Twelve
When I got off the plane at the Honolulu International Airport, there was the boarding area, and then, immediately, to get to the main terminal, I had to walk outside.
It hit me instantly—sweet, flower-scented air, sticky humidity on my skin, and a vision of the whole world bathed in bright, beautiful sunshine.
It was like a painting—the turquoise-blue sky, the blinding white of the clouds, and the lush green of the palm trees. And that was just the airport!
Back inside, because once you got off the shuttle, you had to enter a different building where ticketing was and the terminal, it was the same cluttered mess that every airport was, with the added touch of the lei sellers and men in aloha shirts and some women in muumuus.
After I claimed my luggage, I made my way to the curb to wait in line for a cab.
The trip to Waikiki from the airport was fast at two in the afternoon, and thankfully, since I had gotten on the plane at five thirty in the morning in Chicago, the driver didn’t want to chat.
The time-share was in use, so Dane had basically just made reservations for me at a hotel in Waikiki.
And because he was my brother and he never did anything small, the suite was much too big for one person.
I could see beachfront from my lanai and Kalākaua Avenue—named after the king who had brought back the hula—and if I looked out to sea, I had a killer view of the sunset, which was truly breathtaking.
Just the wash of colors that the sky became took my breath away.
Standing there on the balcony, twenty-three floors up, locked in my lavish, enormous suite, I felt almost as safe as I did when I was in Sam Kage’s arms.
When it was dark, like a vampire, I went out.
March in Hawai’i was not the cold wet that Chicago was, so when I went out in jeans, a short-sleeved button-up, and sneakers, I wasn’t worried that I needed a jacket.
The sidewalks were crowded with people, and between the scent of the ocean and what I thought was magnolia but was corrected by the concierge—it was white ginger or pikake, which was carried on the breeze—I could not stop taking deep breaths of the air.
When I walked by an outdoor restaurant, the smell of garlic and onions made my stomach roll with hunger. Inside, I was told that the wait for a table might be easily an hour, so I was ready to try someplace else when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned, and when I did, I smiled.
I was looking at my ex, Aaron Sutter.
“Hey,” I greeted him happily. “How are you?”
He just stared at me with his always-gorgeous, bright blue eyes. The man was classically handsome, with chiseled features, broad shoulders, and a lean, muscular physique. At that moment, in walking shorts and a muted aloha shirt, he looked amazing.
“What are you doing here?” I asked him.
“Me? I spend two weeks in March every year in Hawai’i with some of my fraternity brothers from Yale. We come to fish and sail and just detox and catch up. You’re the one who’s a surprise.”
“I don’t remember you making this trip when we were together.”
He shrugged. “I canceled that year because I knew you wouldn’t come with me.”
“I would have come if I could have afforded it.”
“Yeah, I know, but living on your budget was no fun for me.”
Which I was sure was reason number two hundred twenty-seven or two hundred forty-two on the list of reasons we had broken up. We were so not compatible on so many levels.
“Why are you here?” he pressed me.
“Just on vacation.”
“Alone?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Why not?”
He squinted at me. “That’s not like you. You don’t even like to eat by yourself.”
Which was true.
“Yeah, well, Dane offered, so I came.”
“I see.”
“Are you leaving?”
“No, we actually just got here and …” He reached out and fixed the collar of my shirt. “Why don’t you come eat with me? I’d love you to meet my partner.”
I got excited. “You have a partner?”
“Yes,” he groused at me. “And don’t look so surprised.”
A surge of feeling washed over me because, holy crap, I had always wanted Aaron Sutter to find his Prince Charming. Long ago and way too late, he had come to the epiphany that he loved me, but I had known, as I always did, that only one man would do for the rest of my life.
“I’m not surprised.” I shook my head. “I’m just happy.”
He fiddled with my sleeve. “I actually have some good qualities, you know.”
And he did. God, he did. “Yeah, but you can also be a real dick.”
He gave me the shrug, combined with the tip of his head, like, Yeah, yeah. So what?
I couldn’t help it; I lunged.
As he held me, as I squeezed the life out of him, he chuckled.
I followed him to the best table in the place because, really, however rich Hayes Fisher was or even Cristo Liron with all his drug money, it did not compare to the wealth that Aaron Sutter had inherited and then made bigger with his brilliant brain.
