Page 15 of His Jersey

“Party of one,” I answer.

She purrs, “Sounds like a good time. Wish I could join you.”

Bark Wahlburger nuzzles my hand, reminding me he’s here. Typically, dogs wouldn’t be allowed on the premises, but that’s one of the benefits of being me.

“Two, actually.”

Her expression lights up and then she glances down at the dog by my side. “Well, if you want dessert, you know where to find me.”

After breakfast dessert isn’t a thing unless you count chocolate, but I keep that to myself. Not to sound like an arrogant jerk, but I cannot seem to escape the flirtation or notoriety. I have no one to blame but myself and my big fat ego. It’s my own doing. I’ve had more than my fair share of fun with women, but it never left me feeling full.

Except that one time with Jasmin.

Bark Wahlburger settles under the table and doesn’t even beg. “What a good boy,” I say, rubbing behind his ears.

He looks up at me with those puppy dog eyes.

My icy heart melts a little. “Before I was wondering what I was going to do with you? Maybe the more important question is what am I going to do with myself?”

After I order crepes, I wonder what my mother would think. She’d be disappointed. She’d want me to find someone special. She’d love the dog, well, maybe after a bath and trip to the groomer.

Again, Jasmin drifts into my mind. That night with her was electric. It felt so real—nothing at all fake about her—exceptmaybe her name. The kiss we shared in the pool was like a tsunami, crashing against all the previous kisses I’d ever had.

I sigh, finish my meal, and then wander to the Ruby Room, shuffle through the door, and go directly to the shower, eager to wash off and sleep through tomorrow and Sunday before I have to fly out again for a Monday face-off against the Knights. It could very well be my last game. I’ll deal with the career crossroads—and Bark Wahlburger—then.

7

ELLA

When I wakeup in the king-sized bed after a solid snooze, I stretch and half expect birds to be chirping and the sun to stream through the window like in the opening scene of a fairytale movie.

After a moment of disorientation, I remember that I’m in the Ruby Room and should get my sleepy butt moving before I’m caught in a guest suite, fired, and then have to lash together a raft or swim back to the mainland.

It must be raining because I hear the trickle of water. If only I could stay in bed for a little while, maybe order room service, and read until I’m ready to get up. Now, that’s what I call luxury.

Until I didn’t have a real bed, never mind a roof over my head, I took a mattress and sheets for granted.

Then I bolt upright. Despite the blackout curtains, it’s not raining.

No, that’s the sound of the shower.

The guest who reserved this room is here.

Blood rushes in my ears.

I’m going to be caught.

And possibly arrested.

If Slater finds me, he’ll probably have me arrested or kicked off the island.

This is technically US soil, but maybe they have different rules and I’ll have to walk a plank or worse. What could be worse? I don’t know, but I need to get out of here. Now.

The sound of spraying water stops.

I hope whoever is in there has a long and intricate post-shower ritual, involving lots of products and grooming. But their belongings were here and unless they brought additional items, all I saw was a shaving kit.

This is bad. Very bad.

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