Andres’s gentle squeeze became a pinching vise until Heath pulled away with a squeak.
“You’re going on this vacation,” he said in his no-nonsense, Queen of Hearts tone. “You promised, and unlike that feckless playboy, you keep your word. You will also have a wonderful, relaxing time. Not because you made a promise, but because you deserve it.”
“You really do.” Manuel echoed, giving his hand a fond pat before diving into his refreshed beverage. “Other than visits to your mother, you never take time off. This is overdue.”
“Very overdue,” Andres agreed, his eyes taking on a worrisome sparkle. “You know, of the many times Christian has ghosted you, this one is really in your favor.”
“He hasn’t ghosted me that often,” Heath defended.
Andres ignored him. “You’re single and going to literal paradise. There will doubtless be someone on that island who will be happy to take your mind off things.”
Manuel, ever the dramatic romantic, gasped. “Oh! Imagine if one of the wealthy guests sweeps you off your feet? You could have your own Scandinavian scandal!”
Heath gave an indignant snort. “Did you miss the bits in the brochure where it’s marketed as an ‘exclusive and private couple’s retreat’? Any man there already has a partner, and I am not interested in dangerous liaisons.”
God, that was the last thing he needed, one more dead-end romance to add to the already lengthy list. He’d just be masking the problem, and what was the point of that when he’d be coming home alone in the end?
“A little danger might do you good,” Andres countered, earning amm-hmmof agreement from Manuel.
“You always play it so safe.”
Heath bristled. “I do not!”
“Of course you do! What’s safer than a straight man?”
“He. Is. Bi.”
“And my Aunt Rose married for love,” Andres drawled, his right eyebrow arched to his hairline. The woman in question had married seven times, but only divorced once, and self-preservation had kept anyone from investigating her black widow reputation. Self-preservation and an inheritance of millions, all left to her favorite descendants—of which Andres was in the top five.
“Nevertheless, I am not engaging in any… frivolities. Straight or otherwise,” he said with a huff and an upward jut of his chin.
“Safe,” Andres muttered into the sugared rim of his margarita.
“So safe,” Manuel agreed, with a disappointed sigh.
Heath glared at them both while sucking down the last of his virgin daiquiri, which only added brain freeze to the evening’s frustrations.
To hell with the entire day, and to his supposed friends with their “good intentions.” He’d keep his stupid promise to go on the damn trip, but have fun? Not a chance.
three
. . .
“Well, somebody needs to buy themselves a lottery ticket!”
The crew member in his smart red and blue uniform, turned away from the phone next to the partially closed jetway door and reached for the boarding pass in Heath’s quivering hand.
“One second longer and I’d have left you behind, mister.”
Heath forced himself to smile through the cardiac arrest he expected would strike him at any moment. What in God’s name had possessed Christian to book the first flight of the morning? Had he planned to sleep at the airport? The man hadn’t been on time a day in his life. It was almost as if he’d known he wouldn’t actually be going.
Heath stifled a disgruntledharrumphbefore it saw the light of day. Being angry at Christian was as natural as breathing, but after sprinting through the airport, his lungs were doing all they could to keep him upright. It seemed poor form to request anything more. Especially for someone who hadn’t bothered to show up. Again.
“Welcome aboard, Mr. Lennox. Allow me to stow your items,” said the cheery attendant at the plane’s entrance.
“Oh, you don’t have?—”
She plucked the lightweight vest from the crook of his elbow and hung it in a narrow closet at the front of the aisle, then popped his small carry-on into an overhead compartment that sat conveniently empty, as though they’d expected him.
