CHAPTER 5 Millie Monroe
Bucket List
I squeal a little and bounce up and down on my toes as I look around the room. My first stay is at the Beachside Tower in a Sunset Suite. I’ve looked over the amenities in this tower, and if my room were a few floors higher, I’d have access to the rooftop lounge and the nightclub.
I’m not sure why they stuck me on the ninth floor when the twelfth and higher have access, but I guess they’re trying to go for the more budget-friendly rooms. This one still comes in at four hundred a night, something I wouldn’t exactly put in the budget category, but it’s free to me.
And they’ll give me access to the club if I ask for it, I’m sure.
I take pictures of every nook, cranny, and piece of artwork in my suite. It’s a one-bedroom suite, which means basically the bed is in its own room, and there’s a separate space with a table, a couch, and a television.
At check-in, I was told there would be a paper itinerary of events under my door each day, and I’m expected at sunrise yoga tomorrow morning along with a breakfast meeting with the resort manager immediately after.
I took about eleventy billion pics and vids in the lobby, and I can’t wait to start piecing my content together and posting about my arrival here in Paradise.
But first…I need dinner. Stat.
I left my apartment at three in the morning to make the first leg of my early flight out of O’Hare. Chip drove me to the airport, I thanked him profusely for being an amazing friend, and then I was on my way.
I had a long layover in Miami, but here I am, ready to explore and get to know this home of mine for the next month.
I’m diving right in with all the things, and in the back of my mind, I keep reminding myself that I have to be up bright and early tomorrow morning for yoga.
So it’s not exactly a relaxing vacation. It’s work. But it’s what I signed up for, and I’m grateful to be here. Even if it means I have to be up before the sun.
I open my suitcase to change into a fresh shirt, and I find a note stuck right on top, as if it was slipped in at the last minute. I immediately recognize Jackie’s handwriting.
Have fun on your trip. We’ll miss you. We made this list to help with your dry spell. Everyone needs goals. Feel free to add to it.
Vacation Bucket List – Sex Edition
1. one-night stand
2. skinny dipping
3. sex with a toy
4. sex on a balcony
5. sex on the beach
6. sex in a pool
7. shower with a friend
8. public sex
9. sex on an excursion
10. sex against the hotel room window
Sorry, it started for you but ended with OUR list for our last vacation. Since you’re solo, you can make up your own adventures. Or, you know, do the things solo.
I giggle as I set the list down on the dresser, and I pick up the hotel map and see there are several restaurants right here in this tower, so I head downstairs and walk toward the first one I see: Waves Diner.
I walk up to the hostess stand, and there are four groups in front of me.
Each one seems to have a reservation, and they’re all seated right away.
The hostess returns from seating the group in front of me, and she looks at me. “Hi. I don’t have a reservation or anything. It’s just me.” I smile sweetly.
“It’ll be forty-five minutes for a table,” she says.
My stomach growls in protest. “Okay. I’m Millie.”
“Okay, Millie. I’ve got you down.” She looks behind me to wait on the next person, and I move to the side to begin the clock’s countdown as I contemplate what to do.
And that’s when I notice the man who was behind me but is now standing at the hostess stand has really, really sexy legs.
I can’t help but stare at his calves. Something about a man’s calves just does it for me, and this guy looks…athletic.
I follow the calves up to the hamstrings and up further to his sweet, tight glutes.
Damn.
He works out. For sure.
He’s all tight muscles everywhere. I wonder what it would be like to be under a body that powerful.
I shake it off. He’s probably waiting for his wife to show up. If only I could get a peek of his left ring finger.
“Bradley for one,” he says to the hostess waiting at the stand, and she nods and leads him back into the restaurant.
Bradley. His name is Bradley. And he had a reservation for one.
Another hostess arrives at the stand, and she looks at me before she glances into the restaurant. “You’re welcome to sit at the bar if you can find a seat.”
“Thank you, I’ll try that.” I walk into the restaurant and toward the bar, and I spot one open stool. I beeline for it, but someone else beats me to it.
“Dammit,” I mutter under my breath, and I look around a little helplessly only to meet a set of eyes staring at me from the table beside the bar.
It’s Hot Calves. I’m sure of it. And he’s in a booth that’s clearly meant for four people.
Even his cheekbones tell the story that he works out. My eyes flick down to his arms, and I note that they have that same glisten of athleticism to them—strong and sexy. Strong enough to hold himself up as he hovers over me.
Jesus, Millie. Pull yourself together.
