“And then he has the audacity to tell me my carpets smell like an old gym bag. Can you believe that guy?” I ask, throwing my head back and swallowing the last sip of red wine before adding, “When that booking came through and I realized someone had rented a cabin for three months, I couldn’t have been more ecstatic. But then this pompous ass shows up, making demands and complaining about everything under the sun, and I kinda want to tell him to take a nice, long hike.”
Dee’s low laughter spills down the line, and I pour myself another glass of merlot before snuggling deeper into my blanket. Dee Sullivan is the only true friend I’ve made since moving to Moose Harbor, and I’m beyond grateful to whatever higher power hasset her on my path. I knew she was special the second our hands touched when we both reached for the same romance novel at the community library, and we’ve bonded over our mutual smut addiction ever since.
She’s one of those rare people who make you feel like you’ve known each other forever, even though, in reality, it’s only been a few short months. Sometimes you simply connect with a person and instantly know you’ve gained a friend for life. That’s Dee for me. A dear friend who’s helped me through those first isolating weeks of living in a new, unfamiliar place. She made the transition so much more bearable and introduced me to a lot of locals I may not have gotten to know as quickly otherwise. The point is, I appreciate the shit out of her, even if she can be a little nutty sometimes.
“I mean, he kinda has a point,” comes her reluctant reply. “Pretty sure those carpets haven’t seen a steam cleaner since the ’70s.”
“Whose side are you on, anyway?”
“Yours. Always yours, babe,” she shoots back without pause. “But I wouldn’t be your friend if I didn’t give it to you straight. You and I both know those cabins have seen better days. When you mentioned your renovation funds are tight, I took the liberty to call Harv at the Hardware store. He’s already promised major discounts. Even threw in a few complimentary gallons of paint.Apparently, he has a lot of mistints sitting on the shelves, so if you’re not picky about color, they’re all yours.”
“That’s very generous of him.”
“It’s really not. He grabbed my ass once when he had a few too many, and he’s been going above and beyond in an effort to clear his guilty conscience ever since. I think he’s buttering me up so I don’t snitch to his wife. Bet he shits himself every time Mary Beth wants to come in for a bite. Men. Deep down, they’re all pigs.”
I can practically see her dramatic eye roll and cackle at her dry delivery. Dee is the owner of the Pumpkin Patch, the one and only café in town, which poses a bit of a problem for Pervy Harvey, I suppose. But even though I don’t condone his sleazy behavior, I’m also not in a position to look a gift horse in the mouth.
“Thanks, Dee. I appreciate you hooking me up.”
“Don’t mention it. I know what it’s like to take a run-down business and make it shine again. I remember being grateful for every penny saved when I first bought The Patch, and I feel bad for not being able to help out more.”
“Don’t be silly. You have enough on your plate running your own venture, and I know how busy tourist season can get.”
“Even so,” she says, undeterred by my dismissal, and I can hear her topping up her own drink as we settle in for one of our weekly girl talks. “Once things slow down, I’ll be closing the café two daysa week throughout the winter. I don’t do so well with downtime, so if you need a hand whipping that resort of yours back into shape, I’m your girl. And here’s the best part. I work for pizza and margaritas.”
“That can be arranged,” I say, feeling a lot more hopeful about the future than I did after my confrontation with Mr. Grumpy-pants earlier.
“Now that that’s out of the way, let’s get to the real reason you’re so riled up. Be honest, on a scale of one to ten, how hot is this guy?”
“Did you miss the part where I said he’s a pompous ass?”
Dee snorts. “Nobody wants a nice guy in the bedroom, Charlie. You haven’t gotten laid in how long? Tell you one thing, moving here may have been a smart choice business-wise, but your personal life is bound to suffer. It’s slim pickings around these parts, babe, and beggars can’t be choosers. Besides, I’ll take passionate hate-sex with an alphahole who’s not above slamming you up against a wall and takes what he wants over making tepid love to a guy who asks for permission to kiss you any day of the week. I just finished this enemies-to-lovers romance where the heroine basically hated the MMC’s guts, but every time they were in the same room together, he pretty much fucked her into the next century. Had me panting like a bitch in heat.”
