“I can’t believe you bought a sex toy from a vending machine.” I cackle, inspecting the box. It looks legit.
“When in Greece.”
“How much more time do you need?” Millie asks, applying another coat of mascara to her lashes. Her cheeks are dewy, courtesy of our outing earlier today.
I’m in the middle of curling my hair, towel still wrapped around my body. “Another ten or fifteen minutes?”
“I’m going to head down to the lobby and book a reservation for that excursion we talked about while you finish up. Let’s meet at the fountain I pointed out on our way in.”
“Sure. See you there.”
Earlier at dinner, the people at the table behind us were talking about getting caught in the rain on the beach yesterday, and it instantly catapulted me to last May.To Cameron.I swore I wasn’t going to think about him while I was here, but I can’t help it. I couldn’t stop the image that sprung to mind first. The one of him wearing a wet shirt that clung to his broad chest and shoulders when I noticed him in the hotel lobby. He was flustered and angry about missing his connection to the cruise ship, and maybe I’m romanticizing our interaction, but it’s almost as if that all floated away when he saw me standing next to him.
And the look on his face when I stepped out of the bathroom in our little room at the B&B? I’d never admit it, but Iwaswearing lingerie. I’d been so out of sorts that morning that I must have tossed it into my beach bag by mistake. The look he gave mewhen he saw me come out of the bathroom? Damn, what I wouldn’t give to have someone look at me that way again.
I saw him on the ship that last day. He was lounging on the pool deck with a drink in his hand. It took the mental strength of a Navy SEAL not to rush over and demand a redo of our morning-after conversation. When the ship made it back to port, did he go back to his perfect little prepackaged life, or did he have the balls to go after what he wanted?
15
Cameron
The last thingI ever expected to delay our return to the resort was a pile of logs strewn about the coastal highway. It was a scene straight out ofFinalfuckingDestination. Thank fuck we weren’t the stars of that reenactment. Only one side of the road was blocked, and workers were already directing traffic, so the holdup was a short one, but now I’m in a mad rush to make it to my photography session in twenty minutes. Ezra heads to his room, and we make plans to meet up at the bar later, so I dump my bags in my room, shower and change, and take the shortcut through the lobby.
Halfway across, I stop dead in my tracks.
It can’t be.
There’s no fucking way.
Three little birds, inked on a woman’s tricep. My brain has malfunctioned, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m grasping for said tricep and twisting its owner toward me.
“Oh!” The woman’s green eyes widen, and she sucks in a breath.
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” I hold up my hands andtake a step back, too disappointed to be embarrassed. “I thought you were someone else.”
She drinks me in. “That’s okay. I’m happy to be someone else,” she purrs.
Definitely an American on vacation. It’s not against hotel policy to fraternize with vacationers, and while she’s a beautiful woman, she’s notthe woman.
Damn if her tattoo isn’t identical to Joey’s, though. Birds are a common choice, sure, but in that location, and that precise configuration? This is too freaky.
The strawberry blonde shrugs when I don’t respond and turns to whatever she was doing before I interrupted her with my delusion.
I round the activities desk and head to my office to grab my name badge. Heading back out, I clip it to my shirt. My standard uniform could be worse. The off-white linen shirt goes well with the resort-issued cerulean blue shorts. And after a memorable encounter with goat poop my first week here, I now exclusively wear sneakers instead of flip-flops.
As I approach the fountain where I typically meet with my photo clients, I catch sight of the blonde from the lobby.
“Hello again.” She extends her arm, a dozen gold bracelets clanking. “I’m Millie.”
I shake her hand, and instead of greeting her like a normal person, I ask, “How did you get that tattoo?”
“Excuse me?” Her brows pinch together.
“Your three birds tattoo. How?—”
She pops up on her toes and cranes her neck to look around me. “Here’s our girl!”
Following her line of sight, I turn. You know how in movies, time freezes?
