The good news is, by the time I’m standing safely outside in the sunshine, I’ve got myself pulled back together. The bad news,though, is that I sprinted out of the bungalow without thinking to grab my phone, purse, or anything else.
After a moment of fidgeting nervously, I try the front door, but it locked behind me. So, I cross my arms over my chest and try to wait patiently for the gorgeous man with the shockingly large dick to come out here—fully dressed this time, hopefully—to explain his presence in my reserved bungalow. I’m thinking he’s last night’s occupant who didn’t check out in time. Hopefully, he’ll come out here with his suitcase, apologize profusely for scaring me, and leave the bungalow to me. If not, if it turns out that man is here rightfully—if it turns out Brandon has, in fact, managed to cancel my reservation—I truly don’t know what I’ll do.
After a while, I knock tentatively on the door and call out, “Would you come outside, please? The door is locked and I left all my stuff in there!”
“Just a minute!” the guy shouts on the other side of the door. “I’m getting dressed!”
The thought of that hunky man getting dressed makes me remember himundressedand dripping wet. His dick hanging low. I can’t believe a total stranger was mere feet away from me, fully naked, while I was half naked and sitting on a toilet.Holy hell.The way my legs were spread, he must have seen everythingthere is to see between my thighs.
The whole situation should be nothing but mortifying to me, by all rights. But if I’m being honest, in addition to mortification, I’m feeling a sliver of titillation as well. That man was the hottest creature I’ve ever beheld in my life. In person, at least. And I can’t believe I saw every inch of him. The stripper at my bachelorette party in Vegas was fun, but he did absolutely nothing for me, other than making me whoop and snort with laughter. But Shower Guy? My God, my entire body feels like it’s going haywire when I visualize what I just witnessed.
A crazy thought makes me gasp out loud. What if my friends sent that hunk of a man as a gift, inspired by that raunchy thing I said at the very end of my diatribe in the church? Nah. As soon as I have the preposterous thought, I banish it. My friends knew I was simply parroting back the same raunchy words Brandon used in a text to one of the many women on his secret phone. They had to know I wasn’t serious but, instead, that I was merely trying to piss off Brandon as much as possible.
The front door finally flies open, interrupting my thoughts, and the naked Adonis emerges, fully clothed. His dark hair is wet but towel dried and slightly curled. He’s wearing board shorts and a T-shirt that clings to his broad shoulders and hard chest.And he’s tall.Much taller than I realized while sitting on the toilet. That man’s got to be six-four or -five. A full foot taller than me, at any rate.
“Did my friends send you to be my boy toy?” I blurt.
He shoots me a crooked grin. “I’d say you’re a bit young to be my sugar mama, wouldn’t you?”
I blush crimson. I’m such a dork. He looks several years older than me. So, yeah, “boy toy” was probably a ridiculous choice of words.
When I’m too tongue-tied to respond, the man folds his arms across his broad chest—a maneuver that incidentally emphasizes the sculpted, tanned beauty of his biceps and forearms—and says, “Let’s start over. How did you get into my bungalow?”
“I ... I’ve got it reserved for the week.”
“You should double-check the unit number on your reservation. I’ve got this place reserved for the week, starting today, and I paid in full.”
“Unit three. I have a confirmation email from two days ago.”
Mr. Beautiful furrows his dark brow. “Hmm. Yesterday, they let me extend my stay in unit three for another full week. Theysaid I was in luck because someone had just cancelled at the last minute.”
Shit. That makes me think Brandon definitely managed to screw me over somehow. “Did they say when this supposed cancellation occurred?”
He shakes his head. “All I know is they said the unit was available when I asked to extend my stay yesterday afternoon.”
I rub my forehead, trying not to hyperventilate. Left to my own devices, I won’t be able to afford even the smallest room at this swanky resort, let alone this huge, fancy bungalow. My credit cards are maxed out, my savings account is nonexistent, and there’s no way I’d ask my father for help after everything he’s already paid out.
“I never got notice of any cancellation,” I say, with far more confidence than I feel. “The last thing I’ve got is a confirmation email that gave me an entry code for today at three.” Granted, the entry code didn’twork,but I see no reason to admit that in this moment.
The man frowns. “It sounds like the hotel messed up. Let’s call the front desk to get this straightened out.”
I motion toward the closed front door. “My phone’s inside.”
With a tap of his keycard, he opens the door for me with a wink. “After you ... Sugar Mama.”
I roll my eyes as I pass him in the doorway, and he chuckles heartily.
Once inside, we sit on a couch and compare the key paragraphs of our respective emails from the hotel. Quickly, we conclude this unit has, indeed, been double-booked. At least, as far as Mr. Beautiful knows. At this point, I’m fairly certain Brandon figured out a way to end my vacation before it started.
“There’s no need to panic,” the guy says, probably reacting to my panicked facial expression. “We’ll tell the front desk about the mix-up, and they’ll give you another bungalow. Easy peasy.”
I say nothing, since I’ve got a hunch it won’t be nearly that simple for me. Unfortunately, we used Brandon’s parents’ card for the reservation, since the honeymoon was their wedding gift. At this point, I’m fairly certain, despite my present state of sleep deprivation and fogginess, that card being on file made it possible for Brandon to unilaterally cancel my reservation without the hotel providing notice to me.
The man picks up his phone, plainly intending to place a call. But I can’t have that. I don’t know what’s happened for sure, but the last thing I need is for this man to become the third person on this island to find out about my embarrassing shit show of a busted wedding yesterday.
“No, don’t,” I blurt quickly. “I’ll call them. You’re the one who’s already checked in.” I run a hand through my hair. “Sorry if I’m a bit frazzled. I’m exhausted from my long day of travel.”
His features soften with sympathy. “Why don’t you take a seat and relax for a bit? I’m not doing anything, so you can hang out as long as you need while we straighten this out.”
