Chapter Six
CHAPTER SIX
Ilias
Usually, whenever I travelled across more than two time zones, I slept like shit for at least the first night, and getting more than four hours could be considered a major accomplishment. So it surprised me to wake up to the sound of Oscar’s alarm, which had been set for six.
What surprised me even more was waking up attached to the man in question, my arms wrapped around him in some sort of death grip and my face buried in his neck.
Fuck nuggets on toast. I was never going to live this down.
This was more embarrassing than the time I’d woken up covered in garlic sauce while spooning one of my best friends at university after we’d all come back wasted from a night out and had both fallen asleep in his room while trying to eat kebabs. Apparently, I was a cuddler, and it didn’t seem to matter how well I knew the person.
I lifted my head to see Oscar staring at me awkwardly like he was trying to work out how to ask me to let go.
“Sorry,” I grunted, rolling away. I hoped he hadn’t been awake for long.
“It’s fine,” Oscar said as he sat up and stretched. “I’m going to shower.”
As he climbed out of bed, I tried not to watch him walk away, but it was very hard. He was wearing an oversized t-shirt that just grazed the top of his ass and a pair of loose, black shorts that weren’t doing anything to disguise how gorgeous his legs were. Oscar had strong thighs that were begging to have me between them and a round butt I desperately wanted to touch. I felt like a total perv, peering over the duvet to stare at him, but in my very weak defence he was ridiculously sexy. And I’d been told I wasn’t allowed to look at other men, so Oscar would have to be the object of my attentions for the week.
I felt my cock start to stir in my boxers. Shit, no, that couldn’t happen. Well, it could, but it might lead to some very awkward questions.
I rolled over to the edge of the bed and sat up, hoping that moving around and doing mundane things like finding clothes to wear and repacking my bag would help. It did but only to a certain extent.
I couldn’t stop thinking about waking up next to Oscar. He’d felt so warm and solid in my arms, and the smell of him seemed to cling to my senses. I wondered if I’d slept so well because he’d been there, and I both loved and hated the fact that it was probably true.
He hadn’t pushed me away though.
Oscar’s expression might have been less than impressed, but he hadn’t shoved me off him as soon as he’d realised I was clinging to him like a limpet. Had that been because he’d only just woken up and was too dazed to move? Or was he just being polite? Or had he liked having me there?
The third option was the most unrealistic, but it was also the one that made something spark deep in my chest.
I sighed and threw some clothes onto the bed. I didn’t have time for another disastrous holiday romance. My heart wouldn’t be able to cope with another loss.
It didn’t take us long to get showered, packed, and head down to browse the hotel’s breakfast buffet. I was delighted to find they had hot, sticky cinnamon buns and stuck three on a plate to take back to the table in the corner we’d commandeered.
Oscar raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. He was alternating between black coffee, orange juice, and a very large bowl of heavily doctored granola. Clearly, we both had our own ways of dealing with jet lag.
As we headed to the airport to catch our rebooked flight, I found myself refreshing the departures list on the website every thirty seconds because I didn’t want to deal with more delays. Even though this was only a single flight, I was done with travelling now. Our destination was in sight, and I was ready to be sitting by the beach with a drink in hand, enjoying a truly beautiful part of the world.
I already felt myself getting itchy to explore the island and to take as many beautiful photos as possible. I’d definitely be getting up early at least one day to watch the sun rise.
It was the weirdest juxtaposition because even though I loved travelling, I always hated the actual journey. I just wanted to be where I was going, and if I could wish for any magical powers, I’d ask for teleportation so I didn’t have to deal with the queuing and the delays and the cramped legroom. It was either that or a lifetime first-class travel pass so I could at least suffer in style.
“Do you want the window this time?” I asked Oscar as we squeezed onto the packed plane.
“No, you take it. I actually prefer the aisle.” He gave me a small smile, then winced as someone knocked him with their elbow while trying to shove their bag into the overhead locker.
“Sweet.” I grinned and slid into the seat. “I’ll let you know when I see land though because you won’t want to miss that.”
“As long as you don’t call out ‘land-ho’ like some sort of pirate, we’ll be fine.”
