And you could ask me anything you want.”

“What makes you think I want to know anything about you?” I ask tartly.

He grins. “Because you’re as nosy as I am. You’re just better at hiding it.”

I let out a long breath. “I don’t hate you.”

He looks stupidly pleased about that.

“I’m not the easiest person to get along with,” I admit to him. “And you might have started working for Roman right as I was going through the worst part of my divorce. My best friend called it the ‘We Hate Men’ phase.”

“It definitely felt like your ‘I hate Salinger’ phase.”

“I’m sorry.” I shrug. “But you also seemed to delight in riling me up.”

“I’m going to tell you a secret,” he says, leaning in.

“Is this part of the being honest thing?” I ask warily.

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