Page 52 of Caribbean Crush

“I’d totally do it again!”

We’re still doing it now while we walk into the dining hall for dinner. Of course Sienna has a slight limp from a strained muscle in her thigh and a bandage on her knee, and I’m still wincing with every step I take—but we damn well deserve to brag!

I’m a full-fledged hiking aficionado, thank you very much.

Is there a special section where we should sit with the other ultrafit people eager to tear into a high-protein, low-carb dinner?

Sienna and I are laughing about this—poking fun at ourselves—when I glance across the dining hall and see Phillip. He’s sitting at a table with Arthur Burton and Tyson. I’m a half step behind Sienna, and she doesn’t notice that I freeze in place. I was looking for Phillip, though the moment I see him, I short-circuit as if surprised I actually succeeded.

He kills the laughter on my lips. The sight of him is a physical reminder of everything that happened last night—tangling together, naked in his sheets. I was going to pretend and act as if nothing all that serious even happened. It was just sex, and it was supposed to be casual, but then nothing about Phillip is casual. I should have known it wasn’t possible to keep him at a distance.

He looks up, and our gazes clash. I feel his eyes on me like a caress. I look away quickly—flushed with embarrassment—then realizing how silly that is, I glance back up and smile. We can be cordial to each other, friendly even, can’t we? He’s still looking at me, the ghost of a smile playing across his handsome face. Suddenly it all seems so intimate. Those lips were pressed between my thighs last night. Oh my god. A thousand riotous butterflies take flight in my stomach, a complication I wasn’t expecting. I had hoped I sated something last night. Though as my heart thunders in my chest and a tantalizing warmth spreads over me, a sinking feeling starts to creep up inside me—a worry I was hoping to avoid. There’s been a shift, and we both notice it. Something feels markedly different between us, like the air is tinged with secret longing. I realize now that last night doesn’t exist in the past; it lives here and now, a breathing thing that grows between us.

Sienna says my name. She’s wondering if I like the table she picked.

“It’s great,” I say, barely looking at it. “Could I sit on this side?”

Before she’s even responded, I tug out the chair that puts my back to Phillip. I feel relieved the moment he’s behind me, out of sight.

Sienna takes the seat across from me, looks up, and smiles. “Oh, now I see. Playing hard to get? I doubt there’s any need. He’s still looking this way, you know ...” Her expression shifts as she catches his eye and offers a little wave.

I want to hiss at her to stop, but why? She can wave to Phillip, and I can peruse my menu as if I’m not even bothered.

“I wish I’d thought ahead and let you borrow something from my closet.” She frowns at my blue flowy sundress like it doesn’t live up to her exacting standards. “I have this little black number that would have him swallowing his tongue.”

“I don’t want that, remember? It’s over.” I concentrate on the menu, willing myself to believe my own words as I read over the entrées. Hmm. Pasta or steak tonight? I’m starving after our hike.

“Pfft. It’s over?” She leans in close. “So if he cornered you and asked for one more night, another little romp in his suite, you’d say no?”

I nod forcefully before pointing at the top corner of the menu. “This seafood pasta sounds good.”

“Oh,” Sienna says, and I realize she’s not responding to my comment; she’s looking over at Phillip’s table still, her brow furrowed in confusion—or is it annoyance?

I can’t help but follow my curiosity. I glance over my shoulder and see that two of the bloggers Sienna warned me about on my first day—Jenna and Avery—have come to join Phillip and his friends at his table. In fact, Avery takes the empty seat directly beside Phillip; then she leans in and touches his shoulder, speaking low and saying something with a playful smile. She might as well be waving a neon sign that reads PICK ME! PICK ME!

“I’m sure he didn’t invite them to sit,” Sienna assures me, and I hate that she’s trying to protect my feelings. “They’re the type of women who feel as though they belong anywhere. Especially Avery. God, look at those extensions in her hair. Who does she think she’s fooling? That’s like four times the amount of hair on a normal human head.”

I desperately want to rise above it all, to compartmentalize last night from the here and now. Acid churns in my stomach, though, that painful bite of jealousy. I have such a tenuous grasp on Phillip. He owes me nothing in the same way I owe him nothing. The interview he sent is proof of that. If he chooses to spend his evening entertaining those two women, I have no say in it. I can only control myself, and I absolutely refuse to sit here wallowing over something that’s not that big of a deal. So what, they’re eating dinner together? Why should I care?

I flag down a passing waiter. “Two champagnes please.”

“Heavy pours,” Sienna adds, gesturing for emphasis.

When he leaves, I lean across the table toward Sienna. “Listen, our night out in Key West got curtailed because of the jellyfish sting ... let’s go out tonight instead! I bet there’s a ton of nightlife around here.”

“They said we have to be back on board by ten p.m.”

“So? It’s only a little after seven. Let’s eat fast and then go live a little. We’ll be back, no problem.”

Sienna’s lips split into a wide smile. “All right. You’re on.”

The waiter brings around our champagne, and I order the seafood pasta.

“Same for me,” Sienna adds.

After scarfing down our food, I don’t give Phillip another glance as we hurry out of the dining hall. We end up walking off the ship directly into a shopping and dining district full of bars and clubs crammed along a street, one after another. There’s not much real dancing happening yet since it’s still early, but the places are packed, and Sienna and I are just happy to be a small part of it.

The first bar has two open stools for us, and we strike up a conversation with a couple nearby who live on Grand Turk full time. Though they’re wearing loose linen and flip-flops, their accent gives them away as being nonislanders, at least by birth. When I ask about it, they explain they retired early and left their lives in Canada in favor of operating a surf shop on the island. They proudly proclaim that they could never go back to the brutal winters now that they’ve fully acclimated to life on the island.

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