Page 54 of The Honeymoon Hack
What if she reallywasthinking about Shawn this morning on the beach, and I was the dumb schmuck who couldn’t get over his first love?
I turned onto my side, facing away from her, and closed my eyes.
“Goodnight, Bug,” I whispered, not expecting a response.
The soft “Goodnight, Will” that came after several long seconds was barely audible, but it gave me hope. Somewhere in there, beneath the fear and hesitation, was the Brie who’d kissed me back on that beach.
And I wasn’t giving up on her.
Chapter 21
Brie
No matterhow good the full-spectrum indoor lights were, stepping into the sun on Little Haven was a shock to the system. Friday morning, the sky was impossibly blue, without a single cloud in sight. Hard to imagine Hurricane Lorenzo would be lumbering past us in a few days.
If the forecast held, it would stay to the east of us, bringing cloudy skies and wind, but nothing too dramatic.
“Perfect day for exploring,” Will said, grabbing a helmet from beside the bike stand.
I’d suggested biking around the island as soon as we woke up, partly out of genuine curiosity, but mainly as a strategic maneuver. Cycling would keep us moving, upright, and far less likely to end up in another compromising position like yesterday’s beach lounger incident.
And I wouldn’t have to come up with ridiculous excuses like I had last night.
Thinking about Shawn? Really? That was the best you could come up with?
Well, yeah, at least Will doesn’t know you wanted him to go a lot further than he did with the fake kiss.
Wanted. Yesterday morning, Ihadwanted more from Will. Today, I had my head back on straight and knew better. Crossing that line again would be the end of us.
“Which way?” I asked, pulling a bike out of the rack.
“Counter-clockwise.” Will did up the chest clip on his backpack and mounted his bike. “I hear the eastern side has the best views.”
I donned my helmet and followed him onto a paved path that traced the shoreline. White sand beaches stretched to our right, while lush tropical vegetation bordered the path to our left. The emerald and turquoise gradient of the water was almost unreal—like someone had cranked up the saturation settings on reality.
Tiny geckos darted across the path in front of our wheels, vanishing underneath the shocking pinks and reds of the bougainvillea and hibiscus. I inhaled deeply, savoring the scents of tropical flowers and salt air.
After less than five minutes, Will pulled over. Bracing his bike between his legs, he balanced his backpack in front of himself and pulled off his shirt.
I nearly fell off my bike.
“Too hot for this,” he muttered as he stuffed his shirt into the bag.
The black lines of his tattoos stood out against his skin—geometric patterns on his forearm, angular bands at his wrist, the abstract design extending up his right shoulder.
I could trace each one from memory. The band on his wrist contained his parents’ birthdates hidden in binary, the forearm pattern secretly incorporated the GPS coordinates of his childhood home, and the shoulder design held the frequency of the first radio signal we’d successfully intercepted.
His ink told a story in code no one else could read.
Except for me.
Yesterday morning, Claire had been eyeing Rav’s tattoos. And Rav himself, for that matter. I’d never considered tattoos as anything but art.
But now? I’d finally figured it out.
They were… sexy.
“Coming?” Will called, already on the pedals again.
