Page 2 of Ex's & Oh's (The Lucky Girls 1)

Good. She has to enjoy this. It's the one big day she'll never forget. And it's going to be great.

When we arrive in Hawaii, the feeling of exoticism and relaxation hangs in the air. I taste the tang of salt on my tongue and I can feel the ocean between my fingers in the sticky, humid air. Green palm trees wave in a light breeze as we step out of the airport, and seagulls offer a soundtrack to the beautiful scenery.

“We’re here!” Stacey cries out. She’s getting excited. Now that we’re here, she already seems less panicked.

That’s what I want for her.

A sleek black car waits for us. The driver holds up a sign with Stacey’s name. She rolls her eyes when we spot him.

“My dad never thinks I can find the car myself,” Stacey says. "One day, I’m going to hail a cab.”

I laugh. Stacey’s been living her own life, working as an editor for a large publishing company and making her own way, but she still falls back on a lot of luxuries from the life she grew up in. Sometimes, I think that’s what she likes about hanging out with me. I live in a four-floor walk-up apartment, half-an-hour’s commute away from work and if people don’t ask for me by name, they don’t recognize me. I didn't grow up in a rich, famous family. I made my way through college like thousands of other nameless Americans.

There was a time when I dreamed about things being different—in high school, the quarterback was my boyfriend, and together, we dreamed about the big leagues.

But that was a decade ago, and I’ve grown up since then. Not everyone makes it big, and a life with money and fame isn’t necessary for me to be happy. I don't need a rich guy. I just want the right guy.

Stacey fires off a bunch of questions to the driver as we head toward our hotel. I turn my face toward the window and drink in the sunlight that’s so different out here. I take in the lush green scenery and tell myself I should make a point of taking a break and getting away from work more often.

Stacey turns to me. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” I say. “Why?”

“You have that look on your face.”

“What look?” I ask, surprised.

“The look you get when you think about how things ended with Charlie.”

I shake my head. Stacey knows me better than I know myself, sometimes.

“I'm not really thinking about him, per se. I'm just thinking about relationships in general. But it’s better this way. We weren’t meant to be together.”

“You’ll find someone, Jen. I promise.”

What if she's wrong? What if I never do? I shake my head and smile brightly. “I’m not looking for someone, remember? I’m going to put all my focus into work and build my career. It’s high time I break away from the company and do my own thing, and now I can.”

It's been more than a year since Charlie and I split up. I don't miss him as much as I miss the idea of having someone. But I'm not going to tell Stacey that.

Stacey nods. “You’ve always been independent.”

“Right.”

“Besides, being single at a wedding is much better. You might meet someone hot, and then you won’t have to hold back.” She winks at me.

I laugh. “I’m not going to meet someone I don’t want to ‘hold back’ with. I’m here to make it the best event you’ve ever seen and celebrate you and Marc.”

“You’re a saint,” Stacey says.

We pull up in front of the Daimana Hotel. It's a beautiful old building, the paint honeyed over the years, and the terracotta roof tiles make it look like a setting from a movie.

Harvey and Laura Jackson wait for us on the curb. A group of photographers is hanging around, trying to look like it's not a big deal.

“Oh, no,” Stacey groans before she forces a smile. “The paps are already circling like vultures. I hoped we would have a breather. Here we go.” She adds the last through clenched teeth and opens the door.

Laura’s squeals float to me on the breeze. I follow Stacey out and we're surrounded by camera flashes.

"Shoo, shoo!" Laura shouts, waving at them. "Do you have no respect?" But she's wearing her photo-ready face. Her makeup is immaculate and her white designer dress suit looks like it's been chosen for the papers, not for a holiday in Hawaii. Her dark hair is salon-styled.

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