“There goes that plan, then.”
Oscar chuckled and dropped into the seat next to me holding his headphones and laptop. It was moments like this—with the little chuckles and sassy comments—that made it feel like Oscar’s walls were starting to come down.
It had happened at dinner last night as well when we’d been having some random conversation about gaming, and he’d shared anecdotes about playing Mario Kart with his brothers and sister. The way he’d talked about them had made it clear he loved them, even if they were nosy, chaotic, and interfering.
It gave me another bit of insight into my beautiful, defensive, private travel companion, and it felt like I was assembling a puzzle from randomly dropped pieces, only I wasn’t quite sure what the final picture should be.
“Marcus sent me an updated itinerary overnight,” Oscar said. “Did you want to look at it? I forwarded it to you, but I wasn’t sure if you were checking your emails.”
“I wasn’t, but I probably should.” I sighed. “There’s probably a bunch that need replying too if I want any work when we get back.” The life of a freelancer meant I was constantly hustling, and days off were a rare thing.
I almost hated how accessible I was thanks to email and messaging, which made me sound ridiculously old and grumpy, but it meant everyone expected me to be available twenty-four seven. If I hadn’t responded in a day or two, I’d pretty much have to kiss opportunities goodbye because there was always someone more eager and on the ball than me.
“They have Wi-Fi if you want to work while we’re flying,” Oscar said. “I could probably do with getting some stuff done too. After that we can look at the itinerary.”
“Nope, itinerary first,” I said as the flight attendants walked into the aisle to start the safety demonstration. “That’ll give me something nice to think about while I respond to seven billion emails from people wanting me to do shit for free. Just pay me for my fucking time and experience already.”
Oscar nodded. “People are assholes. I used to get that all the time. Like can you just write us an article about this city, but you’ll need to fund the trip yourself and all the expenses, and we’ll only pay you two hundred pounds for the finished product. And only if you’re very lucky because we usually expect people to do these articles for free for exposure .”
I laughed and several people turned to shoot me filthy looks. “Fuck exposure. I hate that word so fucking much. I have fucking bills to pay, and ‘exposure’ isn’t going to buy me food.”
“I tried to explain that to someone once,” Oscar said with a wry smile. “They told me I should be grateful they were even considering me. I told them to get fucked—politely of course—but still.”
“Assholes.” I shook my head. “Honestly, I love my job, but that is the worst part of it. Nobody values my time or experience. They think my job is easy because I ‘just take pictures all day’, and they act like they’re doing me a favour by giving me work, like they could do it themselves, but, you know, they’ll be nice and give me something to do. But I don’t need paying much because they’re just pictures . Like, fuck off with that bullshit. Are you seriously telling me people don’t pay a fortune for a Van Gogh because it’s just a picture?”
“I’ve had the same,” Oscar said. “Before I worked for The Traveller , people always assumed it wasn’t hard to write a nice review or an article or that it didn’t take me long, so they figured I should do it for free because it only took me ten minutes. I think the worst was when someone told me it wasn’t like anyone was going to read it, so why should they pay for it?”
I let out a sound that was half painful groan and half derisive laughter because I’d had that too. I told Oscar that and soon we were swapping our worst freelance stories while sipping orange juice from small plastic cups, the thought of working completely forgotten. Oscar was sharp and funny, and I felt like I was being handed another puzzle piece to slot into my picture.
“Oh, shit,” Oscar said when the stewardess came round with our meal. “Did you want to look at the plans?”
I thought for a second as I took my tray. “You know what, surprise me. As long as I get the opportunity to explore and the chance to get up for the sunrise one morning, I’ll be good.”
Oscar raised an eyebrow, his lip twitching. I wasn’t sure if he thought I was being unprofessional, or careless, or something else entirely, but then he smiled, and it felt more like he was intrigued. “Okay, then. A surprise it is.”
My heart skipped. And just for an instant, I wondered if I was in trouble.
When we finally stepped outside Kona International Airport several hours later, I took a deep breath and let the warm air wash over me as a gentle breeze caressed my skin.
