Page 30 of The Plus Ones
This should be interesting.
When he reclaims his seat next to me, he has already polished off nearly half of his second cocktail and his entire being has loosened up significantly.
“Feelin’ better?” I ask.
“Feelin’ fine,” he says. “I can’t fucking wait to get there. You excited?”
“Yes. Thank you for convincing me to come.”
He cocks his head, looking a little more surprised than I’d like. Is it really that shocking to hear me say “thank you”?
“You’re welcome.” His eyes drop to my rack for a brief second. “I just hope you can handle seeing me shirtless.” His voice has changed. It’s that golden voice that Aimee told me about years ago, when they first met and he was hitting on her. It’s a good voice, I’ll give him that.
“Oh yeah? Most women can’t handle it, I assume?”
“Most women lose their minds. But you’ll have to control yourself.” He leans in and whispers, “You’ll have to constantly remind yourself that I’m only pretending to be your boyfriend.”
“Trust me, it’s all I’ll be thinking about.”
“Trust me, you’ll be thinking about how good I look in shorts. And FYI, I did just happen to bring a red pair, so wewillmatch.”
Normally, I would be verbally slaughtering him for his stupid tipsy horny bravado, but for now, I will take flirtatious Keaton over silent, unhappy Keaton.
For now.
“I hope you also brought a pair of tasteful leopard print, black, and also white shorts so we match every day.”
“You only brought four swimsuit options? What about Day Five and Six?”
I lean in and whisper, “I plan to spend two days sunbathing completely naked.”
I watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down. He tilts his head toward me so that his lips are dangerously close to mine. “I plan to spendfivedays sunbathing completely naked. So we’ll match three days out of six.”
6
Keaton
“Okay,nowI have a boner,” I mutter, loud enough that only my mildly inebriated fake girlfriend can hear.
She giggles. This is like the fifth time I’ve made her giggle today, and I’m secretly over the moon. Her usual laugh is this controlled husky chuckle that always seemed manufactured to me. I had suspected her real laugh was some evil witch cackle, but she makes this musical girly sound that’s completely charming and nothing like the rest of her.
But neither that, nor the prospect of seeing this woman in a bikini is the most boner-inducing thing in my life at the moment.
It’s the tropical wet dream we’re going to be living in for the next six nights.
Now that we’ve stepped out of the slightly rickety ancient shuttle that brought us here from the airport, I can safely say that Roxy Carter is not the most jaw-droppingly beautiful and sexy thing I can see for miles.
Okay, she’s not theonlyjaw-droppingly beautiful and sexy thing I can see for miles.
The Coco Beach Resort is a knockout. I want to drop to my knees in gratitude. I mean, I like New York, and I don’t know if I could ever really live anywhere else long-term—but this is heaven on earth and I already feel better than I’ve felt in years.
I can’t decide what to stare at—the vibrant lush flora, the carpet of mowed lawn at our feet, the expanse of blue sky and friendly white clouds overhead, the brightly painted cottages all around the cliffside of the peninsula, the peek-a-boo view of the white sand beach and crystal clear sea that lie just beyond the infinity pool, or the impossibly erect nipples that have been protruding through the fabric of Roxy’s top since she removed her coat back in New York.
It is most definitely not cold here in Antigua, Roxy Carter.
I tip Ajay the driver before he grabs our suitcases and carries them down the paved path to the cottage with the front desk and lobby.
“I’ll let them know we’re here,” Roxy says, reaching for her phone.
