The Two Week Stand by Samantha Towle

six

Dillon

While I was having my breakfast, consisting solely of carbs and caffeine,Najam—the really sweet receptionist who checked me in yesterday—came over to my table. She’d forgotten to give me my itinerary of activities yesterday, which I’d already booked and paid for long before arriving here. Most of them are the things that the prick wanted to do. There is only one thing on there that I picked out and booked—an island hop, where you get to go and spend the day on a small private island with just the two of you. Not sure I fancy doing that alone. I’d literally shit myself and have visions of being forgotten about and abandoned there, alone for the rest of my life. I have an overactive imagination, okay? That’s what having the mind of a writer is like.

And it appears that I’m snorkeling today. For fuck’s sake. All I wanted to do was eat my breakfast and then lie on a sun lounger and read a book.

I don’t even care about snorkeling. It was the prick who wanted to do it.

“We need to experience everything while we’re there, Dill,” he said.

He forgot to mention that he was also experiencing my mother.

And honestly, I always hated it when he called me Dill. I’m not a bloody herb, for Christ’s sake. Ugh. Total twunting prick. Whom I will not be giving another thought or brain cell to for at least the rest of today.

So, now, I’m on my way to the boat dock—after a quick trip back to my villa to change out of the bikini I had put on under my shorts and tank top, which I’d planned to spend the whole day sunbathing in, and now, I have on a more sensible swimsuit. I figure I’ll need to be a bit more covered up to go snorkeling. Alone.

Yay for me.

I wonder what West is up to today.

I haven’t seen him since he took off for his run. He wasn’t at breakfast, although I did eat late due to showering, washing my hair, and finally unpacking my suitcase.

But I wasn’t looking for him, obviously.

Well, I was. But just so I could avoid him.

Suuure.

Okay, I wasn’t looking to avoid him. I’m not actually sure why I was looking for him at all.

When it comes to West, I don’t know if I want to hide from him or jump into those strong arms of his, which I already did last night when I climbed up that big body and made him carry me back to the villa. So, yeah, it’s probably best to refrain from all urges to leap into his arms the next time I do see him. I already made a massive twat out of myself last night. Best not to keep adding more twattish behavior to it.

Thinking about last night though and how kind West was to me, looking after my drunken arse and letting me crash in his bed, maybe I should have offered him the empty place I have on this snorkeling trip, which was meant to be the prick’s. I mean, it is already bought and paid for, and he was really nice to me last night.

Although I guess it might be a bit weird, inviting a total stranger on a random snorkeling trip with me.

Only he’s not a total stranger. I slept in his bed last night and spent the evening drinking in the bar with him even if I do only remember the tiniest portion of it.

I don’t know why I’m even stressing over this. He’s probably already got plans today with whomever he’s here on the island with. And I’m still not sure whether he’s single or seeing someone even though that itch in my brain is telling me I know the answer and that he’s single, but I don’t know if that’s actual truth from something I learned in my inebriated state last night or just wishful thinking on my part.

No, not wishful thinking! Because it doesn’t matter to me either way if he’s single, married, or has a harem. I’m here on this honeymoon turned single girl trip for no other reason than to heal my wounded heart. Not hook up with a gorgeous American dude. Even if he does look like the love child of Brad Pitt as Achilles and Chris Hemsworth as Thor and is the hottest man I have ever seen.

Ever.

Yes, the second ever was needed.

Not that any of this matters anyway because I didn’t offer him the ticket and I’m stressing out my hungover brain with crap that has zero relevance or point in my life.

Okay, so I’m just going to stop thinking about it now and try to enjoy this solo snorkeling trip of mine.

I walk out of the cover of the palm trees and across the beach. I can feel how hot the sand is, even with my flip-flops on. It’s a scorcher of a day. I already applied sunscreen, but I’m glad I put a bottle of it in my beach bag because I’m gonna need another application. I have pretty good skin. I don’t burn and tan easily. But I don’t want to age my skin prematurely or risk skin cancer, so I always apply a good factor sunscreen in the heat.

