Page 7 of Blue Hawaiian
Yet, instead of freezing him out, she’d let him breach her defenses. She even bantered with him, as if they were still friends.
Damn, but she was an idiot.
Clearly, she wasn’t over him yet. But she needed to keep her guard up. He’d hurt her before, and he could do it again. And she was more vulnerable now, given the toxic way her last ex had treated her. Simon the Terrible, who’d lured her to Chicago last fall, then slowly turned on her. When she suspected him of cheating, he spent weeks gaslighting her. Learning the truth almost came as a relief.
She tossed her tote bag on the bed. It had been aday, all right. At least her room was a sweet slice of heaven. Decorated in bright, tropical prints, it included a king-sized bed, a couch, a large work desk, a small bar with a full coffee station, and a balcony facing the ocean.
The room would have been more perfect if she had someone to share the bed with. Or the shower. A memory came to her, unbidden, of showering with Connor in his family’s lodge. They’d gotten so carried away they’d used up all the hot water.
Just stop.
She found a basket of complimentary toiletries in the bathroom and freshened up as best she could. She was giving the sleeping-naked option consideration when a knock came at the door. A glance through the peephole revealed Connor. What kind of game was he playing? Did he think she was so desperate for great sex that she’d invite him into bed?
The truth was, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had great sex. Simon hadn’t exactly been a generous lover. Long before he dumped her, he was indifferent in bed. Though she didn’t miss him anymore, the memory of his betrayal still stung. She’d come home from work, on a rainy night in March, only to find him entwined on the couch with a woman from his MFA program. Rather than make excuses, he broke up with Jess and kicked her out of the apartment.
It had been painful as hell, but a few nights of wild, uninhibited sex might ease that pain. And what better place to have a scorching hot affair than a tropical wedding?
But not with Connor. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.
She was tempted to leave him hanging, but she wanted to shoot him down to his face. She flung open the door. “What is it?”
He held out a gray t-shirt embellished with the L.A. Dodgers logo. “I thought you might want something comfortable to sleep in. Unless youlikethat pink thing.”
She accepted the shirt. “Umm…thanks.”
“No problem. Need anything else?”
Did he have an agenda? Or was he just being considerate?
She inched back a few paces. “I’m okay for now.”
“All right. ’Night, Jess.” With a little wave, he turned and left.
That was it. No hint he’d like to come into her room. No lewd remarks. Not the slightest flicker of interest. It was kind of insulting, to be honest.
She brought the shirt to her nose and inhaled. The aroma was distinctly Connor—pinewoods and all male. Great. Now she’d have a harder time getting him off her mind.
Maybe that was his intention.Devious bastard.
Whatever the case, she couldn’t stand the obnoxious pink shirt another minute. She ditched it, along with her bra, and put on Connor’s shirt. Even if it was far too long, years of wear had made it soft and worn. Like the shirt she’d borrowed from him after their first night together. Was that why he lent it to her? Was he hoping to trigger old memories?
Stop it. You’re overthinking everything.
Needing to cool down, she opened the sliding glass door that led to her balcony. As she stepped outside, she gasped in awe at the sight of the Pacific Ocean, gleaming under the light of a near-full moon. The sound of the waves, crashing against the shore in a steady rhythm, soothed her frazzled nerves.
For the first time since leaving Chicago, her mood lifted. Even if her life was a disaster, even if her ex was sleepingright next door, she might seize a little joy during this vacation. And she’d start by indulging in a late-night cocktail.
She went back into her room and checked out the minibar. Since she wasn’t on the hook for the hotel bill, she could treat herself. She pulled out a small bottle of orange juice and a mini bottle of vodka, intending to make a screwdriver. Now all she needed was ice.
She cracked open her door and peered into the hallway. With no one around, she could venture out, as is. Who would be roaming the hotel at one thirty in the morning, anyway? She reached for the envelope containing her key cards, took one out, and headed into the hall to fill her ice bucket.
But when she tried to get back into her room, the card didn’t work.
She waited another minute, took a deep breath, and tried again. The light beside the door handle flashed red. She flipped it over and tried once more. Still red.
Shit.
The clerk must have activated only one of her cards. And she’d picked the wrong one. Now she was locked out, wearing nothing but an oversize t-shirt and a lacy pink thong. The only way to resolve this crisis would be to go down to the lobby and ask the overly enthusiastic hotel clerk to fix her card, subjecting herself to complete humiliation.
