Page 56 of Dear #47, You're the Worst
Going on this weekend will be interesting. It’ll be a view of how Juliet acts around me, not just because cameras will watch, not because we have to pretend. I know I told her I’m trying to keep our fake relationship under wraps from my team, but it will be an interesting litmus test.
Orcas Island is part of the San Juan Islands, a cluster of rugged, forested gems tucked between the Washington coastline and the Canadian border. It’s about a hundred miles northwest of Seattle, accessible only by ferry or seaplane. We skim over the Puget Sound in a tiny plane that buzzes like a dragonfly before landing with a splash in the harbor.
The island itself feels like another world. Everything is wild and green and cinematic. Towering firs crowd the shoreline. Jagged cliffs drop into the deep, inky water that somehow always looks cold, even when the sun hits it just right. The air smells of pine needles and salt and wood-smoke. It’s nature in high definition, dramatic and moody and so beautiful it almost feels rude.
We hop on the golf cart shuttle to Orcas Point. The place that we’re staying is absolutely obscene. A cedar and glass main lodge perched over slate cliffs, five guest cottages tucked into the fir trees, private docks stretching out into silver water that looks like a postcard. There’s a heated pool and a hot tub steaming in the October chill, fire bowls already lit and crackling.
“How much does this weekend cost per person?” Juliet whispers as we put our things down in the main house.
I wave a dismissive hand. “Basically nothing. Greene’s yacht club buddy basically comped the whole thing as a favor. As long as we don’t break anything or set the place on fire, we’re golden.”
“It must be nice to be so rich you can just let a hockey team stay in one of your weekend vacation compounds.”
“Right? I earn a lot of money, but I’ll never have that billionaire yacht vacation estate kind of cash.”
She wrinkles her nose at that, her dark eyes sparkling. She’s in a good mood today. With the gorgeous Orcas Island surrounding us, who wouldn’t be?
Our entire party cozies up in hoodies and fleece jackets and gathers on the lawn of the main house like we’re at summer camp. The plan is to hike up the trail outlined in the binder for the estate. The party ambles, Ivy leading the charge, Jessa and Jett close on her heels. Grayson and Beck are right behind them, strolling more than hiking.
Silas hangs back to spot the rookies who are struggling with the incline. I end up in the middle beside Juliet, matching her shorter stride. She’s wearing a dark gray Seattle Havoc hoodie that I’ve never seen her wear before, a pair of stretchy black yoga pants, and a pair of weird-looking high heel-slash-boots on her feet.
Her legs pump twice as fast as mine just to keep up. “You walk like a giant,” she mutters.
I grin. “You’re five feet tall, Juliet. You’re tiny.”
“I’m not tiny.” She glares at me, breathing hard. “I should have stayed in the house with Ryan and Wren. This is way too much exercise for me.”
“You’re tough. You can do it.” I smirk and pretend not to enjoy the flush creeping up her throat.
“You’re enjoying this way too much,” she pants.
“What? Watching you struggle up a hill? Never.”
“Sadist.”
“You’re the one who packed heels for a camping trip.”
“These are hiking boots,” she protests. “I got them especially for this trip.”
“They look extremely uncomfortable.”
Juliet sticks her tongue out at me, and I let out a bark of laughter. She’s usually all stiff and formal, but trudging uphill through the woods seems to strip away a layer of her starchiness.
She walks faster, intentionally leaving me behind. I don’t complain though, because now I get to stare at her ass in those yoga pants. Damn, if Juliet were my real fiancée, I would count down the minutes until I got to strip those leggings off her and sink my teeth into that ass.
I’m never going to get to take her pants off, but it never hurt anyone to look.
When we get back to the house, Juliet devours a chicken caesar salad wrap that the estate’s private chef makes for lunch. I quirk a brow as she puts down a plate of fruit salad, a huge brown butter cookie, and a bottle of electrolyte sports drink.
“What?” she says, glaring at me.
I shake my head, finishing my second wrap. “Nothing. It’s just that girls rarely eat around me.”
She rolls her eyes. “I just burned like a billion calories. Would you prefer I starve?”
I smirk. “With legs that short, I’m shocked you burned any at all.” She kicks me under the table hard enough to make me laugh.
“I’m kidding.” I reach out and touch her hand, getting her to look at me. “It’s cute.”
