Chapter 10
WENDY
Travis Kemp is a good man who smells like sunscreen and cedar, orders his steak medium rare, and laughs at everything. It’s endearing.
We grew up on the same street until his family moved to the other side of the island when we were in ninth grade. We lost touch over the years after I moved to California.
Now he runs fishing charters with his dad. He’s fun and easygoing, with sun-bleached hair and the permanent squint of someone who stares at open water for a living.
Josie gave him my number last week, and I said yes to dinner because saying no would’ve come with fifty questions that I don’t want to answer.
It’s been a while since I’ve visited Iggy’s Grill, a restaurant not far from the B&B.
We sit on the patio so we can enjoy the evening wind coming off the water.
White lights are strung above, and if I close my eyes, I can hear the ocean in the distance.
Our table is small, and the candle between us smells like citronella.
The breeze pushes my napkin off my lap twice before I give up and hold on to it.
My margarita is too sweet, and the fake lime taste coats the back of my throat. Nothing like the Clase Azul Gold that went down like water on Carter’s balcony a week ago. I squeeze both limes into the glass, then lick the salt off the rim to try to make it better.
“So, this family charters the whole boat,” Travis says, leaning forward with his forearms on the table. “Dad, Mom, three kids under ten. The youngest is terrified of fish and has a full meltdown. The dad hooks a wahoo, and the kid was screaming bloody murder for us to put it back in the water.”
“Did you?”
“Hell no. The dad was basically like fuck them kids. We tagged it.”
I laugh. Travis is a good storyteller and a better guy. His hand finds the table near my wrist, and his pinkie grazes mine. I wait for the charge, the heat, anything, but it never comes.
I reach for my margarita, and the timing comes off naturally. Travis orders another round as the server picks up our empty plates. He chats about his parents’ anniversary trip to some cabin in Tennessee that his dad found online. His voice is animated, and his eyes crinkle when he laughs.
He’s the human equivalent of a golden retriever and is just as loyal. On paper, he’s perfect for me.
A server passes with sizzling fajitas, and the smell of charred peppers trails behind her. Travis asks if I want to split dessert, and I say sure, even though I’m already too full.
The Key lime pie arrives on a single plate with two forks.
“This is incredible,” he says.
“Yeah?” I take a bite and am surprised by how damn delicious it is.
“Told ya.” He laughs.
If Josie asks how tonight went, I’ll say Travis Kemp is a ten on paper and a four in person. Not because he’s not attractive. He is. It’s just that there’s something missing.
When he talks about the tacos from this place that’s close to the pier, my brain serves me images of Carter I didn’t ask for.
“You seem distracted,” Travis finally says. It’s not accusatory, but I’m busted.
“Long week. The B&B is kicking my ass.”
“Josie mentioned you’re basically doing a bed-and-breakfast rescue. All you need is a reality TV show.”
“Oh Lord, no. Attention from the public is the very last thing I want. Ever. I cherish my privacy too much. My last job, I saw how many lives the limelight ruined.”
“Really?” he asks, seeming interested. “At that fancy hotel?”
“Yeah.” I smile, swirling my straw in the glass. “Royals, diplomats, billionaires … many stayed at the W.”
“You have any secrets about people who stayed there?” he asks.
“Not anything I can discuss. I signed an NDA that lasts for five years after I left. But I will say this: most everyone that I’ve ever met who has seven figures in their bank account is miserable as hell. They’re like robots. Never joke. Rarely smile. I think money makes them unhappy.”
“And you enjoyed working there?” he asks with his brows raised.
It’s not a question I’ve really thought about since I left. “At one point in my life, I did. The last few years? Not so much.”
He chuckles, pulls out his phone, and then speaks. “Hey, Siri. Set a reminder for five years from today to text Wendy and ask her about the juicy, rich people gossip she can’t share.”
Siri confirms it.
I can’t stop grinning. “You’re not serious.”
“Totally am.”
Once we finish our drinks, he lifts his finger for the server to deliver the check.
The sky is dark blue now, and I can already see a few stars making their appearance. We take the long way back to the B&B because I will always choose the beach over a sidewalk. Many of the nearby shops are closed, with metal grates pulled down over the storefronts.
“Want to stop by Sips & Sunsets?”
“I’d love to, but—”
“You have to be up early,” he says.
“Yeah,” I tell him.
Travis walks close enough that his arm brushes mine, and the contact is friendly and familiar, but nothing more.
“Remember when we used to sneak into the Rusty Anchor with Fallon’s fake ID?” Travis says.
“Fallon’s ID said she was thirty. We were sixteen.”
“And they still stupidly served her,” he says.
I almost forgot about that.
“Nobody cared back then.” He bumps my shoulder with his. “I missed hanging out with you and Fallon. Kinda stopped after you left.”
A couple passes us, holding hands, and the woman tips her head against the man’s shoulder.
The tiki torches at Sips & Sunsets glow ahead of us while the bass from the band thumps through the boards under our feet.
Travis hums along to whatever song carries out to the boardwalk.
He’s fully here with me at the moment, and it makes me feel guilty.
The beach path curves toward the bed-and-breakfast. The place is dark, except for the porch lights and a single glow from the balcony on the top floor. From here, the shape of someone sitting in the chair is visible.
My pulse picks up, and I hate knowing he’s watching.
Travis and I stroll to the base of the stairs. The sand is cool now, and the waves are close. He turns to face me, and his eyes are kind. He leans in, his hand touching my elbow, then pulls back, already knowing.
“Take care, Winslow.”
“You too, Kemp.”
He smiles and goes to walk away.
“Wait. I have a question for you.”
He turns and tilts his head at me. “Yeah?”
“Why have you never pursued Fallon? The two of you …” I shrug. “You two always made sense to me.”