He had a habit of wise investing and knowing when to get off the roller coaster before it started the downward run.
He had never been accused of anything even remotely unethical, but was still despised in many financial circles.
Wherever he was, he was the alpha, the leader of the pack, and he was used to people deferring to him all the time because of what he represented—power and the almighty dollar.
As we reached the table, all eyes were on us, and he moved quickly to stand behind a man who looked familiar.
“Jory, I’d like you to meet Jaden Cobb. Jaden, this is Jory Harcourt.”
His eyes—which were really sort of strange, too dark for his face—got huge as he looked at me.
The lashes were long, and I realized after a minute that he was wearing mascara.
I had no problem with men wearing makeup—many of my friends did; my buddy Evan never left the house without concealer and eyeliner, just enough to make his eyes pop, not enough to really notice—but it just seemed contrived on Jaden.
He was perfect—really perfect—and it was purposely done.
His blond hair had gold highlights in it, and it was shorter than my own now that it fell to my shoulders.
He was tan—I guessed from baking under the warm Hawaiian sun—and his lips were plump and full, maybe from collagen.
All of it together gave the impression of trophy, but it was possible I was reading too much into things. I did that on occasion.
“Hi.” I smiled at him, following Aaron, joining him beside Jaden as he got up.
“Jory,” he said quickly, and then he hugged me.
It was not a warm hug. It was tense, but he was trying, for Aaron, and that was nice. I hugged him back, held him when he tried to pull free, and gave him an extra squeeze. I felt some of the tension leave him.
I was introduced to the four other men at the table, three with wives, and another with a partner like Aaron.
They were all very nice, and I was pleased that Aaron’s friends now did not include those who had never liked me.
I had always been considered the guy Aaron Sutter was slumming with.
It was nice to have none of that baggage when you were just meeting people.
The food on the table was served family-style, so I didn’t have to worry about showing up late. They had just gotten there half an hour before, so all I had to do to catch up was get a drink and then dig into the appetizers.
There was poke, which was fresh cubed ahi with onions, and limu, which was seaweed and sea salt.
It was amazing when dipped in wasabi mixed with soy sauce, but Aaron ate it without anything else.
The edamame—soybeans—were mixed with garlic, ginger, pepper, and chili flakes.
It was so good. Sucking the beans out of the pods was half the fun, and the beer to wash it all down was refreshing.
I listened to stories, and Jaden kept everyone entertained with a running monologue about his and Aaron’s last trip to Hong Kong. They had found the best places to eat and treasures in unexpected little holes-in-the-wall. I enjoyed listening, imagining what traveling the world was like as he spoke.
“Have you traveled, Jory?” Jaden asked, putting me on the spot.
“Oh, no,” I said, smiling at him. “I wish.”
He looked confused. “I’m sorry. I thought … I understood that you and Aaron used to be together for a time.”
I nodded. “For a bit, yes.”
“And you didn’t travel with him?”
“Nope,” I said, taking a sip of my beer. “I couldn’t afford it. He did all his globetrotting without me.”
“Which, I’m sure, made him very excited to go home,” his friend Ted threw in.
“I dunno.” I shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Absolutely,” Aaron said, hand in my hair, curling a long piece of it around my ear.
“Awww.” One of the wives smiled at me—Miranda, I thought her name was. “It’s nice to still be friends with your exes.”
“Yes, it is,” I agreed, leaning in, bumping Aaron with my shoulder.
The kālua pig—roasted pork that was cooked in an imu, an underground oven—was salty and moist, and I could not stop eating it.
There was lomi salmon, which was diced in onions and tomatoes and chili water; and poi, which I tried but didn’t like, though it was a really cool sort of purple color; and sweet potatoes, which I loved.
I also liked the garlic steak and the seared mahi-mahi.
“When did you eat last?” Aaron teased me, bumping my knee with his, chuckling as he ordered me another beer.
“On the plane,” I whimpered before smiling at him.
He shook his head. “You should be in bed.”
I shrugged. “I gotta eat.”
The company was nice, the banter between friends, tales that were new to me, and it was all warm and jovial, nothing cutting or mean or told for any reason but laughter.
When it came time to settle up, Aaron took care of the bill, and we all thanked him.
On the street, as I walked with everyone, he suggested drinks, and the group agreed.
“I need to sleep,” I told him, stopping, realizing I was barely on my feet.