Page 26 of Cajuns. Love. Curves.

I know what a SEAL looks like in swim trunks.

Would it be nice to have a delectable piece of arm candy with me for the trip? Would it be nice to have Delaney swallow her tongue when she sees Nick pull off his shirt?

Yes, undoubtedly yes.

But is bringing my brother’s best friend with me as a fake boyfriend a bridge of humiliation too far?

Yes. Also, yes.

“You don’t have to do this as a favor to my brother.”

“I wouldn’t be doing it as a favor to your brother. I would do it as a favor to you. After all, we’re friends, right?”

What am I supposed to say to that? “I think of us more as pen pals.”

“Great. We can be pen pals who travel together.”

“That’s not a thing.”

Ignoring me, Nick looks to Remy. “When does she leave for Belize?”

“I’m still sitting here.”

“Monday. I’ll text you the flight information.”

“Again, I’m still sitting here. And why do you know the flight information?”

“Trevor sent it to me.”

Resisting the urge to scream in frustration, I ask through clenched teeth, “Why the hell did Trevor send you my flight information?”

“Because he knows what it’s like to be a protective older brother. And I asked him for it.”

“Why did you ask him for it? You just told me you can’t go.”

“Don’t be so suspicious. If Trevor isn’t going with you—”

“I do not even believe this patriarchal bullshit you’re pulling. I’m a grown-ass, independent woman. And instead of asking me for my travel information, you reached out to Trevor? Who is sick with the mumps and should probably rest, anyway?”

“Stop with the feminist rant. It’s not about you being incompetent. It’s about how busy you are. Last year, when you moved into that new condo, it was six months before you texted me your new mailing address.”

Somehow, my asshole of a brother distracted me from the fact that it’s irrelevant how or why he got my travel details. For some no doubt nefarious reasons of his own, he’s trying to force poor Nick into going to Belize with me.

I jab a finger in Remy’s direction. “You stay out of this.” I look back at Nick and offer him a conciliatory smile. “You don’t need to come with me to Belize.”

“I don’t mind—”

“But I do.” I don’t give him a chance to finish whatever thought he’s going to speak aloud. I don’t need excuses anymore than I need pity. Especially not now. Especially not from a guy like Nick. “Look, I know how little leave you get each year. I know how much you need this break. I’m not gonna drag you off to Belize for a boring corporate vacation when you could be off doing something you’d actually enjoy. End of debate.”

Nick just looks at me, his lips curving into a smile in a way that makes me think I haven’t actually ended the debate at all. “Are those your closing arguments?”

“Yes,” I say, mastering the courage of a seasoned litigation lawyer. Which, for the record, I’m not. Intellectual property law is not the kind of thing you settle in court. Despite what Ally McBeal would have you believe.

“Permission to approach the bench.”

“You’re mixing your metaphors, sailor.”

“Maybe I like mixing my metaphors.”

---