Page 17 of His Jersey

The dog barks as if he agrees.

I smooth my hair because I cannot fathom the bedhead I’m sporting right now. My hair was already long when I was stranded here, but now the She-Squatches of the world would admire it. Thankfully, I usually keep it tucked under the wig.

“I, um, was locked out of my room. This one was open so?—”

His forehead wrinkles. “The front desk would’ve let you into your room.”

“Um, right. It was late. Late nights, am I right?” If this were a play, I’d give a monologue right now. Instead, I make a face because my late nights are only a result of not having a decentplace to sleep. Usually. This week notwithstanding, thanks to the no-show guest. Until now.

He licks his lips and bites the bottom one as if not convinced. “Or was this bed just right?” He presses his palm to the mattress, testing it. Closer now, his manly, soapy scent fills my nose.

It was one thing to see him emerge from the shower, all handsome and fresh. It’s another entirely to be this close to his tawny skin, brawny build, and breathing the same air again.

Thinking about him, even though I knew it was a wild fantasy that we’d ever see each other again was a silly, fairytale wish, and carried me through some long and desperate days.

Oh, but morning breath. I press my lips together, hoping it’s not dragon-slaying level bad.

Slowly, too slowly, because words are hard right now, I say, “Yeah. I kick when I sleep and my sister was not about that so, yeah, that’s why, um, yeah … my imaginary sister.” I trail off because I don’t want to be a lying liar face.

However, there’s something else too. Something of dig me a grave and roll me in now-concern. The flash of recognition I expect from Jack isn’t there, considering the last time we saw each other. His hair was dripping with water from the pool. His lips were on mine. I tried on his watch. It was my own version of winning the lottery.

Thinking back, we’d talked about pretending to be someone else that night—so maybe he envisioned me as his dream girl and not a swamp monster who’d just invaded the island village. I’ve never had someone officially rate my morning look, but I assure you, there would be no stars awarded.

I make the snap decision not to reveal my identity, aka Jasmin, because my humiliation is already complete.

Checking to make sure there isn’t drool crust on my cheek, I get to my feet and adjust the strap of my tank top. Technically,it’s notmytank top, but it belonged to a guest in room one-fifty-seven from October. The print features sparkly little pumpkins, bats, and ghosts, which is very off-season in January, but it fits. Mostly. I fix the strap again.

Arms folded across his chest, Jack taps his chin. “It doesn’t seem like you’re a super fan and I need to call security, but how is this going to go? Bark Wahlburger, any ideas?” He looks at the pup for a moment.

I blink a few times. “You named your dog Bark Wahlburger?”

He shifts as though uncomfortable. “Yeah, well, it was his idea. Mostly.”

Laughter bubbles out of me. “Bark Wahlburger. Like Mark Wahlberg of Marky Mark of Funky Bunch fame?”

“Or the star of numerous feature action films.” He squares his shoulders as if to say that he and his dog, Bark Wahlburger, are tough guys.

My stomach clenches with laughter. “Bark Wahlburger. Like cheeseburger?” I ask, wondering if (hoping) that’ll jog his memory.

“He named himself, but don’t try to distract me. This is serious.” His serious expression mirrors his tone and sucks the humor out of the room.

Clutching my hands together, I all but drop to my knees. “Please, whatever you do, don’t call security. I’ll just gather my things and be on my way. You never have to see me again.”

I scramble, trying to find my stuff under the pile of decorative pillows. Or did I leave it on the chair? I was so exhausted last night, that I can’t remember much more than flopping into bed with a yawn and a prayer of appreciation for a warm, dry place to sleep.

Scrubbing his hand through his hair, Jack looks confused asif that’s not what he expected to hear. “Wait, who set this up to, well, I don’t know, to woo me?”

I incline my head, not sure if I heard him correctly. Could I be mistaken, and he has a lookalike? Despite this state of affairs, especially with my hair, I never felt more like myself than with Jack that night. The surge inside, magnetizing me to him even now, despite the awkwardness of the situation, tells me it’s the same guy.

And he doesn’t remember me.

8

JACK

Plantingher hand on my hip, the woman in my room, who apparently found my bedJust right,says, “Yeah, Jack. I came here towooyou in my Halloweenboopajamas. The real picture of seduction.” The sarcastic words slip out, sounding a little annoyed.

I’ll admit she’s kind of adorable with her messy brown hair and sleepy eyes. She’s medium height with a buttery tan—she must be enjoying the resort amenities. A smattering of freckles splatter her nose and the smooth skin of her cheeks.

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