Chapter Two
. . .
Nair, for sensitive areas.
“You okay?”
Why? Why me? I don’t answer, not because I can’t, but because I’m going to pretend it’s rhetorical. I have never been so embarrassed by life. So instead, I nod my head and exorcise the mouthful of plastic leaves I managed to inhale.
Because let’s be real. What should I say?
That I’m wrapped around a plastic tree in a yellow polka-dot bikini after pervily voyeuring on two guys in a shower?
No. I should be jailed. Immediately.
And as if to add insult to injury, the moment I place my palms on the ground to push myself up to sitting, the plastic crunches and crackles, highlighting the fact that I’m on top of a fucking tree.
“Here, let me help you,” the very deep voice that’s coming closer rushes out.
Noooo. But before I can speak, I feel him reach for me, so I shriek in too high a pitch, “I’m fine,” as I cough out the last bit of leaf and brush off my lap.
Just let me die here.
The last part was supposed to stay in my head. But I guess the moment wanted to be worse because I said it out loud.
I groan.
There’s a beat of silence before the man chuckles.
“Sorry, can’t do that. If something happened to you, Moonbeam would kill me. Plus, you’re a cutie—”
Cutie? My eyes pop open. What the? Again, my mouth gets the best of me because I repeat the word with a heavy question mark. Only because I’m my worst enemy.
Another chuckle. “I said VIP.”
Of course that’s what he said. This has to be rock bottom. Please let this be the floor of hell.
But then another thought hits: He knows my sister.
Of course he does. He clearly works here.
Why else would he be in your room?
Then that last part strikes like lightning, making my head finally shoot up, brows drawn together.
“Hold on,” I snap. “Why are you letting yourself into my room? Who does that? Regardless of whether you know my sister.”
I’m so filled with fake vindication, as if my perversion is canceled out by his lack of manners, that it takes a second to hit me—he’s fucking hot.
Like hot, hot. Capital H. Oh goodness.
All my bravado instantly goes out the window. How could it not?
This man is a work of art. And shirtless.
What is it with these Malibu twenty-something men refusing to wear clothes?
I love it. Stop it.
His bright green eyes fill with amusement as he smirks. It makes me blush. I’m too old to blush. Get it together, Margot.
“In my defense,” he offers in a raspy baritone, “you said, ‘Come in, I’m waiting.’”
I scoff-laugh, half-embarrassed, half at a loss for words. He’s just so…so…and muscular too. Which is exactly why I speak without thinking.
“No, I didn’t,” I level as my eyes accidentally drop to the deep-set lines on each side of his lower stomach.
I heard someone call them “cum gutters” once, and now I can’t stop thinking about that.
Which is why I add, “I said cum…” I shake my head and snap my fingers to correct myself, even though my new answer sounds the same. “Cooome on… I said, ‘Come on,’ as in ‘Hurry up.’ I wanted to see—”
Jesus Christ.
I stop mid-sentence, suddenly remembering why I was begging for expediency. And he heard me. Oh god.
I’m hemorrhaging pride, and there’s no end to this assassination.
My eyes grow wide as I lift my finger like there’s a point to make, but I don’t say anything. Because the panic is real.
And he just keeps smiling at me.
An embarrassed laugh leaves my chest as he tilts his head and licks his goddamn lips.
Perfect lips.
What is wrong with me? I’ve literally turned into a man. First, I sexualize beach first responders, Hasselhoff heroes. And now this poor man, who probably thinks I’m insane.
I am.
But that’s not what he says. He says, “What exactly were you hoping to see, Margot?”
He knows my name. Hot stranger knows my name. And the way it rolls off his tongue completely throws me off.
“I mean, ummm…” I swallow. “I actually…um…who are you?”
He squats down in front of me. Wow, those are thighs. Oof.
I have a sickness. I need professional help.
“Wells,” he offers along with a handshake, and I can’t help but notice how thick his fingers are.
“Nice to meet you,” I say too breathily, adding quickly, “And why are you here?”
He stands again, not answering, but that makes my brain shift into gear before my feet scramble to get me back onto them.
My eyes are on his perfectly sculpted back as I try to fix my hair without a mirror. That is, until I realize he’s walking toward the window.
The one I was basically licking like a dog.
Shit. Shit. Shit. I’m panicked as he speaks, not looking at me.
“I could’ve sworn I heard you say, ‘Show me the goods,’” he says in an almost teasing way, but I overreact. Of course I do.
“No, nope.” I shake my head vigorously. “I’ve never actually said anything in this room until now. This is the first time I’ve spoken today.”
Again, I say, what the fuck is wrong with me? That’s not even a good lie.
But here’s the thing…if he looks out that window, Moon will have to quit her job and go into hiding with me.
