The part where I truly didn’t think I deserved him and, anyway, never wanted to have sex again in my entire life. Or have other kids. That sort of fun stuff.
“I agree,” he said, taking a cautious step toward me. “But we still have this trip, and I suggest we make the most out of it.”
He squeezed my arms, looking deep into my eyes. I shouldn’t feel insulted, considering this was exactly what I’d been hoping for when we entered the maintenance room, but somehow, everything had changed in the last few minutes.
I felt like I was starring in my very own, messed-up Sliding Doors movie. Only I wasn’t Gwyneth Paltrow and Cruz wasn’t…well, I forgot who else starred in that movie, which meant he was definitely not that hot.
More pieces added to the puzzle that was Cruz Costello as I digested the new revelation.
“Question.” I stepped out of his embrace again.
“Shoot.”
“Why did Gabriella start hating me extra hard when you two started dating? What did you tell her?”
“I didn’t tell her anything.”
There was a pause.
“But she did catch me looking through your Instagram account one day.”
“I don’t even update my account. It’s all pictures of landscape and desserts and John Lennon quotes.”
“It’s pretty depressing,” he agreed.
We stood in front of one another. It seemed like there wasn’t much more to say after that.
And yet, nothing had been resolved.
Cruz rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t mean to sound like an asshole, but if you’re not planning to do something about my hard-on, at least put me out of my misery and let me go make the bald man cry in the shower.”
“There’s a bald man in our shower?”
“Masturbate,” Cruz said flatly. “I need to take care of my blue balls.”
“Right!” I stepped aside, feeling myself blush. “Of course, of course. Don’t let me stand in your way.”
“A little too late for that.”
A few seconds later, we both evacuated the room.
I’d always had a thing for Tennessee Turner.
From the moment I first saw her at the nursery, wobbling along, delivering a clean and confident smack to the back of the head of another toddler to snatch away a rag doll, I knew this girl was special.
Actually, if I was going to be petty (and I was definitely not going to be petty), I was the one who was supposed to ask her out between Rob and me. As I mentioned, we rock-paper-scissored it, and my paper wrapped his rock.
But he smashed my chance, anyway.
Straight up crapped all over the bro code and asked the pretty blonde out.
Was I pissed? Yes.
Did I punch his face? Also yes.
Did I hate Tennessee Turner for accepting his offer for an ice cream and vow to ignore her existence from that moment on? I plead the fifth.
See? Not bitter at all.
Now I was in the shower of our stateroom while Tennessee was probably building a pillow fort and hiding behind it to avoid me while my cock wept tears of cum onto the tiles as I remembered how she tasted in the maintenance room.
Thanks to Dalton and his big veneered mouth.
If one good thing came out of it—and I was really struggling to find the silver lining here—it was that I had the chance to clear the air and explain to her that I did not, in fact, try to mess around with her that Fourth of July.
I could tell from Tennessee’s reaction today that she would have said yes, had I asked her out like a decent human being. Now I couldn’t stop thinking about Tennessee and me in an alternate universe, screwing like bunnies three times a day.
I’d have given her a job as my secretary or something. We’d have had date nights and I’d have taken her to black-tie events and verbally sparred with her the entire way there.
I still couldn’t believe the woman was practically a virgin.
She’d had sex one time her entire life.
The craziest thing was, I knew she hadn’t had anyone go down on her or given any head, because Rob used to give us detailed reports of their doings before he hit the home run.
Let’s just say there was a lot of tit-sucking and fingering, but nothing else. Which I had to admit, gave Tennessee the gleam of an unexplored land, wild and unmapped, waiting to be discovered.
Unfortunately, it seemed like she wouldn’t let me get anywhere near her, ironically after finding out that I hadn’t sexually harassed her.
I always thought I had a pretty decent grasp of what women wanted, but apparently I’d been wrong, because I hadn’t the greenest clue what Tennessee Turner needed or craved.
All I knew was that if it was a relationship she wanted, my parents were going to kill themselves, and then Wyatt was going to off me and run with the inheritance money.
At twenty-six, I’d been fresh out of med school, new to adulthood and real life. My parents had been so happy to have me back in town, they’d have accepted a farm animal for a potential daughter-in-law, anything to make me stick around.
Now, they had all kinds of ideas.
I’d held back on marriage for far too long. They weren’t going to be happy with anyone less than a Windsor.
And it wasn’t just them.
I had my own reputation to think of.
Being with Tennessee was going to ruin everything I’d built since I’d come back. My reputation, social standing, thriving business, and steady deliveries of homemade pies by grateful clients.
…so why can’t I give a damn about any of those things?
I turned off the faucet, wrapped a towel around my waist ,and stepped out of the bathroom. I found Tennessee flung on our bed, wearing one of the shirts I’d bought for her earlier today, makeup-free and edible to a fault.
She played with a tendril of her blonde hair, looking thoughtful as she peered up at me.
“Feeling better?” she asked.
“Hardly.”
“I thought you weren’t into puns.”
“I have my moments.” I advanced toward our shared closet, tugging out a pair of briefs. I noticed her pillow fort was not in place yet. “Fair warning—I sleep in my underwear, so if that’s a problem…”
“It’s not a problem,” she replied quickly, turning scarlet everywhere visible. “Actually…”
I turned around almost violently, searching her face.
“Yes?”
Eager much, asshole?
“I was wondering…” She drew a circle with her finger on her thigh. “If you could teach me how to make out with a guy. Sorry I freaked out on you earlier. I’m pretty much out of my depth when it comes to the opposite sex. I know we don’t have much time here, but I think you’re right. It’d be nice to get the best out of the situation, seeing as we both know we don’t have any future together and this thing stops as soon as we go back home.”
I yanked the briefs up my legs under my towel. It was an ambitious move, but I’d seen women do something similar with their bras and shirts.
“No one at home can find out,” I clipped, feeling like an asshole, and no doubt sounding like one, too.
In my defense, I’d been so thoroughly rejected by her since age seventeen, I didn’t want to lose one iota of my charmed quality of life for the pleasure of having her as a fling.