Page 43 of Official

I rub my hands together, plastering a smile on my face like I did when Ronald would ignore my suggestions in the writing room—never show weakness. “We need to get moving if we’re going to make our reservation.”

“To eat? I was going to make oatmeal here this morning.”

I shake my head. “We’re going to find sea turtles.”

She furrows her eyebrows.

“The list.” I set my coffee down and tiptoe toward her like I’m walking on eggshells. I just don’t trust myself, and I’m far too aware there’s a neatly made bed next to us that needs to be ruffled up. I’m hanging on by a fucking thread, my body hardening with each inch of distance I close. “We need to finish the items on our list before we can leave the island,” I manage.

She eyes me. “You still want to do everything on our list?”

“Of course.” I shrug. “Don’t you?”

“I do. I’m just surprised, is all. I half expected you to have left already.”

“Without you?” I step back, frowning. What kind of guy does she think I am? “I wouldn’t just leave you here, Sam.”

“After yesterday…”

“No matter what happened between us, I’d never abandon you on an island. I know I don’t have the best track record when it comes to women, but I’d never stoop that low, especially with you.”

“We agreed not to talk about it, so I’m sorry I brought it up.” She squares her shoulders. “Let’s do the list. I need twenty minutes to eat and change.”

I nod and slowly back away, my feet heavy and stubborn.

Swiping at the corners of my lips like it’ll help get the sour taste out of my mouth, I disappear into my own room, my mind racing.

What the hell?

She thinks I’m an asshole, and although I’d like to lock us in her room until I convince her I’m not, how would I prove it?

All I’ve ever done is show her I’m an asshole. One who breaks into her hot tub with a random girl whose name I don’t remember.

A guy who sleeps with young up-and-coming actresses just to kill time and get on my boss’s nerves.

That’s who I am, and she met me long enough ago toknowso many ugly details and indiscretions of my past.

I’ve never been ashamed about any of it, though. I’m enjoying what’s left of my twenties. But now, it all feels icky.

I shouldn’t care what Sam thinks. We agreed that yesterday didn’t happen. We’re not together, no matter what she decides to post online for her own reasons.

Yet, I can’t help the churning in my stomach that nags me to show her I can be a decent guy. One she respects and even… likes.

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