Sometimes in situations like this, I speak in very unhelpful ways. As if whatever hole I’ve dug for myself just isn’t deep enough.
It’s like my brain goes, “Wow, you’re really embarrassing yourself.”
And my mouth goes, “Hold my beer.”
I can already tell this will be one of those moments. Because instead of letting our misunderstanding die a much-needed death, I do the opposite.
“Why would I say, ‘Show me the goods’?”
I laugh three huffed laughs. I know it’s three because each time they get emptier. He glances at me but doesn’t stop craning his neck, so I shoot out, “What goods? Nothing good out that window. That’s for sure.”
Fuckity fuck. He’s going to see. In a desperate move, I clap my hands together, rewarded with his attention. So I jump on the reprieve.
“’Cause like, who am I? Cuba Gooding Jr.?” If cringe wasn’t in the building, it moves in the moment I exuberantly say, ‘Show me the monaayyy.’”
His brows draw together, and I begin to think I’d be less obvious if I just hurled myself through the damn window.
He’s staring at me, and I’m not sure how to not look like an idiot, so I top it off with a whispered “Hated that movie.”
Somebody punch me in the face.
On the upside, his back is to the possible X-rated view outside. On the downside, we’re just standing here, and I really need him four feet to the right.
I swear to god I’m sweating. Suspense in movies is unbearable, so in real life it’s vomit producing.
A branch cracks under his flip-flop, and my heart races. This is my own personal horror movie. Just move, one-two-three-four feet. Come on.
Just as it looks like he might be abandoning his mission, he starts to turn around.
“I’ve got it!”
Did I just scream that? Yes. Yes, I did.
His shoulders jump, but he faces me, taking two of those feet away from the window. I almost whoosh out a breath as he turns his mouthwateringly broad back to it too, his eyes locked to mine.
“Got what?”
“The answer to the mystery…of who you heard. Since I haven’t spoken.”
He crosses his arms with a chuckle, so I keep speaking.
“It must’ve been somebody’s television.”
I smile, but I can feel my head ever so slightly tilting right over and over like I’m trying to influence his subconscious to walk away further.
“There aren’t any TVs on the property,” he levels, still armed with that smirk.
Fuck. Just let me have this, dude.
I shrug. “Maybe it was a laptop?”
“Okay.”
He says it so easily that it throws me off. Or maybe I’m unsteady because he’s closing the distance between us, making my breath hitch before he picks an olive out of my hair.
Am I breathing? Maybe.
Honestly, who cares. Being this close to him has me dizzy. Because his eyes aren’t just green. There’s a blue ring around the outside that gives them a dreamy effect. And even worse, his lips are equipped with the perfect fullness.
They look so soft too.
God, I gave up so much of my youth to Jeffrey when I could’ve been doing this.
I bet he’s so good in bed. Attentive. He probably makes women come first. And takes his time. Big bucks says he does the deed until sweat drips down his abs.
The man in my thoughts clears his throat, and that’s when I realize I am, in fact, staring down at his stomach.
My head snaps up. “I wasn’t looking at you. I…um…my toe is bleeding.”
I immediately tuck one foot behind the other. I’m going to have to literally drive it through a wall now. Lying either becomes a skill, or I sew my mouth shut. Those are my only options.
He smiles wider before giving me another “Okay.”
Okay…okay…what does that mean?
I thought my life was at its worst when I went through my divorce, but I’d like to go back now. Good grief, the world has cars that drive themselves. There’s got to be a way to erase my memory.
Wells bites his bottom lip, and I frown. Only because it’s the singular way I can mask the horny.
“To answer your previous question,” he says, his eyes on mine. “I’m here to bring you this.”
I’m lost in his gaze before I realize he’s holding something between us.
“Thank you,” I whisper before looking down to see what he’s holding.
My hand jerks back like I’ve touched something hot as I rush out, “That’s not mine.
” He laughs, but I double down on my lie.
“I don’t know why someone would send me this.
I asked for conditioner.” I squint as if I can’t read the writing on the box.
But it clearly says Nair: for sensitive areas. “I actually don’t know what that is?”
Wells shakes his head and puts the box firmly in my hand.
“How about I leave it? And you can find out who it belongs to later? Maybe it’s for the person watching Jerry Maguire.”
I stand stoically but wish I were on fire as he heads to the door before looking over his shoulder.
“And, Margot.” He motions his head toward the window. “I hear they put on a hell of a show every night. Not that you’re a perv or anything. See ya around.”
My mouth drops open. Oh. My. God.
The door opens and closes behind him, but I stand, over the fucking olive tree, with my jaw nearly on the floor.
I wonder if it’s too late to get a refund on this life rebranding because I’d really like a do-over.