Page 9 of Not Your Basic Love Story

“Oh, sure! Sorry, Hank. Raincheck.”

In the bathroom, Angelina sat on the counter and looked at me straight. “Cut the crap. How are you really doing?”

I slumped against the wall. “Not good.”

She nodded knowingly. “Why don’t we get out of here? I hear there’s a cool beach party close by. We can go dancing, drink tequila, find some boys?”

It was tempting. “I don’t know. You’re the Maid of Honor. Don’t you have to be here?”

Angelina shook her head. “Miranda is so busy she won’t even notice we’re gone. Besides, do you want to risk having to talk to Hank all night again?”

Valid point.

We were like CIA agents sneaking out of there, hiding behind various floral arrangements and ducking past waitstaff. As soon as we hit the beach my steps were lighter and my smile came easily. Angelina was in great spirits, and her mood was infectious. Arm in arm, we walked down to the beach party with its thumping bass and dancing lights.

A crowd of half-naked, drunk young people were dancing on the beach. I felt incredibly overdressed and, comparatively, very, very old. Angelina was right in her element, though, and within minutes she had a guy ordering us drinks. I sipped my vodka cran and leaned against the bar, people watching, as Angelina flirted.

A guy stumbled into me, his sweaty chest rubbing against my arm, his eyes unfocused from what was sure to have been a full day of drinking. I grimaced as he exhaled his nasty breath on me.

“Come dance with me!” His drink sloshed over the edge of his glass, nearly getting on my dress.

“No, thanks.” I tried to take a step back, but I was already up against the bar.

“Why? You got a boyfriend or something?”

“No, I just don’t want to dance. But thank you for the offer.”

He reached out and grabbed my wrist, evidently to pull me onto the dancefloor. I yanked it out of his grasp, spilling my drink down my arm. I tried to alert Angelina, but her view was blocked by two guys chatting her up, completely oblivious to the drunk asshole harassing me.

The guy didn’t give up. “Wha-what’s wrong? Don’t be a—be a bitch about it. Come dance with me!”

I was seconds away from throwing the rest of my drink in his face when someone came up and intervened, a strong hand on his chest holding him back.

“Hey, Moe, leave her alone. She said no.”

It took a second for me to recognize him. Dev.

Moe looked from me to Dev, said something under his breath about me being a bitch, and then stumbled away.

Dev turned to me; his lips turned up in a half-smile. He wore khaki-coloured shorts, very familiar leather sandals, and a white linen shirt unbuttoned down to his mid-chest. A smattering of dark hair poked out, and his sleeves were once again rolled up to reveal his forearms.

Oh, those forearms.

“Are you stalking me?” I asked in jest, glad the darkness hid my blush.

He laughed. “You’re the one at my resort. I thought you were following me!”

“Thank you, by the way. For saving me. Some guys won’t take no for an answer.”

Dev nodded and brushed his hand through his hair, his arm flexing as he did so. Oh my…

“Sorry,” he said. “He’s one of my cousins. He’s not usually like that. He’s been drinking all day, and he hasn’t gotten anyone to dance with him yet.”

I tried not to hold his asshole cousin against him.

“Can we—can we start over?” Dev asked, his eyebrows raised and forehead wrinkling the same way it had done on the plane, which was completely endearing.

I glanced down at my feet and then back up. This is why I was here, wasn’t it? Couldn’t hurt. I only hesitated for a moment before reaching out with my hand. “Hi. I’m Rebecca.”

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