“How long has it been sinceyou’veseen any action?” I ask, genuinely concerned about my friend.
“Ugh, too damn long.” Her pain-filled groan echoes down the line. “Let’s just say that the discount Harv gave me on AAA batteries couldn’t have come at a better time. I’m so needy these days, I wouldn’t even be offended if a guy told me my carpets stink. Plenty of other surfaces to roll around on, as long as he has a pretty face. Please tell me he has a pretty face.”
Releasing a resigned sigh, I decide to bite the bullet. Dee is like a dog with a bone once she smells something juicy. May as well come straight out with it. “Such a good face. It’s infuriating, really. Through our entire verbal sparring match, I tried real hard to find even the tiniest flaw. Something to make him just a little less appealing, because apparently his shitty attitude isn’t enough to deter my ho of a vagina. I’m telling you, she’s been begging me to secure us a ride on his disco stick ever since he walked into the front office, with his rumpled good looks and perfect fucking hair. He was wearing these jeans that clung to his lean hips like they never wanted to let go, and a soft cotton shirt that hugged his torso like a second skin.”
I dig my teeth into my bottom lip as I remember the way the thin fabric had stretched across his wide pecks. How the tips of my fingers tingled with the urge to run them down his front and overhis tight stomach, before hooking them into the waistband of his jeans to pull him closer.
“Speaking of skin,” I add with a wistful sigh. “As if all that chiseled muscle wasn’t enough, the man’s also been blessed with an olive complexion I’d kill for. Do you know how many times I’ve burned my freckled ass with the slightest sun exposure? How much money I’ve wasted on spray tans and lotions over the course of my life? And here’s this prick, casually showing off his perfectly browned forearms and flaunting his Latino heritage. He’s fucking gorgeous, Dee. Single most beautiful guy I've ever laid eyes on. Such a shame his personality is so off-putting,” I finish, frustrated with my terrible taste in men.
“I knew it,” she shouts, and I can easily picture her pumping her fist into the air, spilling her wine across her chest as she grins like the cat that ate the canary.
“Don’t get too excited. His perfect outer shell doesn’t change the fact that he’s an arrogant jerk. And I still haven’t forgiven him for insulting my business. He wants to be treated like a diva and expects special treatment. Boy, am I going to deliver. In fact, I’m going to take such good care of him, he’ll wish he never complained in the first place.”
“Get it, girl,” Dee cheers, before we spend the rest of the evening devising a plan.
six
Cole
Iwake to a pounding headache and instant regret. I should’ve learned from my mistakes by now and known that reaching for the bottle only makes me feel worse in the aftermath. It never works, and yet, it doesn’t keep me from trying time and time again. What’s that saying about the definition of insanity? That nutty-looking German really hit the nail on the head with that one.
With a pained groan, I roll onto my back and throw an arm across my eyes to shield them from the blinding light filtering through the lime green curtains. I attempt to dislodge my tongue from the roof of my mouth, and when it finally gives way, the ensuing smacking sound is enough to trigger my gag reflex. God,I’d kill for a cold glass of water. I lie, unmoving, while I wait for the seven dwarfs to quit driving their pickaxes against the inside of my skull. It takes a few moments for the fog to clear, but when consciousness creeps in fully, I realize the incessant banging noise isn’t actually coming from my head, but from right above it. I drag my limp arm off my face, letting it flop to the mattress beside me and crack an eye open, glaring at the water-stained ceiling.
“What in the ever-loving fuck is going on?” I mutter as I blindly reach for my phone on the nightstand. Once located, I power it back on, ignoring the slew of angry messages from Mads and squint at the offending numerals on the lit-up screen; 8:03 a.m.
