Page 35 of True Abandon

“Nice shorts,” I deadpan.

His brows rise from beneath black, Ray Ban sunglasses. Those pearly whites glistening. “Real men wear pink.”

I let out an exasperated breath.

He tilts his glasses down his nose and peers over the lenses. “You’re awfully chipper this morning.”

I try to ignore the way his eyes twinkle in the sun and how mine are daring to look at his chest hardened with lean muscles and ink—his body tells a story I desperately want to read.

I fight the urge and keep my eyes trained on his—as dangerous as it is to look him in the eye—I can't dare get caught appreciating his physique, no matter how nice it is to ogle.

Giving myself an internal shake, I put on my hostess smile and say, “How is your morning, Ms. Benson?”

Jax slides the sunglasses back in place. “I’m just enjoying all the Kauai Princess has to offer.” He holds up his cocktail. “This, by the way, is spectacular. I'm not really a Malibu Rum kinda guy, but a couple of these, and I could easily be taken advantage of.”

With a shift of my hip, I cross my arms over my body. “What do you want, Jax?”

He sips on his straw. A gurgling noise comes from the end signaling his drink is empty. He unpuckers his lips and lets out a satisfied hiss. “I’ll take another one of these.”

“I’m not a waitress.”

“But you are mine.”

There’s something about the way he says “mine.” It’s as if he means it—as if he’s still the boy in my dreams, hovering over me, proclaiming words of forever. The same boy who recorded my naked body and shared it with the world. He may be older, but he’s still him.

With a huff, I take off past the pool and the morning water aerobics taking place. Past the peacocks that roam the resort for no other reason than to look pretty, and through the lobby doors, and I look for Rafael.

“I need to talk to you,” I practically shout when I see him behind the concierge desk looking through the manual log he keeps in a leather-bound notebook. “I can't work with him.”

“Who?” Raf looks at me with a surprised, yet disdained expression.

“Oliv—” I start, but correct myself, “Jackson Davis. The guest in the Pele suite.”

In the time I've been working for the hotel, I’ve never complained nor had I denied a guest’s request. This is probably why Raf leans in and asks with concern, “Has something happened?” He says the word “happened” with caution.

“He’s here to aggravate my life.”

Apparently, my answer isn't severe enough. Raf goes back to taking notes in his book. “He’s here because he paid twenty-one thousand dollars to stay.”

The ridiculous amount of money Jax paid to stay here makes me shiver. That’s prime dedication to make my life miserable.

“It’s harassment,” I state.

Raf looks up, his eyes showing zero interest in the situation. “Has he done something to make you feel uncomfortable?:

“Yes,” I say while Raf looks back at me waiting for me to continue. So, I do. “He exists.”

He leans on his elbows and looks me square in the eye. “Has he touched you inappropriately? Made crude remarks? Exposed himself or acted in an unethical way that compromises your integrity?”

Oh, how easy it would be to lie and get Jax kicked out of the hotel. The problem is, I can’t lie like that. I’m no angel. I’ll snoop through other people’s things as soon as they’re out the door. I’ll keep pertinent information to myself instead of telling a person something they might need to know. I’ll even avert the conversation, so I don't have to explain myself. But goddamn my Catholic guilt, I just can’t get someone in trouble like that.

“No.” I deflate.

Raf closes his book and points it at me. “Well, then get to work.”

He starts to walk away.

“What if I refuse?”