Page 10 of Secret Baby for the Bad Boy

“Let’s grab a drink!” she says, pulling me into the same bar I tend to cross paths with Lark in. But if I pull away, that’ll be suspect, and she’ll know that something is going on. I don’t have the energy to argue or explain myself, so I just walk in with her.

The laughter, drinking songs, and loud ruckus from a table of young men all meet my ears, and I wish for quiet so I can gather my thoughts. But no such luck, of course.

I don’t see him anywhere and breathe a sigh of relief. I hadn’t gone back to his place last night. I wanted to, but something in me whispered that Shana was right – I was going to wind up hurt if I kept this up. Because something about the man has burrowed past my defenses and I want to see his smile, feel his hands on me, to grab those powerful forearms and never let go.

Shana orders for us as I sit, staring out the window into the blue waves as a sea breeze cools my skin. I can’t help but feel we’re playing a dangerous game of cat and mouse – but he’s not here this time. I don’t know if I feel relief, or disappointment… maybe a mix of both.

I inhale the sea salt air and catch a hint of fruit and coconut along with sharp alcohol and sunscreen.

“Back again?” Another woman I’ve seen her every time I’ve come asks, a knowing look on her face.

“Looks like it,” I say with a smile to take any sting out of my words. I don’t meet her gaze; instead, my attention is drawn to the view beyond the open walls and windows of the bar—the sun dips below the horizon and the sky is lit up fiery orange and vivid pink. The beach is a little less crowded now, and I can hear the waves gently lapping at the shore as if whispering secrets to the sand.

“Here you go,” Shana says, putting something bright and fruity before me.

“Thank you,” I say, finishing half of the drink in one pull. Tonight, I need the liquid courage. Tonight, I'm going to end this madness.

“Rough day?” the woman asks, her eyes sparkling.

“Something like that.”

She turns away as a man takes a spot beside her.

“Making friends?” Shana asks, glancing at the woman then back at me, a slight smile on her lips.

I nod. “You know it,” I say, fiddling with my straw and taking another drink. It’s cold and tastes like a tropical dream. I finish the drink a moment after Shana sits down and she arches an eyebrow at me.

“You might want to slow down,” she says, her gaze shifting from my empty glass to my eyes. I lift both shoulders, not sure I agree with her assessment.

“I’m on vacation,” I say, as if that’ll excuse anything.

She arches an eyebrow at me, but before she can respond, I spot him. Shana seems to see the look on my face and turns to look at him, too. His imposing frame seems to suck all the air out of the room, or maybe my lungs are unable - or unwilling - to function properly.

His gaze meets mine and my heart flops around like a fish searching for water. He makes his way toward us, with his signature confident stride. He gives a roll of his shoulders, as if loosening up to do battle.

Every woman's head turns, following him, and I hear giggles, furious whispers, and sighs. The guys seem annoyed, but that’s not surprising. But it's not his easy, casual look or the way his dark hair is neatly slicked back that catches me—it's those eyes. Thos impossibly intense green eyes, and they’re fixed on me like I’m the only person in the room.

“Hey,” he says, taking the seat beside me and nodding at Shana.

Shana’s gaze shifts from him to me as if gauging the situation and how she should behave.

“Hey.” The single word almost chokes me.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” he says, but I’m not falling for that one again.

I gesture toward the setting sun as the last light of day gives way to the velvety blue of twilight.

“Very.” I can't help but be mesmerized by the view, both outside and right here next to me.

Shana seems at a loss, watching our exchange with a mixture of curiosity and amusement in her eyes.

“Will you join me for a walk later?” He’s eyeing me cooly, as if not sure how I’ll respond. Good, I like to keep him guessing.

“Maybe.” My tone is non-committal.

“It’s hard to resist the ocean.” His smile is easy, but there's a sharpness to it—a predator's grin.

“I know,” I say, gesturing at my damp sundress and the suit under it. There’s a strange flutter in my stomach, not unlike the feeling I get when I’m walking home alone in the dark, or when I see the same man on every single aisle in the grocery store who follows me to check out, then out the door. It’s unsettling, sure, but it’s also exciting.

---