His grin doesn’t fade. “You’ll have to ask her.”
He walks backward a few steps with his hands in his pockets, then turns toward the boardwalk.
“Had fun! Good night.”
“Me too. Night,” I call out.
He rounds the corner, and my eyes go up to the third floor. Carter probably heard the entire conversation.
The heat that was missing all night floods through me so fast that my hand grabs my heart.
My skin prickles as the ocean crashes behind me.
I take the stairs to the second floor and move into the lobby.
It’s dark, except for the soft glow from the lamp in the living room that Gran keeps on at night.
I take the stairs to my room. My door is at the end of the hall, where the narrow staircase leads up to his floor.
I reach for the knob, and footsteps come from above. They’re careful, but the stairs give him away. Carter rounds the corner, wearing a gray T-shirt and shorts. His hair is messy, and he looks like he’s been running his hands through it.
We stare at each other across six feet of hallway.
“Hey,” I say. “Scared me.”
“Hey. Sorry about that.”
His eyes slide down my body and come back up. The smell of his cologne overtakes me.
“Need something?” I ask, and my voice comes out steadier than how I feel.
“Nah. Can’t sleep.”
“Try warm milk. Works for Gran.”
His mouth twitches. “I’ll pass.”
“Seems like there’s a huge crowd at Sips & Sunsets tonight. Might be fun if you’re bored. Anyway, night.” I should go into my room and close the door. I reach forward for the knob. All I need to do is turn it and step inside.
He takes another step down, then one more. Now he’s at the bottom, and the space between us disappears. His blue eyes move to my mouth for a second, and the heat rolls through me so fast that my grip tightens on the doorknob.
Travis touched my hand at dinner, and I felt nothing. Carter glances at my lips from three feet away, and my whole damn body responds.
Neither of us moves.
“Wendy.”
“Don’t.” I shake my head. “We talked about this.”
“I know.”
“So, go upstairs. Read your terrible books.”
He doesn’t react. His hand lifts, and his fingers trace along my jaw. It’s light, barely there. His thumb brushes along my cheekbone, and I lean into his hand instead of stepping back.
“We should stop,” I whisper.
“We should,” he says, and then our lips brush together. “Tell me to.”
“No.” I grab the front of his shirt.
His mouth opens wider, and his hands find my waist. Suddenly, I’m stepping backward until my shoulders rest against my bedroom door. The knob digs into my hip, and I twist it behind me. The door swings open, and we stumble inside.
My room is dark.
The window is cracked, and the waves are louder in here than anywhere else in the building.
Carter lightly kicks the door shut with his foot, and his mouth goes to my neck.
Stubble scrapes against my skin, and it causes a shiver to roll down my body.
His strong hands grip my hips, and I arch into him.
I yank his shirt up and over his head, then run my hands up his body.
The heat from his skin seeps into my palms and fingers.
Goose bumps form on his body, and it seems he has the same reaction to me that I have to him.
“Fuck,” he whispers, walking me backward until my legs hit the mattress.
I sit, pulling him down with me. One of his knees is between mine, and he braces himself over me. Our kisses are harder, more desperate. As his hips press between my thighs, I slide my hands up his back muscles. He groans against my mouth, and the desperate sound nearly undoes me.
His hands find the straps of my dress and slides them off my shoulders. When his lips drag across my collarbone, my eyes roll into the back of my head. It’s almost like he’s memorizing every part of me. The fabric slides down my body, revealing my nipples, which he happily tweaks with his fingers.
I gasp as his mouth finds the bare skin between my breasts.
Then he takes his time, tongue circling, his teeth grazing each nipple, while his free hand pins my hip to the bed.
The sensation makes me dizzy. His hand slides up my thigh under the bunched dress with his thumb drawing circles on the inside of my leg, each one higher than the last. Every nerve in my body narrows to where he’s touching me.
I want him so fucking bad that I’m shaking with anticipation as he goes lower.
But before the sensation completely overwhelms me, Carter stops.
His forehead drops against my stomach, and his breathing is ragged, his body still pressed against mine. I’m suddenly aware of how exposed I am. Heat crawls up my neck, and it’s a different kind now.
“Something wrong?” My voice comes out broken.
He lifts his head. His lips are swollen, and his eyes are wild. The man who acts like he controls every room he walks into can’t even hold my gaze. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”
I sit up and pull my dress back over my shoulders, pulling the straps into place. “You’re right. Thanks for being logical.”
He drags both hands down his face, and I see his shirt crumpled on the floor.
“I leave in August,” he reminds me, but his voice is rougher than usual.
“Isn’t that the point?” I ask, not quite understanding.
He turns toward me, and my skin is still buzzing from where his mouth was.
“I know you come with an expiration date. I’m okay with that. When August arrives, you’ll leave, and whatever this is ends. Am I imagining this attraction?”
“You’re not,” he confirms.
“We can’t catch feelings,” I tell him.
He tilts his head. “Are we negotiating?”
“Yeah. I guess we are.”
Carter sucks in a deep breath.
I stare at him, and he stares back. The ocean fills the silence.
“Rules,” he says.
“Those are the only ones I have for now,” I admit.
“No feelings, and it ends on August third?” he asks.
I nod, and he smirks.
“Are we doing this?” I ask, chewing on the corner of my lip.
He reaches forward, tucking hair behind my ear. “Let me think about it. I’ll let you know.”
“You need to think about it?” I ask, almost offended.
“Yeah,” he says, taking full control of the situation.
It’s proof that I’m weak when it comes to him.
Carter picks up his shirt and pulls it over his head. Watching him redress in my room is more torturous than watching him remove his clothes. He walks to the door and opens it without turning around.
His footsteps hit the stairs, and I fall back against the mattress.
What the actual fuck just happened?