Page 70 of Beached Wedding

“Thanks.” Fox offered his credit card, drawing a circle over the table to indicate he would pick up the tab for whatever was currently owed.

“You always say you’re so cheap, but then you do things like that,” I said as the server walked away. “Why?”

“It’s a round of drinks,” he dismissed.

“But you’re paying for my suite, too. Did you get your own?”

“They only had a standard queen.”

“But would you have if they did?”

“Are you trying to pick a fight? No, I wouldn’t, but this isn’t complicated, Ash. I don’t spend money on myself because I’d rather save it for things I really want. I’m frugal, not cheap. I shout drinks when I’m out with a group and buy dinner when I’m on a date. When I need something, I get the least expensive one that will do the trick. When Iwantsomething, I wait until I can afford the very best so it will last forever.”

I held his intense stare as I sifted through a statement that was actually very complicated. Was he saying that I wasn’t something he wanted or needed? That he would wait? That he couldn’t afford me? Maybe, like Shane, he didn’t think we would last forever so why start?

The music switched over to a rhythmic strum of a guitar. Rick Springfield’s chesty voice began to croon, “Jessie is a friend…”

“Oh,come on,” I cried to the gods.

I looked for my purse, forgetting that I hadn’t brought one. Just my room card and a credit card.

Fox touched my wrist. “Did you say anything to anyone?”

“No!” I scowled. “What is there to say?” I made herself drain the soda water, stomach sloshing with rejection, but I needed to hydrate or I’d feel even worse tomorrow.

Fox’s hand stayed on my arm, thumb playing against my skin. It was nothing. A tiny feather of a caress, but it felt so good. So achingly good that I stood there paralyzed the way cats go limp at a grip on their ruff, submissive and starting to purr.

And Rick Springfield wished that he hadJessie’s Girl…

Fox’s touch abruptly dropped away and suddenly we were surrounded.

Whitney and Izzy reached for their drinks. Oliver asked Fox if he wanted a beer then disappeared to the bar to get one for himself.

“Where are you going?” Whitney scolded as I stood.

“Bed.”

Duran Duran began singing Hungry Like the Wolf. Izzy grabbed Fox’s hand. “Come on.” She was already tick-tocking her hips.

I didn’t stick around to see if he went to grind it out with her. I ignored Whitney’s, “No, stay,” and went to my empty room where I downed two extra-strength ibuprofens and shoved myself under the sheet, begging sleep to come before any tears arrived.

ASHLEY

Apapery noise woke me. I wasn’t sure if I’d heard it or if it was a remnant of a dream, but I was awake now, blinking at the clock.

Six a.m. on the wedding day that wasn’t.

My head was dull and so was my stomach, but my hangover was mostly emotional. I made a cup of coffee and took it to the lanai.

The surf wasn’t doing much and there were only a couple of stragglers out there. I saw a man who looked like Fox coming in. He stood up in the wash and tucked his board under his arm, pausing to glance up.

It was Fox. Looking for me.

I lifted a hand, chest tight.

He lifted his.

Why couldn’t I hate him? It would be so much easier if I could hate his guts.

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