Leaving the beach, I step up onto the jetty, where a group of people are already standing under the cover of the open building that sits at the end. To the right is another smaller building, which looks like a hut, and next to that sits a docked boat—or dhoni, as they are called here in the Maldives—which I’m guessing is what will be taking us out to the reefs today.

I’m halfway up the jetty when I see West. It’s not like he’s hard to miss.

He’s like a water fountain in the middle of the desert.

My stomach does this little flip-floppy thing at the sight of him standing there, leaning up against the hut, just slightly away from the main group of people. His face is turned down, reading something on his phone. His hair is tied back in one of those man buns, and he has a pair of aviator sunglasses covering his eyes. I’ve never dated a guy with long hair before.

And you don’t plan on dating this one either, Dillon.

He’s wearing white flip-flops, red board shorts—the color looks great against his strong, tanned legs—and a white tank with a sports logo over the left pec. Those gloriously muscular pecs and splendiferous arms are on show. Can you tell I went through a phase of reading historical romances? Anyhoo, I can see the flex of muscles in his forearm as he types something on his phone.

And I’m clearly looking at him way too hard if I can see that from here.

I force my eyes away, face forward, and keep walking.

My heart beats faster as I approach everyone. I’m telling myself that it’s the nerves of coming here alone, in front of all of these couples, but it’s not. It’s because West is here.

Should I go up and say hello? Or pretend that I haven’t seen him?

As I’m bouncing back and forth in my head over what to do, my eyes unwittingly go in his direction again, and at that precise moment, he lifts his head and looks right at me. I can’t see his eyes because of those damn sunglasses, but I can feel his eyes on me. Then, his lips lift at one side into a smile. A sexy smile.

And there’s that damn flippy-floppy thing going off in my stomach again.

My feet travel in his direction without guidance. Honestly, I don’t think I could have stopped myself from going over if I tried. He just has this pull to him. Like the display picture that stands outside of the coffee shop I pass every morning on my way to work—of the caramel latte, topped with a caramel crumb, and a double chocolate muffin, topped with salted caramel—purely left there to lure unsuspecting victims inside. And even though I would give myself a big pep talk the whole way there—that my thighs and butt did not need the fresh calories or fat cells to provide me with new additions to my ever-growing canvas of cellulite—I would still stop at the coffee shop, open the door, go inside, and buy them.

I’m a weak-willed woman. What can I say?

And I’m definitely not the only one who feels the magnetic pull of West. I can see the furtive glances in his direction from the coupled-up women here. Honestly, I don’t blame them. If I’d been here with the prick, I’d have been looking at West too. I’m not a cheater—never have been, never will be—even though I have half the DNA of a cheater. But West is a hard man not to look at, and a little window shopping has never harmed anyone. It’s when people start making purchases on their maxed-out credit cards that we have a problem.

But oddly, in this moment, with his eyes on me, none of that actually matters, and for the first time since I arrived on this island, I’m really happy that I am alone.

West pushes his sunglasses up onto his forehead, showing me those gorgeous gray eyes of his.

“Hey,” I say. God, I’m so cool and sophisticated.

His lips quirk into a full smile. “Well, hey there, Double D.”

I sigh. “Didn’t we already have this conversation?”

“Which conversation?”

“The one where I told you not to call me that and you agreed.”

“Did we?”

“Yes.”

“Huh. I must have forgotten that. Speaking of forgetting things … I am surprised to see you here.”

It’s my turn to say, “Huh?”

“Well, I figured you’d be nursing your hangover today after your drinking binge last night. You know, the night you don’t remember.”

“Oh, well, I would have been, but I’d already booked this trip. Although I didn’t remember that until an hour ago, when Najam gave me my itinerary.”

“Were you also drunk when you booked it?”

I give him a humored look, and he chuckles. “Surprisingly, no.”

“You know though … you didn’t actually have to come.”

I give him a confused look. “But it was already paid for.”

“Yeah, but if you hadn’t been given your itinerary in time, you would have missed it anyway.”

