It was posted three days ago, in São Paulo, Brazil.
A few other news outlets have the same picture posted with similar queries but no further information.
Hm.
Stop it,I chide myself.Just read the rest of this damn book, make a decision, and plan your summer already.
“I wish you’d be nicer to yourself,” Mom whispers in my head.
“I’m an idiot. Why am I like this?” I ask the empty room.
“You’re not an idiot, Pretty Girl. You’re human. And you got hurt.”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
“Keep going, sweetheart. You might change your tune if you read the rest.”
I flip the book over and see Beckett’s author headshot smiling at me. In that smile, I can feel the hope of an aspiring debut author, a young guy with big dreams who hasn’t been completely broken by the harsh realities of life yet. Bruised, maybe, but not broken.
I sigh.
Flipping through the paperback, I note that I only have about sixty pages to go.
“Not exactly well timed,” I say aloud. “He’s going to break them apart and put them back together in just sixty pages? And not have Goodreads implode with the words ‘rushed ending’?”
“You can do it, Pretty Girl. It’s only a little more.” Her voice echoes in my brain. “You’ll thank me.”
Chapter 23
New Year’s Eve is as much a party in Aruba as it is in the United States. More, probably. And Birdie Paulson had zero interest in “turning in early” or missing out on the festivities.
“The resort has a big celebration,” she told me over breakfast. “It’s a huge outdoor dinner, followed by fireworks. Open bar, too. And live entertainment! I wouldn’t miss it!”
“Won’t we need some kind of reservation for that?” I asked, stirring Dutch cream into my coffee.
“Absolutely—but fear not. I booked it for us months ago, back when I booked the trip. Just like the spa. I’m all over it, don’t you worry.”
“I love how Aruba has turned you into a social butterfly, Mom.” I smiled. “Would it be okay if I invited Beckett to join us?”
“Pretty Girl, I added him to our reservation three days ago. If you think for a second that it wasn’t obvious where all this was going, you’ve got another thing coming.”
“Does he know?”
She shrugged. “I didn’t tell him. But I’m sure there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.”
I thought back to the night before, the way Beckett glorified my body and brought me to the brink of euphoria with his mouth, something I’dnever dreamed of when I imagined our sexy spa encounter. I begged him to let me touch him; his solid erection was straining against his dress pants and it drove me wild. I was just about to take him behind the privacy screen and reciprocate when a group of people swam past in the water outside our hut, all wearing glow-in-the-dark snorkeling gear. I figured it was some kind of evening excursion and paid it very little mind, other than holding my breath and lying perfectly still. I was completely naked, and I surprised myself by not caring at all. They spooked Beckett, though. I think he was afraid they’d see us and say something—like, cause a scene and draw attention to us? Or even worse, that these random strangers would see me without any clothes on. So he begged me to leave the spa, and I begrudgingly obliged. My legs felt like Jell-O; I was drowning in endorphins. I offered to go back to his room with him and finish what we started, but he said no.
He said that he had big plans and that I would just have to wait.
Which was frustrating, but okay.
I’m sure those big plans didn’t involve hanging out with me and my mom on New Year’s Eve, but I also knew that he was sweet enough and had a good enough heart not to even consider the idea that I would ditch her for the holiday festivities.
When I saw him later that day at the Renaissance private island (whereallI could think about was the earth-shattering orgasm he’d given me the night before), I asked him if he had any plans for New Year’s Eve.
“I figured we’d all ring in the new year together, unless you and your mom had something special planned,” he replied.
I swooned; how could someone so new in my life be so perfect?
