Page 38 of A Not-So Holiday Paradise

Except she’s really too small to drape her arm around my shoulders. She tries, but after three attempts, I just laugh and push her off. “You’re too short,” I say, shaking my head. After the briefest of hesitations, I force myself to relax, to treat her like my instincts are urging me to. So I let my arm drape around her shoulders instead.

She melts into my side, and something inside me eases at the contact—a tightness that I didn’t realize was there. It’s similar to the feeling of sleeping with her in my arms, excepteasier, somehow. Like this is less stressful for my mind and my heart when I’m not trying to force our relationship to fit any specific mold.

And I’m not sure what mold itwouldfit into. I don’t have many female friends, but I don’t interact physically with the ones I do have. Nor do I treat my guy friends this way. But Molly isn’t a girlfriend or a lover or a significant other of any kind, either. It’s like she pointed out: she’s someone I’m stuck with in this highly unusual, highly charged situation. It makes sense that things will be a little different with her, especially after she’s admitted that she needs someone to hold onto right now.

I can be what she needs. Maybe not forever, but for today, and maybe tomorrow too.

I just hope I don’t regret it. But I can’t let myself think about that now.

“Ready to get out of here?” I say, looking down at her and forcing myself not to obsess about defining our relationship.

“I’m ready.”

I nod, giving her shoulder a squeeze before vaulting myself into the speedboat. Then I turn around and hold my hand out to help her up. “Let’s go.”

Twelve

Molly

You knowwhat would be really great?

A time machine.

So if there are any major corporations out there that are hiding the goods in their corporate research labs, now would be the time for them to speak up. Because there’s one clearly-out-of-her-mind crazy lady over here who was absolutely about to kiss the one man she shouldnotbe kissing.

What’s wrong with me? What could have possibly possessed me to act like that? I told myself I wasn’t going to make a move on Beckett, and I meant it. I genuinely meant it. He lives in the Virgin Islands; I’m a grad student. He’s my brother’s best friend. The only thing I wanted from him on this excursion was closure, an endcap to my feelings, so that I could move the heck on.

Butnooo.Moving on is for normal, emotionally healthy people. And I, apparently, do not fit that bill.

The wind is doing terrible things to my already-iffy hair as the boat speeds along, but I don’t have the energy to worry about it. All my worries are already booked for the day, and they’re all directed at this morning’s incident.

Truth be told, I think I’m doing a decent job of acting like everything is okay. Beckett at least doesn’t seem to notice that I’m over here drowning in my mortification. But I very much would like to zoom right back in time to the moment when he was being all sweet and nice. I would like to go back to that moment, and I would like to give Past Me a solidthwackon the back of the head. Then maybe Past Me wouldn’t have started thinking about kissing Beckett when she pondered things she really wants to do. She would have picked something else, like finding a few wildlife funds to donate to, or maybe taking up knitting.

I shake my head and groan, rubbing my hand over my face.Bad Molly.

“What’s that expression for?” Beckett says, his voice raised so that I can hear him over the wind and the rain. When I don’t answer, he goes on, “You have to tell me. We’re friends now, remember?” His concerned eyes fly over my face. “Do you not feel well?”

And there’s the protectiveness again. It wasn’t something I’d picked up on until he mentioned it earlier, but as soon as he brought it up, I started noticing. He asked if maybe he was feeling that way because of the situation we were in together, and I told him it was possible. Probable, even.

In truth, though, I don’t know. I just don’t know. I’m sure that’s part of it, but there’s a little part of me that hopes he’s growing to like me, too.

“I feel fine,” I say, my voice just as loud as his. “I’m just regretting my life decisions.” May as well be honest. He’s right; we agreed to be friends, and I get the feeling that the last twenty-four hours have changed our relationship permanently, though I don’t know how yet.

“Which decision?” he says, his gaze darting back and forth between me and the open sea ahead of us.

“The one where I made a move on you,” I say miserably.

I watch as his hands flex on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white, before he relaxes again. It’s a struggle for him to let down his guard; that much is obvious. All I can do, I guess, is be open with him so that he’ll see I’m not someone to worry about.

To my surprise, though, when I look from his hands to his face, I don’t see that same tenseness. Instead there’s a hint of a smile playing at his lips; I wouldn’t go so far as to call it flirtatious, but it’s definitely real.

“Stop that,” I say, poking the corner of his mouth with one finger. “It’s not funny. And you didn’t think so either. You booked it out of that hut.”

He swats my hand away, his smile growing a little. “I mean, it is kind of funny—now, at any rate. I’m not laughing at you,” he adds hurriedly. “It’s not that. It was just…unexpected.”

“What, there aren’t women trying to kiss you on the regular out here?” I say, feeling my cheeks burn.

“Despite my outgoing and friendly nature, no,” he says sardonically. He hesitates, but he still looks amused when he goes on, “And are you going around making googly eyes at every guy you meet?”

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