Page 33 of My Brother's Best Men
Nothing. No new texts, no new notifications from his socials.
I pull up our text thread, noting the last text he sent me days ago about picking up toilet paper, of all things. Apparently we’d run out and he had tostay lateat work and asked if I could get some. I didn’t question him when he asked, because I had no reason to. But now…
Now I wonder if it was just some ploy so he could plough another woman in our bed.
When I look up from my phone, Elijah is standing, looking down at me.
“Hey,” he says softly as I close out the screen. “You’re here to have fun, right? Not mope.”
“I’m not moping,” I say in a hushed whisper.
“You kind of are,” Benny says cooly, pulling my attention.
I shoot him a glare. “Maybe I’m just grumpy because I need a nap that lasts longer than five minutes.”
Benny chuckles. “Can sleep when you’re dead, princess.”
“Or when we get to the hotel,” Elijah chimes in. “I’m sure we’re all going to need a minute to relax after this damn flight.” He stretches his neck and I hear a crack, and then I immediately feel bad because I worry I’m the reason.
“Sorry about your shirt,” I say. “And cramping your style.”
Elijah opens the overhead bin and pulls out my carry-on. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. Promise.” He shoots me a half-hearted smile. “A little spit won’t kill me.”
His smile is some mix of flirtatious and familiar. I don’t know how to feel about it, but if the sudden warmth in my pussy is anything to go by…
No. Absolutely not, Soph. Kissing Elijah was bad enough. You do not need to go for the disastrous gold.
Boyfriend or no boyfriend, you don’t want to complicate things any more than they already are. Just stick to the plan. Enjoy your time in the sun, celebrate your brother’s wedding, and find some Speedo-wearing wet dream to take home and make you forget all about Keaton, Elijah, Benny, and Matthew.
When I finally get to the resort, I’m not just tired, I’m starving. The caffeine has worn off, my hair is a mess, I’m dyingunderneath my sweats, and I could use a bottle of champagne, a big board of charcuterie, and a hot shower.
After nearly wrestling Elijah and Matthew for my luggage—after they fought over who got to carry it—I manage to get to the front desk with Benny on my tail. Mom and Dad are already shoving their cards into their pockets as they load up the luggage cart, and the concierge is handing Elijah and Matthew their keys because apparently they’re rooming together.
“Name?” the concierge asks.
“Sophie Martin. Reservation is for two people, but it’s just me,” I say nervously as she taps the keys, then looks at me with pursed lips.
“Sophie Martin, can you provide your confirmation number or a phone number for the reservation?”
I give her my number and as she’s typing away, my heart sinks and panic hits me.
“Hmmm. It says here you’re not scheduled to check in until tomorrow, Ms. Martin.”
Oh no. No, no, no…
I close my eyes as the truth hits me like a damn brick. I came home early. Left JFK and flew straighthomea day early. My original flight was supposed to go directly from JFK to the Virgin Islands. Tomorrow.
Shit.
“Soph, did you—” Elijah starts, but I stop him, shaking my head.
No. No, I didnotcall ahead and notify the damn hotel like I should have. Instead, I was moping and sulking and drinkingand kissing my childhood bestie like a hot mess. Minus the hot part.
“Umm…is there any way to change my reservation?” I ask, my voice squeaking because I know it’s a long shot, but I’m not sure what else to do. Elijah and Matthew advance as Benny flanks my side.
“Is there a problem here?” Benny asks, glaring at the guys who freeze in their tracks.
“Sophie forgot to change her reservation,” Matthew says carefully.
