Page 20 of His Jersey

My lips quirk with a grin. “Same place, earlier time. How about seven?”

“Seven p.m.? I’ll have to check my schedule.”

“Full day at the spa?”

“Something like that.” She mutters about cleaning.

I yawn and point to the wardrobe. “I should put on some clothes.”

“Yeah. Me too. I mean get dressed. I have to—” Flustered, she waves her pointer fingers in the air and then flies into what very well may be housekeeping mode as she starts un-making the bed.

“You don’t have to bother. I’m getting right back in it,” I say.

“But I can refresh the sheets and—wait, you just got here?” What looks like hope plays peek-a-boo in her eyes. “Does that mean I was right about that being your watch?”

I nod.

She bites her lip, studying me for a long moment.

If only we could rewind.

“I’ve had a long few days. The whole week.” I slide my hand down my face as fatigue suddenly catches up to me. “Seriously, make yourself at home. I’m just going to—” I flop onto the bed. My eyes drop closed.

Before I pass out, I hear her whisper, “Folks, nothing to see here, except a lot of skin even though he’s still in the towel.”

I chuckle. My pulse races for multiple reasons, and it’s the only thing telling me that I’m not already dreaming.

9

ELLA

My day spent cleaningrooms rushes past like it has somewhere to be. So do I, but I’m stuck. Not literally like how Jack’s Jeep was in the dunes last year when we first officially met. But if I meet him, I’ll have to come up with a reason I was in his bed and I don’t want to lie.

Then again, he still thinks my name is Jasmin. How will I keep up the charade?

On the next installment of Ella & the Dumpster Fire, find out if her dignity winds up in the dumpster and she takes up permanent residence with that sketchy band of raccoons.

This reminds me that the payment for Dad’s care is coming due and I cannot lose this job. If I let him down, I’m letting my mother down. He’s all I have left. If I can just make it until I get a raise, I’ll have a little extra cash I can keep and eventually find a roommate … or something.

Pacing the path near where Jack and I had our posh picnic (after the Jeep but before swimming), I imagine he’s sitting on the plush cushions and waiting for me. Has he already ordered our food? I should cut my losses and offer it to the raccoons.

My stomach rumbles. In high school, I worked at my dad’s favorite diner, and employees were given one free meal per shift. That’s where my love of cheeseburgers, fries, and milkshakes came from. But Jewel Island doesn’t comp its workers. We’re just lucky to be surrounded by so much beauty and luxury. Unfortunately, the sight and scent of wealth in the air doesn’t fill my belly. But we do get paid more than average, way more, in exchange for signing an NDA, given all the rich and high-profile guests.

However, cleaning a toilet is still cleaning a toilet. If I had a hotel or bed-and-breakfast, things would be different. But that’ll never happen. However, a date with Jack is on the menu.

Wringing my hands, I fret, what am I going to do?

He was gracious this morning because he could’ve screamed, pointed at me on the floor next to his bed, and called security. I wouldn’t have blamed him.

But he did recognize me after all. The way his expression changed sparked something in me that’s remained lit all day.

I eye the path that leads to the secret little picnic garden. If I had a coin, I’d toss it. Heads: run. Tails … run. Gazing up toward the night sky, I startle when someone’s hand lands on my arm from behind.

My shriek catches in my throat. It’s Jack.

Amusement dances in his eyes. “I’ve been watching your shadow through the bushes for the last five minutes. While you’ve been pacing, dinner has been waiting.”

“Yeah, um, I should probably—” Go hide in the cabana storage building.

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