After traipsing across airports, seemingly endless queues, an unexpected overnight stop, two flights, and nearly thirty-six hours, we were finally in Hawaii. Now it was just a thirty-minute drive to the resort, then I’d be free from the wretched journey. I could only hope the trip back was smoother.
The hotel had sent a car to collect us, driven by a cheerful man named George in dark trousers and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled over his massive forearms, who gave us a running commentary about the island and what we were seeing as we drove.
“So you here together?” he asked. It took me a second to figure out his question, and I realised he wasn’t asking if we were there as friends.
“Er, yeah,” I said, giving him my most charming smile and reaching across the seat to twine my fingers with Oscar’s. “We’re here on a press trip, seeing what the resort is like for couples.”
“Ah, nice.” George nodded. “They do some good stuff for couples. Got a nice spa too. Do you like hiking?”
“Yeah.” I leant forward in the seat. “Got any recommendations of places we should go? Oh, and any small, local restaurants to try? I know the resort’s got their own, but I’m really looking for those little places tourists wouldn’t usually find—mostly because we’re oblivious. Where do you like to go?”
It seemed I’d asked a good question, and soon I was taking notes on my phone while George gave me a list of places to check out for everything from pancakes to shave ice to the best sushi I’d ever eat. Oscar sat quietly beside me, gazing out the window.
“You okay?” I asked as George pulled the car into the resort. The road was lined with lush vegetation and tropical blooms that made it seem like we were stepping into another world, one far away from the dreary pavements of London.
Oscar nodded. “Yeah, just tired.”
“Sure?”
“Yeah.” He gave me a small smile. “I liked listening to you talk to George, and I like the sound of that sushi place.”
“Me too.” I grinned. “And the pancakes. I haven’t had good pancakes in forever. Maybe we can go one morning? Get up early, watch the sun rise, then get a ride into Kona for breakfast?”
“I’d like that.”
The car came to a stop, and George climbed out to get the door. “Aloha and welcome to St. West Hualālai.” I climbed out and turned on the spot, taking in everything around me. I’d travelled to beautiful places before, but this was the first time I’d ever stayed in a resort like this.
St. West was a small, locally owned chain of hotels that had one resort on each of the four main islands of Hawaii, founded by a brother-sister duo who’d wanted to add a personal touch to their guests’ stays, making local culture and produce the centre of their business. From what I’d read, they’d started small with just one tiny hotel in Honolulu that had been owned by their grandparents, and they’d grown from there.
Their brand was fast becoming synonymous with sustainable luxury that was also personal and authentic and in harmony with the natural surroundings while being respectful of local history and tradition. It sounded like just the sort of place I wanted to explore. It would be better than the enormous mega resorts owned by impersonal global chains.
“Come on,” I said, reaching out to take Oscar’s hand without really thinking it through. “Let’s get checked in and go find our room. Then we can explore!”
“Er, yeah. Sounds good.” He followed me up the steps into the hotel lobby, which was in a low, wooden building, and it was only as we reached the front desk that I realised he was still holding my hand. The realisation stunned me, and I suddenly felt light-headed. Oscar’s hand was warm against mine, his skin soft and his grip firm. Despite the fact that we’d woken up cuddled together that morning, it felt like the most intimate moment I’d had with him.
It was such a simple gesture, but it felt like so much more. And I wasn’t sure why. I didn’t want this to be more than a fake relationship, but somewhere between my brain and my body the message seemed to be getting lost.
This was what happened when I hadn’t had a romantic relationship in recent memory. A quick fuck with someone I met on Grindr or in a random bar didn’t give me the romance my soul desperately craved, even if I had been trying to suppress that urge for the last ten years.
Romance would only lead to me getting hurt again, and I’d had enough of that to last a lifetime. I’d just have to content myself with soft touches and late-night cuddles from random men and hope it was enough to get by.
The clerk behind the desk didn’t seem to notice my brewing internal war and was happily chatting to Oscar about the package they’d organised for us. There was one word that stood out to me though. Suite .
“They gave us a suite?” I hissed to Oscar ten minutes later when another member of staff had delivered us to the door of our room, which happened to be in a beautiful wooden bungalow that was practically on the shoreline. They’d offered to show us around, but I’d politely declined because I wanted to freak out in private.
