Page 10 of The Vacation Mix-Up
She wipes her damp eyes once more, and my chest tightens at her distress. This trip is obviously more than just a vacation for her. It is for me, too, but she seems to be carrying more than just her precious bag. Either that, or she’s extremely emotional—like my niece.God help me.
“We’re going to have to lay down some rules and boundaries,” she says.
I wrap my arm around her shoulders and hug her to me. “No sweat.”
“Starting with”—she shrugs out of my grip—“respecting each other’s personal space.”
Raising my hands, I nod. “Fair enough.”
“Toilet seat down.Pick up after yourself. And don’t touch my things. Especiallythat.” Riley points to her bag, which is sitting on the desk on her side of the room. After the steward rearranged the beds and left the cabin, Riley had all but drawn a line down the center of it.
“Why? What’s in it?” I reach out to pick up her treasured bag, but she snatches it away.
“I said don’t touch.”
“Okay, okay.” For quite possibly the hundredth time since meeting her, I once again raise my hands in surrender. “I won’t touch your shit.”
“Good. And no sleepovers.”
“Come again?” I collect the TV remote and move it to my bedside table.
“No bringing some random girl back tomyroom.”
I laugh; she’s funny. “It’s notyourroom. It’sours.”
“Fine. No bringing some random girl back toourroom.” She unzips her suitcase and carefully lifts out an evening dress, the shiny purple material skimming the floor.
I stare at it, my imagination forming a picture of it draped over her body, her long dark hair cascading over her bare shoulder. “I’m a grown-ass man, sweetheart,” I say, clearing my croaky throat. “If I want to hook up with a woman on my vacation, I will.”
“Good for you. But you can do it inherroom. Not this one.”
My natural instinct is to argue and tell her where to go—back to Manhattan—but the last thing I want to do right now is… argue. That’s all I’ve done for the past two years, and quite frankly, I’m exhausted.
“I’m going to the bar.”
She lays the dress on the bed, spins to face me, and shoves her hands onto her hips. “But we need to set some boundaries and?—”
“What I need is a drink. Boundaries can wait.”
“But—”
“Later, sweetheart.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Fine. Later,cookie.” I wink and head to the door, waving without looking back.
“Riley!”
“How bad can it be?” I mumble under my breath as I close the door behind me.Ha! Bad. This can end up being very bad.
chapter three
Cookie? Did he just call me… cookie?
Balling my fists by my sides, I growl as the door slams shut, tears bursting from my eyes, my shoulders wracking as I sob uncontrollably, almost as much as I did the day Mom died.
This vacation is for her as much as it is for me. It was what she wanted most before slipping away, and now it’s ruined before I’ve even left the shore.