The eyes on mine are green, or maybe gold—some sort of incredible hazel color, anyway—and the corner of his lips is turned up in a bit of a smile. I set my hand on my hip and raise my brows as I look pointedly at his table of one meant for four.
“They told me it would be forty-five minutes for a table,” I say. “Can I sit here? I promise you don’t even have to talk to me. I’m just starving after a long day of travel and need a seat and a quick meal.”
He studies me for a few beats, a gruff look on his handsome face that sort of makes me feel a little intimidated to actually sit with him. Eventually, he relents, nodding across the table at the empty bench across from him.
“Oh my God, you’re my hero,” I breathe as I sit, and he chuckles. “I’m Millie, by the way.”
“Archer,” he says with a nod.
Archer? But he said Brad—
OH. MY. GOD.
I’m sitting across the table from Archer Motherfucking Bradley?
I’m sitting with a professional baseball player.
The hottest one in all of Major League Baseball.
He’s across from me. I asked if I could sit with him.
I didn’t recognize him. Why would I have?
I don’t really watch baseball all that much, but I’ve heard of Archer Bradley.
I’m quite actually more of a football fan, and being from the Chicago area, I’m well aware of the Bradley family.
No wonder why those calves are so damn hot. He’s a goddamn professional athlete.
My mouth goes completely dry, and for just a second, this wave washes over me that makes me feel like I just might pass out.
I fake like I don’t know who he is.
“I can’t thank you enough for letting me sit with you,” I gush.
“You said we wouldn’t have to talk,” he reminds me.
Well, then. Okay.
I stare at the menu awkwardly. He’s not exactly the friendliest, so I suppose I’ll eat a quick meal and bust on out to start checking out the resort.
A server comes over to take our drink order, and Archer orders first. “Whiskey, neat. Make it a double.”
I was planning on just ordering a water, but I need something a little stronger than water so I don’t lose my shit in front of this man. “Aperol Spritz.”
“What’s that?” Archer asks.
I can’t help a nervous giggle as the server walks away. “Aperol, prosecco, and soda water.”
“What’s Aperol?”
“An orange liqueur. I thought you didn’t want me to talk to you.”
“I don’t. You drink these often?”
I laugh. “I bartend most nights, but yeah. I’ve made a few, drank a few. You’re welcome to try mine when it arrives.” I open the menu and glance through it. My stomach is empty, so the drink is going to smash into me quickly.
When I glance up, he’s still looking at me.
“What?” I ask.
He lifts a shoulder, and it seems like there’s a bit of a breakthrough. “What’s a girl like you doing here all by yourself?”
I snag my lip between my teeth. “Long story. What about you, Mr. Table for One?”
He glances away from me. “Long story.”
Doesn’t the season start soon? Shouldn’t he be with his team?
I decide not to ask. I haven’t exactly admitted I’ve heard of him, and if he wants to tell me more, he will.
I pull out my phone to start editing photos when his voice interrupts my plans.
“So…are you by yourself?”
I’m surprised he wants to have a conversation. I nod. “You?”
He nods, too.
We’re staring at each other in a way that’s sort of daring the other to make the first move when the server drops off our drinks. Before she slinks away again, I say, “I’m ready to order. Are you?”
He nods, and the server looks back to me.
“I’ll take a cheeseburger and fries, no tomato, and a separate check from him,” I say. God, a nice, juicy cheeseburger sounds positively divine right now. I’m so freaking hungry.
His eyes are on me when he says, “I’ll take the same, but put hers on my tab.” He shoves the menu back into the holder by the napkins on the table, and the server leaves to put in our order.
“You didn’t have to do that.” I really shouldn’t tell him I could’ve put his on my tab since this is all comped for me.
“I know.”
“Well, thanks. You’re a burger guy?” I ask.
He shakes his head, and it feels like my sunshine has helped thaw his icy exterior a bit already. “I tend to eat pretty clean, but there’s no way I’m going to sit here watching you devour a burger with jealousy that I didn’t order one.”
I laugh. “You could’ve had a bite. Speaking of which…
” I snap a photo of my drink, and he’s sort of blurred in the background of my portrait setting.
He ducks out of the way, and I narrow my eyes at him for a second before I hold my glass up in a toast. “To crowded restaurants and a table of four for one.”
He laughs and touches his glass to mine, and our fingers brush in the process.
Damn if I don’t feel an electric current travel all the way up my arm. Cheesy? Probably. But I swear, it happens.