I’mface down on my pillow, trying not to scream. My tears have dried and I’ve moved aggressively into the anger phase of my feelings.
How fucking dare he.
I can’t believe he just up and left the island like that. What a coward. I guess he wasn’t man enough to face me after I caught him kissing his employee in the street. Ethics of that aside, I’m at least owed a proper goodbye. Even a text message would have been better than the brush off he gave me.
Rolling onto my back, I stare up at the ceiling, still seething.
Well, fuck him. I’m staying right here on the island. I’m not cutting my vacation short to go home early and lick my wounds. Or making up some excuse to my parents so I can chase after Sebastian in—wherever it is that he went.
I could probably go back downstairs and pressure his concierge-slash-mistress into telling me where he ran off to, but no way am I doing that. And who’s to say he didn’t tell “Daisy” to lie to anyone who asked about him, specifically any women who asked? I wouldn’t put it past him. The scumbag.
What kind of name is Daisy, anyway?
And another thing…he ditched her, too. So maybe he really is just a player who figured out that his whole ‘sad, broken man with a tragic past’ routine was an easy way to get into women’s beds.
But even as I think it, I can’t totally convince myself it’s true. Am I just that naïve?
Actions speak louder than words, I remind myself harshly.And he ghosted you.
Maybe I should just confront Daisy. Find out what was going on between them. Tell her that I’ve been seeing him as well. Lay it all out on the table. Except what good would that do? She’s probably just as innocent in all of this as I am, oblivious to Sebastian’s manipulations, and I’d only be hurting myself—and her—further by getting into the details of my affair with him.
That’s not who I am, and that’s not the kind of person that I want to be.
I need to get my chin up and walk away from all of this. Put it behind me as fast as possible. Forget that I was about to put my heart on the line and try to have a real relationship with the guy.
In fact, the more I think about it, the more I realize that I dodged a fucking bullet by catching him in the act with that other woman. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I might still be getting played. Sebastian would have probably enjoyed stringing me along for as long as he could get away with it. And who knows how many other women he has in his back pocket? I don’t need to be one more girl in his harem. No thanks.
Getting off my bed, I go outside on the balcony and take a big breath of cool ocean air. Closing my eyes, I relish the feel of the warm sun on my face and begin to relax. Regardless of what Sebastian did, I really do love it here, and I refuse to let my vacation end on a bad note. Maybe I need to finally take a page out of my best friend’s book and find someone else to spend my remaining time with.
And guess what? I’m not exactly hard up for male attention these days.
Back in my room, I text my mom to tell her I have a migraine and won’t be able to make it to the beach. After tossing a handful of outfits onto the bed, I pick through them, then make another pile of the clothes I’ve deemed too sexy for the parentally-advised portion of this vacation. From those options, I choose a body-hugging black dress that laces up the front and dig out my highest heels. Then I spend time curling my hair, contouring and highlighting my face, and applying false lashes and pink lip gloss. Gold hoop earrings are the finishing touch. I’m going all out.
I give myself a once-over in the floor length mirror and nod. Brooke would approve. Although, if my mother sees me, I’m dead. Then again, if she sees me like this on Ted Polansky’s arm, she’ll probably instantly forgive me…after lecturing me about my outfit.
Too bad, Mom. Like it or not, I’m an adult.
Smiling at myself, I fluff my hair a little more, touch up my lip gloss, and grab my bag.
I hold my head high as I clip down the hallway, brimming with confidence. The heels make my legs look a mile long and the outfit leaves little to the imagination. In the elevator, I suppress a grin as a woman nudges her husband for staring too long. Clearly, I’m doing something right.
The big question is, where would I be hanging out on a weeknight if I were a pro baseball player on vacation? A dance club? One of the local bars in town? Enjoying the beach?
Answer: none of the above. Because the Mets-Phillies game is on, and anyone with even an ounce of interest in Major League Baseball is going to be watching it. And where better to do that than the resort’s upscale sports bar?
Unlike the townie bars, it won’t be full of tourists and noise, plus the wine list is incredible and the menu is even better. They serve everyone’s favorite bar foods, but with an island twist. Chicken wings with guava hot sauce, nachos with conch ceviche, lobster quesadillas. Most importantly, flatscreen TVs line every wall, so no matter where you’re sitting, you can watch whatever sport you’re in the mood for.
The bar is surprisingly full when I stride in. I forgot how many new guests had checked in for the Junkanoo, and it looks like they’re here to stay. All eyes turn to me, some briefly, some lingering, but there’s only one pair of eyes I care to have on me right now.
Smiling, I work my way through the space, keeping an eye out for Ted. My plan is to grab a seat at the bar, order a glass of wine, and watch the game until he comes to me. Which is exactly what I do, casually twirling my hair as I subtly glance around in search of that Marlins cap.
And then I spot it.
Across the room, Ted sits at a high-top table by the accordion glass doors that are all pulled open to showcase the beach scene just outside. He’s talking to another man, whose back is facing me. They’re both watching the Mets game on a TV to their left, Ted gesturing to the screen and shaking his head at the runner who just got tagged out while trying to steal. Ha. I knew Ted would be here.
I take a fortifying gulp of wine and then reposition myself on my stool so I’m at a better angle for him to see me. My heart races, but mostly from nerves rather than excitement. Am I really doing this? Trying to lure Ted Polansky over to me just to build up my self-esteem because I got rejected?
Yes. I am definitely doing this. I take another drink of wine to strengthen my resolve.