“But then I would have been pissed off that I’d paid money for something that I didn’t use and/or experience.”

“And/or?” His lips spread into a grin.

“Oh, I don’t know, dude. I’m hungover, remember?”

Our eyes meet and connect. I feel a quick rising of dancing heat in my belly. Unsolicited thoughts about him and me flash through my mind.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I’m fresh off heartbreak of the worst kind, and here I am, mooning—okay, perving—over him. It’s just not like me. I’m not like this in normal life.

Sure, I had crushes when I was a teenager. I’ve fawned over gorgeous celebrities. I thought Tim was attractive when I first met him. But I didn’t get an instant hit of lust with Tim like I seem to have with West. With Tim, it was more like … I was taken by how much he seemed taken with me. I got swept up in his feelings. I just didn’t know at the time that Tim was well known for getting swept up by women. The workers at his family company had a nickname for him—Fast Love. He’d been engaged three times before me, and I was number four, which I found out after the affair with my mother came to light. Clearly, Tim’s “fast love” with me had died out the second his interest transferred to my mother.

To be fair, they’re perfect for each other. Both inconsistent, lying, cheating, will shit on anyone—even their own children—scumbags.

But I’m not thinking about either of them today.

I’m thinking about West and these sexual feelings between us… well, they’re all my own. He’s done nothing to ignite them. Except for look so frigging gorgeous, of course. Oh, and the flirt he was giving me this morning … which I’m not actually sure was him flirting with me or just me interpreting it that way. God, I’m so off-balance at the moment; I can’t even tell if a guy is flirting with me or not. I didn’t used to be this bad with men. I’m hoping it’s only a temporary glitch.

And I’m not normally an instant-lust gal.

Maybe it’s because I’m on this island, where every fucker is in love, and it’s addling my brain. Or it could be his American accent that has bedazzled my hormones. And his face. And his super-hard, insanely fit body. And—

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Stop thinking, Dillon. It’s bad for your health, and it’s all inconsequential bullshit.

You fancy the guy. End of story.

Admitting it doesn’t mean I have to do anything about it.

Wow. I feel so much better now.

Okay. Cool.

I have the hots for West, and it’s okay because nothing is going to happen.

And I’m spending way too much time in my head and not in the real world. Meaning talk to the guy and stop staring at him like a numpty.

“So—” I start.

“Right, people!” A happy-sounding guy dressed in shorts and a T-shirt with the resort logo claps his hands, getting everyone’s attention, cutting off whatever shite I was about to say to West. “Good morning! I’m Aden, and over there is Zaim.” He points to the other guy, dressed in the same clothes as him, who is standing by the boat. “Zaim is our boat captain, who will take us to the beautiful reefs. We will both be your guides, here for whatever you need, and I very much hope you are all enjoying your first full day with us. Now, it’s time for us to get started. Would you please head over to the hut?” He points to where West and I are standing, and everyone’s eyes volley in our direction. “Where Kayden and Mahmoud are waiting to fit you with a snorkel, goggles, and flippers. Once you have them, please board the boat. Once everyone is on, then we can be on our way to see the beauty that the Maldives has to offer.”

This guy sounds just like the brochure that got me to book this place.

And bonus: West and I are first in line to get our things, thanks to him standing right by the hut.

“You stood here on purpose to be the first in line,” I murmur to him as we head inside and are greeted by the happy, smiling faces of Kayden and Mahmoud.

His eyes flicker down to me, a secretive kind of smile touching those full lips of his. He gives a slight shrug. “I’m not the kind of guy who is ever last in line for anything.”

Oh, I bet he’s not.

“Hello! You are Mr. and Mrs. …”

“Oh, we’re not—” I start to say, but I’m cut off by the deep sound of West’s voice.

“Oakley. Mr. and Mrs. Oakley.”

I’m sorry, what?

“Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Oakley!” The guy beams. “You are a very handsome couple.”

“Yes, I’m a very lucky man.” West slings his big arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his side, giving me a squeeze.

And me? Well, I’m just standing here, mouth open in utter shock. Because apparently, I just got fake married.