“A superior suite,” Oscar said as he opened the door and gestured for me to head inside. “A beachfront one. It’s not their nicest, but it has the best view if you discount a couple of the speciality suites.”
“Not their nicest? What the fuck?” I knew my reaction was a little overboard but still. The room was incredible.
It had dark slate floors and hardwood trim, and the walls were decorated with stunning pieces of art, all from local artists and available to purchase on request. The whole suite was bigger than some apartments I’d lived in and came complete with a luxury living space, an enormous bathroom, a walk-in wardrobe, and a terrace with plush outdoor seating which was barely separated from the beach. I stood by the open French doors and watched the waves lap against the shore and gazed at the mountains that crested the horizon.
“So, er… this is… nice?” Oscar said from behind me. I turned to see him coming out of the bedroom. It looked like the bridge of his nose was slightly pink.
“What is it?”
“Well, they’re definitely treating us like a couple. There’re petals all over the bed, and they’ve left us some champagne, a platter of sharing desserts, and fruit. And someone got the queer message because they’ve organised the platter in a rainbow flag. They even piped our names in chocolate onto the plate.”
“Seriously? That’s so cool.” I’d heard about that sort of thing happening before, and I’d seen pictures of hotels going all out for honeymooning couples, but I’d never experienced it. Mostly because I’d never been on a honeymoon. “Don’t touch it. I want to take a picture before you destroy it.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You weren’t tempted to have one tiny bite?” I teased, grabbing my camera and my 50mm lens out of my bag and slotting them together. My Canon had seen better days, but I couldn’t fathom getting a new one just yet. It was an extension of myself, and I knew retiring it would be like taking away a piece of my soul.
“Maybe a tiny one,” Oscar said as I followed him into the bedroom. I stopped as soon as I entered, staring at the picture in front of me.
“Wow. When you said petals I didn’t think…”
“Yeah, it’s a little… extra.”
“Extra is right,” I said, lifting my camera to take a photo. The king-sized bed had crisp white linens and a mountain of fluffy- looking pillows with an enormous heart made of pink, red, and white petals in the middle of the mattress. It had swooping, curling lines, and was more a work of art than a simple, cheesy gesture.
“Even if we were a couple here on our honeymoon, I don’t think I’d want to fuck on that. I wouldn’t want to damage it,” I continued. Oscar chuckled. “That and I’d be worried about getting petals in my butt crack. I’m sure they’re not as bad as sand, but I don’t really want to be fishing florals out of my orifices for several days.”
Oscar snorted. “Thanks for the visual on that.”
“You’re very welcome.” I threw him a wink over my shoulder as I walked around the bed to the little table by the floor-to-ceiling window, which had the dessert plate set next to a champagne bucket and two glasses.
As Oscar had said, the food had been arranged in a rainbow, but it was a subtle one with sliced fruits intermingled with gold-dusted macarons and tiny bits of patisserie. There was a note next to the food welcoming us to the St. West and telling us that everything on the plate was made with locally sourced ingredients where possible and listing some of their suppliers. It was a nice touch.
I turned around, noticing Oscar hadn’t said anything else. He was watching me with a curious intent, his arms folded as he leant against the doorframe. I was sure he’d seen people take pictures before, so I wasn’t sure why he was staring at me. Was it something I’d done or said?
“See something you like?” I asked, giving him my most charming smile before putting my camera on the table, picking up the plate, and walking across to him. Technically, my words could be interpreted to be just about the plate, but there was a tiny part of me that wanted him to go for the alternative meaning. Oscar flushed and shook his head.
“No, I, er, I’m fine.”
“Come on, they’ve left us this beautiful plate of food. You have to try something.” I reached for a macaron and pushed it slowly into my mouth, letting the soft shell melt on my tongue. I let out a little moan because, damn, it was delicious. Oscar was staring at me again, but it wasn’t the hungry look I’d expected. It was more… curiosity. And maybe frustration.
He reached out and picked up a piece of pineapple, popping it into his mouth before turning away, leaving me fixed on the spot where his lips had been.