Page 51 of My Favorite Bad Decision
He’s been here, at this exact place, for the entire trip.
He was right, when he said that even if I didn’t need someone to have my back, I might want to be with a man who’d have it anyway.
I do. God, I really, really do.
We are silent on the ride to the resort. The cab drops us off at the gated entrance and we walk toward the tents.
“How much are you looking forward to that bed?” he asks.
I know it’s entirely in my head, but even hearing him utter the wordbedsounds dirty to me. I am not thinking about the quality of the sheets or the softness of the mattress. I’m thinking about the way it would feel to be pressed into it beneath his weight.
“You know what’s funny?” I ask. “The night we got here, I was bitching about that room to my dad. I was furious.”
He laughs quietly. “Knowing your father, he did not feel nearly as guilty as you’d have hoped.”
I shake my head. “He didn’t feel guilty at all. I told him if I was murdered, I was going to hold him responsible, and he said that technically if I were murdered, I couldn’t hold anyone responsible. Completely unrepentant.”
Miller laughs. “Yep, that sounds like Henry. I was pretty pissed at him that night myself. I still can’t believe he sent you. Things could have gone really wrong.”
We’ve reached my tent. I stop and turn toward him. “I was fine. I had you looking after me, right?”
He gives me a half smile that fades too quickly. “I’ve got to tell you something. I mean, it’s not really a bad thing, so Idon’thave to tell you, but I don’t feel right lying about it anymore.”
My stomach begins a long, slow dive. I have faith in very few men, but he was one of them, and I don’t want to be disappointed. “What is it?”
He bites his lip. “There was nothing wrong with my tent.”
I laugh, half relieved and half confused. “What?”
“There was nothing wrong with my tent. I was just worried about you sleeping alone, and I was undoubtedly being paranoid, but…my tent was fine. I collapsed it myself and told the porters that you and I decided to share.”
I stare at him for a second, dumbfounded, and then I start to laugh. “You asshole. That’s so sweet, butoh my God.”
He grins. “I’d tell you I’m sorry, but I’m not.”
Tears spring to my eyes. “I’m not sorry either.”
Somehow, in eight days’ time, I’m leaving here feeling as if he’s my best friend, the person I’m closest to. I have no regrets.
Well, I have one regret. It’s that he can’t remain my best friend, my everything, when we go home. After tonight, he is always going to be a stranger to me.
“Well,” I say, glancing toward my tent, trying to subtly dry my eyes, “I should?—”
“Kit,” he says, pulling me toward him.
His hands cradle my jaw, and he pulls my mouth to his. It’s soft and it’s hard; it’s kind and it’s also relentless. His kiss is everything I knew it would be, and if I have ever been kissed like this, I certainly don’t remember it. Not even with Rob.
It’s the kind of kiss you could lose yourself in for a very long time. I have to force myself to stop.
I take a step backward, my breath coming too fast. My mouth opens, but he shakes his head. “I know,” he says. “It’s just something I had to do.”
I nod and turn for my tent. I’m not sure how long he remains outside, but I never hear him walk away.
* * *
Only a few hours later,the sun is rising, and it’s time for me to leave for the airport.
There’s a pang in my chest as I walk toward the waiting car. I turn at the last minute, surveying the tents around me. I sort of love the people who still sleep in each of them. I know we’ve said our goodbyes, but I want to say them again.
