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CLICKHERE for a FREE BONUSprologueto Lexi’s story.

Keep readingfor a preview of Sara’s story – SHARING SARA

Preview: Sharing Sara

Itwirl a hot pink umbrella into my second margarita of the night. It’s not really my drink of choice—a little too fruity. But, the group of guys at the far end of the bar ordered a round for the table.

Usually, I’d turn down free drinks, as they’re never reallyfree, but tonight I’m feeling wild, and that guy with the man bun that’s been winking all night looks like he could be my type, or at least my vacation type. In real life, I prefer older men, the type that want to take care of you. Surfer man bun guy barely looks like he can take care of himself, but I bet he’ll help me forget my troubles for a while, and that’s the point of vacation, right?

Margo stands from the bar stool, her legs wobbly as she waves toward the men, calling them over.

“What are you doing?” I gasp. “Not yet. We have to—”

“We have to nothing, Sara. This is our last night here. We have to live it up.”

I shake my head and close my eyes. Our last night here. I’m really not ready for it to be our last night here. This was supposed to be girl time, reconnect with ourselves time. Instead, Lexi left us for her asshole boyfriend Brick while Margo and I took one too many rum tours, baked in the sun, and stressed about what was waiting for us back home.

And I, for one, have no interest in going back for any of it.

“Hey,” the surfer dude speaks first. He’s tall, with light brown hair and clear blue eyes—tattoos streaked up and down his arms. “You two mind if we sit?” He gestures back toward his two friends. A tall, bearded guy who’s built like a tank, and a leaner muscular guy who’s also dark featured.

Margo doesn’t hesitate. “No, of course not. Sit,” she says. “I’m Margo and this is Sara.”

I roll my eyes and twist the umbrella in my drink again.

The surfer dude smiles and holds out his large hand for a shake. “I’m Brad. These are my buddies Zane and Colin.”

The other guys nod hello and everyone sits at our table, bottles in hand.

“So where are you girls here from?” Colin asks. He’s the one that looks like he’s been lifting since he was eight.

“We’re from San Francisco, Market Street,” Margo says.

I nudge her in the rib and throw her a wide-eyed stare, hoping she gets the message to shut her trap. My mother wasn’t much help growing up, but one thing I learned was to be cautious of random men in bars. ‘Unless you want to end up like Aunt Jennie,’ she’d say.

Aunt Jennie trusted a random bar fly one time in a strange bar in Oklahoma, and she ended up locked in someone’s basement for sixteen months. She was lucky to get out alive.

“San Francisco!” Brad says. “You’re a long way from home. Girl’s trip?”

I nod. “It was, but one of our friends ditched for an unexpected jaunt with her boyfriend.”

“Two is better than one,” Brad says, taking a swig of his beer. He’s even cuter up close, and Aunt Jennie’s story seems even further from my mind. This guy isn’t going to lock me in his basement. He’s here on vacation. He doesn’t even have a basement, at least that is what I assume by the Miami Heat tattoo on his arm.

“What about you guys,” I ask. “Where are you from?”

“Miami,” Zane says, finally sneaking into the conversation. His tone is deep and more reserved than the other men and he doesn’t offer the exact street address like Margo did—imagine that.

“Nice, I’ve never been there, but I’ve always wanted to. That’s where Lexi… our other friend… that’s where her boyfriend is from.”

Zane nods and looks away, gripping the long neck of his bottle to take another sip. Okay… maybe I could see him sweeping me away to the depths of a concrete cave.

“Anyway,” Brad says with a breath of fresh energy. “We were going to take a walk on the beach after this. You ladies want to join?”

Margo looks toward me quickly, not waiting for an answer before she nods. “We’d love that! Right Sara?”

I wouldn’t mind a walk on the beach, I think we were going to take one anyway, but her eagerness has my skin crawling. She’s been desperate for someone to rescue her fromreal lifeall week. Honestly, I don’t blame her. If I were running home to an arranged marriage, I’d feel the same way. But I’m not, instead, I’m trying to lay low and figure out who the hell I am without a man.