“Oh, come on, Willa. You know who I am, so you know I’m not a psycho.”
“Yes, but what if I am?” She raises a challenging brow, and there’s that spark of mischief in her eyes again.
Man, this girl.
I hope she stays.
Smiling, I tell her, “Hey, I’m willing to take my chances.”
That makes her laugh.
But then she’s quiet again, so I give her time to think it over some more.
Finally, blowing out a big breath, she nods and says, “Okay, I’ll stay. And I think you should too. But only under one condition.”
“Yeah? What would that be?” I ask.
“That you please, for the love of God, put on a pair of pants.”
Shane complies. He doesn’t put on pants, though. When he emerges from one of the back bedrooms, he’s wearing a pair of beige cargo shorts.
Good enough.
I’m glad he also threw on a white tee. His muscular chest and defined abs were throwing me off my play-it-cool game.
Nevertheless, his body continues to remain a distraction as he helps me move my belongings from the hall to a back bedroom.
He just looks so damn hot carrying my bags.
Yum.
I’m glad I’m staying.
This is definitely better than hanging here all by myself. My heart already feels lighter.
Maybe I was wrong about needing to be alone.
Maybe he’s the distraction that can help me heal.
I guess we’ll see.
But first things first—I need to get settled in.
I choose the bedroom two down from the master, simply to put a little space between us for privacy’s sake. I don’t care that Shane has the largest of the three bedrooms; I still have an en suite bathroom and private access through sliding glass doors to the back gardens, infinity pool, and the beach.
That’s good enough for me.
With my bags placed in my new bedroom, which I’ll worryabout unpacking later, Shane and I decide to head to the kitchen to try and get to the bottom of this mix-up.
After we sit down at the table, we use his phone and contact the owners of the property. We end up speaking with the wife, and once she hears about what’s happened, she clarifies that Shane actually made the mistake.
His arrival date is slated for the day after I’m set to leave.
He checks his contract on his phone and sees that’s she’s right.
“Damn,” he murmurs. “I guess I was so excited about coming down here that I read the dates wrong.”
He feels awful about the situation and insists on paying me for my stay with his credit card on file with the owners.
