Page 40 of Cajuns. Love. Curves.

Now, I hate how much I want him, especially since he seems completely uninterested in me unless there’s an audience he needs to perform for.

“Hey,” Nick calls out. “How were things here on the island?”

“Great,” Delilah chirps. “We had a picnic and took kayaks out. And just spent hours laying on the beach. It was amazing.”

She giggles. Which is annoying, since nothing she said was funny.

I try to muster a smile, but I’m pretty sure it just looks like I’m baring my teeth at her, because Nick has me tucked so close to his side, I’m going to get bruises from bumping into his rock-hard chest.

“How was your day?” Delilah asks when I don’t respond.

“It was great,” I say. “Just fabulous.”

And yeah, I know I sound like a bitch.

And I know it’s not Delilah’s fault that her boyfriend’s best friend cheated on me, therefore getting me into this entire Nick-being-hot-but-also-running-hot-and-cold situation.

I know that. But I still can’t keep myself from acting bitchy. And if I have to stand here and talk to her for another minute, I will actually lose my shit.

“It was great. But I’m exhausted. And we missed dinner. And my blood sugar is probably low.” So, as carefully as I can, I extract myself from Nick’s tentacles and nudge him toward the dining room. “Didn’t you offer to see if the dining room could put together a plate for us? I’m going to shower. Okay? See you when you have food. Bye.”

And before he can respond, I stomp off up the path to our perfect, lovely, romantic cabin. Where I will, undoubtedly, once again, sleep alone in the gigantic bed.

“Hey, Butterscotch!” I hear Nick call from behind me.

I wave a hand over my shoulder without turning to look at him. “Low blood sugar! Go get me food!”

I keep stomping all the way to the cabin. I do the whole cleaning my feet in the pan of water thing to get the sand off and then let myself into the cabin where that enormous king-size bed taunts me.

I glare at it as I stomp past and head straight for the shower, muttering curses as I go.

“What are you good for, anyway? The whole point of having a king-size bed in a fake dating scenario is for the couple who is fake dating to have to sleep in the same bed. But you couldn’t even do that right!”

I shoot the bed the bird and then stomp into the bathroom and crank on the water in the shower.

The super romantic, outdoor shower, I might add.

Not that this shower is going to see any action while we’re staying here… apparently.

I strip off my clothes and get in the shower, scrubbing quickly to stay under the resort’s suggested time limit.

I’m in and out in under five minutes and wrapping myself in a towel when I hear the cabin door open.

Shit.

What is he doing back so soon?

There is no way he had time to order food from the dining room, wait for it, and get back here that fast. I was counting on at least twenty minutes to calm down.

And there’s the matter of my clothes still being in the drawer in the bedroom, since I assumed I’d have plenty of time to get dressed. Not that going out into the room in only a towel will be a problem, since Nick apparently isn’t attracted to me at all.

Which is fine.

It’s fine.

Or it would be if my panties didn’t fall off of their own accord every time he even looks at me.

Still, it’s not like I can live in this bathroom for the next four days. Yes, the water is potable and the hibiscus blossoms are edible—and apparently an excellent source of vitamin C—but I don’t think I’d last very long. After all, I’m not the Navy SEAL in this… well, it’s not a relationship, now is it?

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