Page 2 of Marriage is a Shore Thing
He hasn’t just had a bad night. He’s had a bad week. A bad month?
I know that kind of exhaustion. The kind that sifts into your bones, making you feel like nothing will ever be normal again.
“I’m having a blast.” The corner of his mouth smirks unconvincingly around blond stubble. “No need to worry about me.”
“I wasn’t.”
The words come out before I can temper them, but it’s as reflexive as breathing, having my guard up. Keeping everyoneat arm’s length with biting remarks and disinterested glares is a well-worn pattern.
No one can hurt you if you push them away first.
He dips his head with a breathy exhale that could almost be a chuckle, his straight hair falling over his eyes. It’s a touch too long, like he’s in between haircuts. Is that by choice or because basic self-care has fallen by the wayside?
As his focus returns to his drink, slowly drawing overlapping triangles in the glass’s condensation, tension settles just behind my breastbone. I open my mouth to apologize, but before I can say anything, my phone rings. My instinct is to ignore it and smooth things over with this stranger—Idon’twant to leave him worse off than he already is—but it could be Cade or Brynn.
“Hey,” Brynn says when I pick up her call. “I just wanted to check in. Cade said that you wanted to be left alone because you were hitting things off with the guy from the bar, but—” Her sentence cuts off when I snort.
The corner of the man’s mouth quirks, genuine this time, and I feel my own lips twitch in response.
“You never said that, did you?” A groan comes over the line. “Cade! We can’t just leave Geneva with a stranger in Vegas. That’s dangerous.”
“But he could be her soulmate! Sometimes fate needs a push,” Cade’s voice calls from a distance, over what sounds like water splashing in the background. She’s probably in the hot tub on the terrace of our exorbitant penthouse suite.
Brynn mutters unintelligibly, obviously annoyed.
And I should feel the same. I should be completely ticked that Cade decided to play matchmaker, but the relief over not being intentionally abandoned overpowers everything else.
“Oh!” Cade calls out. “I think I left my purse behind. There are breath mints and a tiny can of pepper spray inside—just in casethings goreally wellorreally badly. Not that you’d need the pepper spray, you majestic goddess of fierceness!”
An unexpected peal of laughter rips from my belly. Normally, I’d restrain it, maintain my aloof, unapproachable persona, but I’m too tired from this whirlwind of a day. It’s hard to imagine that I awoke in my seaside cottage this morning, the ever-present sound of waves gentle against my bedroom window.
“I’m sending Mateo,” Brynn tells me, her tone brisk.
“Don’t bother.” My eyes scan the event information on the TV screen above the bartenders. “I’m going to make another stop before I head back.”
“You sure?”
I smile to myself. Brynn is nearly as protective as I am.
“Yes. I’ll call if I need anything,” I say before hanging up.
Mateo made us store his number in our phones when we stepped off the tarmac earlier, and it’s not like being alone in a large city is foreign to me. It’ll be easy enough to wrangle my way into the boxing afterparty that was just advertised. And I’d bet—I flick a furtive glance to the man to my right—based on how engrossed he’d been in the match, I’m guessing being in the same room as the new heavyweight champion would be an improvement over sitting alone at this bar.
“I think it’s pretty obvious you’re in the middle of a tough break.” I keep my gaze trained forward, setting my phone face down on the bar and flicking a polished fingernail toward his cocktail. “Only bachelorette parties and people running on fumes order that yellow monstrosity.”
When I’m met with silence, I glance right.
His lips lift a fraction more, a dimple poking out. “That right?”
A sweep of heat rushes from my cheeks down my neck, but I keep my expression even, almost bored. My naturally tanned skin doesn’t give away a blush, so I keep my movements calculated, raising one shoulder.
“Why else would you drink it?”
His gaze slips to my mouth, just briefly. “Maybe I like sweet things?”
I don’t get a chance to respond because two inebriated men push into Cade’s and Vivian’s open seats. The one closest to me uses his meaty hand to slap Cade’s purse onto the bartop. Before I can even protest, the second man lurches to the side, completely missing his stool and toppling onto his friend. The man nearest me flicks his arm out like a whip crack to regain his balance. My forearm comes up to block the impact, but I’m spun away from the two newcomers as a crash resonates through the bar area.
Instinct takes over. All I feel is hot, unyielding hands on my waist and the rapid pulsing of my heartbeat in my ears. Every cell in my body screams for me to defend myself. My hips angle away from the body behind me at the same time my elbow comes back for a punishing blow. I pivot, preparing for another strike, when reality slips in.
