Chapter 1
Saylor
Three days after wedding date
I thought canceling the wedding would be the hard part—turned out going on the honeymoon alone was a whole new humiliating low. Everywhere I turned, people were asking where my husband was, from the desk agent at the airport to the flight attendant in first class.
Hence the alcohol in front of me.
I’d always loved Dierks Bentley’s ‘Drunk on a Plane.’ Little did I know it would turn into my anthem. I couldn’t get my money back, so here I was drunk on a plane.
Destination Fiji.
It was the only part of the wedding Trent had been passionate about. He’d always wanted to stay on this certain island in a treehouse bure [boo-ray] overlooking the ocean to one side and the island on the other. The jungle side of the treehouse also had an outdoor shower.
It was the whole reason I’d taken out that extra student loan to cover the honeymoon—my gift to Trent. Although now I understood why he’d wanted control over the finances. Thank god I’d grown up on Judge Judy and pushed back on combining our accounts until after the wedding.
Although, in hindsight, I was wishing I’d waited to move in with the asshole.
“So what are you celebrating?” a deep voice asked above me.
I blinked and looked up at the older, surfer-looking attractive man standing next to my first-class pod.
His long, dirty blond hair was pulled up in a man-bun, and his dark blue eyes twinkled down at me.
Faint lines fanned out around the outside of his gorgeous eyes.
At my hesitation, he grinned, and a dimple appeared in his scruff covered right cheek.
I literally lost all ability to talk or think for a second.
Technically, I had a thing for older men, considering Trent was thirty-seven to my twenty-two. And this guy was definitely in the same category.
Only hotter.
His eyes got smolder-y as we continued our staring contest.
All sorts of dirty things ran through my mind at that look. The mile high club featuring at the top of the list.
“You okay, baby girl?”
I swooned all over again. Baby girl? Gah. I’d had the hugest crush on Derek Morgan from Criminal Minds as a teenager. And this guy had all the swagger and intensity that had made me fall for the character.
After a deep breath, I managed to nod. “Uh, yeah. Just maybe didn’t take the whole altitude thing into account when I ordered.
Might be a little tipsier than I’d planned.
” Which I realized—after the words left me—was a stupid thing to admit to a stranger.
I closed my eyes with a wince. “Sorry. That was an overshare.”
He waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it.” He paused, and after a beat, he straightened and tipped his head. “Enjoy the rest of your flight.”
Then he ducked into his pod, and I lost the opportunity to make all those dirty fantasies come to life due to my slow, alcohol-induced reaction time.
This being single thing was going to be harder than I remembered.
Although given that I’d hooked up with Trent during my freshman year of college and had been with him for almost four years, it wasn’t surprising. I hadn’t been single as an adult really. And definitely not since I’d been granted the ability to drink.
How did people balance alcohol and flirting? Was there a class I could take somewhere?
I groaned and pushed the bottles to the other side of my tray. After hitting the button to convert my seat into a bed, I closed my curtain for privacy. We had eight more hours on the flight. Might as well try to get some sleep.
My last thought before I passed out was that I really had to get a handle on this whole flirting thing if I wanted to make this a fun trip. Maybe my surfer could help me with that.
I dreamed of rolling around in a bed with Derek Morgan…and my surfer at the same time.
* * *
It was my moan that woke me up.
I blinked a few times, confused about my surroundings, and then I sat up with a start.
The plane’s cabin was still dark—thank god—and I believed that the engines covered my unfortunate outburst. Although I blamed that on not having sex for almost three months.
Trent’s left-field “save ourselves for marriage” request probably had more to do with impotence—due to his losing streak—than any religious beliefs.
Ass.
I scrubbed at my face with the heels of my hands then froze with a wince as I remembered my cheek. It didn’t hurt too much anymore, but I was desperate for my concealer to cover the still green-yellow bruise.
Unbuckling my seatbelt, I leapt from my chair and headed for the tiny bathroom cubicle. Most of the seats I passed had their curtains closed.
But not my surfer.
His curtain was open as he reclined with his overhead light on so he could read—Ozzy Osbourne’s autobiography, judging by the cover—with reading glasses.
I paused for a second to take the whole scene in, but when his eyes met mine, I booked it down the aisle and closed myself in the tiny bathroom.
Like a wuss.
Because I was all talk (or was it thought?) and literally zero follow through.
I took care of business then checked out my concealer in the wavy mirror. After touching up the coverage, I washed my hands and took a few deep breaths.
I should probably have a mantra or something to get through these next two weeks, but I’d never been a woo-woo type of girl. Straight forward, factual, over-achieving type A was more my style.
Shaking my head, I rolled my eyes at my reflection then reached for the door. I was hefting my purse over my shoulder, so I didn’t notice someone was standing right in front of me.
“Ooomph!” I bounced off the person and went back on my back foot. “Sorry, I didn’t—Ack!” My apology ended with a screech as my surfer—sans reading glasses—pushed into the tiny space, making me back up against the sink.
He slammed and locked the door behind himself then turned to me with a wolfish grin. “We should probably hurry. I don’t think we have a lot of time.”
My mind blanked for a second, and then I realized what he was implying.
“Whoa.” I shook my head. Despite my fantasies and earlier drunken thoughts, I wouldn’t ever do that.
He tipped his head. “You okay, baby girl?”
“Look, I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m a good girl. I don’t”—I waved a hand between us—“do this kind of a thing. Ever.”
“Oh.” The sparkle left his eyes, and he looked genuinely bummed out by my refusal.
Was it wrong that I liked that?
Oh, I was clearly screwed up in the head. Thanks so much, Trent.
And Mom.
And Dad.
I could go on, but I didn’t want to get caught in here with him.
The tiny, confined space had me breathing a little funny.
Or maybe it was him. Either way, I needed more room to breathe.
“I also had a little episode where someone attacked me in a parking lot about a week ago, so this is giving me all sorts of anxiety. Do you mind opening the door, or should I press this little call button here?”
“Yeah. Right.” He shook his head. “Sorry.” He tossed me another searching look then unlocked and opened the bathroom door.
Once he disappeared down the aisle, I closed myself back into the restroom. No way I was going to be seen leaving at the same time. Leaning against the sink for a second, I laughed incredulously.
Did that seriously happen? Did he really think I’d hook up with him because I’d stared at him? Something told me that wasn’t his first attempt at joining the mile high club—just the latest.
But maybe it was his first rejection.
Just when I thought this week couldn’t get any crazier, the universe had to prove me wrong.
Apparently there was always a new low for me. Yay.