“Mr. Buckman will join everyone for dinner this evening, sir. Until then, you’re welcome to explore the resort at your leisure. Shall I show you to the front desk?”
Following her through gardens that belonged in magazines felt surreal. Hibiscus blooms the size of dinner plates nodded in the breeze while birds of paradise stretched toward the sun. The path wound between fountains that tinkled like expensive laughter, and Jackson’s hand never left my back, his thumb occasionally stroking in a way that I could pretend we really were a couple on a romantic island.
Reality would return soon enough. I just wanted one weekend to pretend Jackson was mine, unfortunately without the intimacy.
The lobby’s marble floors whispered under our feet. A chandelier that caught light and threw rainbows hung above us. The fresh orchids on every surface made the lobby smell amazing. Air conditioning kissed away the morning heat while soft jazz played from hidden speakers, the kind of background music that made you want to sway.
Since I was already swaying from the boat, I didn’t need the music’s good vibes.
“Just the one key?” The desk clerk asked. I was new to this “fake couple” ruse and had no idea what the room-key protocol was. I froze.
“Yes. One’s fine,” Jackson answered while I tried not to look panicked over a mundane question.
Our room—and wasn’t that a phrase that would haunt me—occupied a corner of the third floor with views that belonged on postcards. White walls, dark wood furniture, a bathroom bigger than my bedroom at home, and in the center, like a monument to my worst nightmare and best fantasy, sat one king-sized bed dressed in linens that probably had a thread count that guaranteed a good night’s sleep or even better sex.
This isn’t a real romantic getaway. I tried to remind myself, but thirty minutes in paradise and I’d already married Jackson in my head and his two point five kittens.
“Cozy,” he said, already pulling his shirt over his head.
Sweet mother of—
Watching him change into shorts and a polo required a level of self-control I forgot to pack. Each movement revealed new territories of skin, the play of muscle under flesh that had no business looking that good. When he bent to pull shorts up those impossibly long legs, I bolted for the bathroom before the hard outline in my jeans could betray exactly how non-platonic my thoughts had become.
Splashing cold water on my face didn't help, so I struck my face under the running water. Finally, my body calmed down enough to change into resort-appropriate clothing. Jackson is not gay. This was just a favor between friends. We’d known each other since high school, so those soft touches meant nothing. That was just Jackson being his friendly self.
The reality of what I’d done sunk in. I’d convinced myself I could do this, but after seeing that single king-sized bed? Nope. In what galaxy could I share a bed with a man I ached for and just…sleep? He would be sprawled out beside me, a body I’ve fantasied about, and I had to keep my hands to myself?
Cruelest tortured ever.
“It’s your fault,” I hissed at myself in the mirror, pointing an accusing finger at my reflection. “Happy now?”
“Ollie?”
I really wished he’d stop saying my nickname a voice that spread like liquid sin through my veins.
Taking a deep breath, I finished changing my clothes, exchanging jeans and thicker shirt for soft, cotton shorts and short-sleeve shirt.
Emerging from the bathroom to find Jackson lounging on the bed, scrolling through his phone with one arm slung casually over his rigid stomach was a fantasy yanked right out of my head. My eyes took screenshots, because this would never happen again.
The way he looked up and smiled, soft and private, I nearly whimpered.
“Ready to explore?” He swung those legs off the bed in one fluid motion, which my eyes definitely didn’t track like a starving man at a buffet.
“Yep.” I hurried toward the door, needing to get out of our room before I completely embarrassed myself.
Exploring meant walking paths lined with jasmine while Jackson’s shoulder bumped mine every third step. Meant his hand finding my elbow whenever the path turned, his fingers lingering longer than navigation required. Meant catching him watching me with something unreadable in those green eyes whenever he thought I wasn’t looking, making me wonder what he was thinking.
“This place is ridiculous,” I said, gesturing at an infinity pool that seemed to pour into the ocean. “Who needs this many pools?”
“Rich people with commitment issues?” Jackson’s laugh triggered mine “Can’t decide between chlorine and salt water, so why not both?”
“Plus the hot tubs.” Counting them had become a game, reminding me of our friendship before my feelings had gotten in the way. “We’re up to seven now.”
“Eight.” He pointed to another one tucked behind palm trees, then his hand dropped to my shoulder, thumb brushing my neck. “You’re getting pink. Should’ve brought sunscreen.”
The concern in his voice touched me. “I’ll be fine.”
“Sure, until you’re lobster-red and miserable tonight.” His fingers traced the collar of my shirt, checking for burn lines, and I forced back my thirst. I’d told myself I could pretend while here, but that would only make it harder to let go of the fantasy when we returned home. “Come on, let’s find some shade and food.”
