Page 43 of The Best Wrong Move

“I’m glad you agreed to it too,” he says, grinning wider, more mischievously.

I can’t drink him in enough, like everything about him is intoxicating after today. Like one kiss, one make-out session, will never be enough.

He finishes the sip, sets my glass down, and grabs a stray pen Cliff left on the counter. He starts twirling it around his fingers. I haven’t seen anyone do that with a pen since high school. Back when we all wrote everything by hand and always had a pen within reach. “Believe me when I say that taking you out to my friend’s bar that night was the least I could do to help you forget about your ex.” Each tendon in his forearm ripples every time he flips the pen over.

“Yeah, you have a lot of sucking up to do for making me stay on this God-awful island.” I shove his shoulder playfully, but it doesn’t move. The man is like a boulder. He grabs my knee again, like he did in the car, squeezing it just once. But his hand on my bare skin, along with that heart-stopping look he’s giving me? It’s enough to make my pulse throb between my thighs.

The solo guitar player starts strumming an old Cat Stevens song, adding his own Hawaiian flair to the familiar tune. It’s a sweet song I recognize from my childhood — my shoulders instantly uncurl from my ears. As if this scene here tonight could get any more perfect.

We listen to him play. The break in conversation feels strangely comfortable for two people who only met a few days ago, but, in this moment, it feels like I’ve known him a lot longer.

“This song reminds me of my dad.” I lean into him when I say it, then pull away. The musician shifts seamlessly to “Morning Has Broken”without missing a note. It’s one of my favorites. “He always sang this one to my mom while flipping pancakes at the stove. Every Sunday morning.” I smile, picturing the way my parents openly shared their love for each other. “He still does whenever I visit. They’ve been together thirty-two years, and counting.”

“Is your whole family back in New York?” Dom takes a sip from his beer — I watch his lips curve around the bottle.

I nod, smiling. “My mom and dad supported me coming out here. They’ve always stood behind me. Everything I’ve ever done. Even my producer’s ridiculous idea for me to propose to Rex live on air.” I shudder. The version of me who went along with that whole thing seems so removed from how I feel now.

I take a sip of Dom’s beer bottle without asking him first.

He watches me swallow and I lick my lips like I haven’t noticed his eyes are still on me.

“Are your siblings back in New York too?”

“It’s just the three of us. No siblings.”

“Only child, huh? Explains a lot.” He smiles wider, taking his beer bottle back out of my hand. “You were not going to give up easily the other day on the phone.”

I smack him on the arm, but grab my cocktail glass off the counter, trying not to notice when our hands brush in the exchange. The butterflies storming my stomach make it impossible to ignore.

Before becoming single again, I’d been with one person so long that I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to desire someone for the very first time. It’s stirring something up in me that’s been lying dormant for years. Though stirring seems too tame of a word. Unleashing might better describe what I’m feeling.

“I like to think I’m just assertive,” I say. “New Yorker and all that.”

He pushes his shoulder into mine, but this time neither of us shift our bodies away. “So why didn’t you just take a break and live with your parents then?” he asks. “Why come all the way out here by yourself?”

“The film script I’m writing is set in Hawaii, so I wanted to immerse myself in the island. The culture. The people.This.” I wave my arms around the bar. “I lovethis. I’ve always been fascinated by the idea of this place, but I needed to immerse myself in it if I was going to write realistically about it.”

“That’s it?” He leans forward, looking at me suspiciously. As if he wants to say more, dig deeper, but for some reason he stops short. “There’s really no other reason you wound up here?”

“That’s it,” I confirm. “What other reason would there be for following through with such a completely harebrained idea?”

He studies my face intensely, like he’s looking for something other than the simple reason I’ve given him.

I turn back to the musician when he starts strumming “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” next.Tears prickle behind my eyes. The last time I heard this song, I was listening to it for inspiration, during the exact second I clickedConfirmon my Airbnb reservation to set this whole plan into motion.

“I guess there was one more reason for coming here.” I turn to face him again, once I’m confident my eyes have cleared.

“Okay. Lay it on me.” His face looks steely, like he’s gearing up to hear something bad. I can’t figure out why me booking his rental seems to be such a suspicious sticking point for him.

“What is it?” I ask, unable to ignore it any longer. This is the second time he’s acted funny about why I came here and booked his townhome. “Every time I talk about my reasons for coming to the island you look like you want to call my bluff. If you don’t believe me, just say it.”

“No, go on,” he says stiffly, not moving. “I want to know.”

“My reason might sound ridiculous,” I tell him. “Those mai tais are stronger than they taste. I’m not usually so open.”

“It won’t sound silly. I might even understand. Everyone has their reasons.”

I watch him take another sip from my glass, wondering if any part of his kisses or subtle touches have been real, or if every moment, every touch, every lingering look he gives me is all just part of the show he’s been putting on as my fake boyfriend. If that’s the case, he deserves an Oscar.

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