Chapter 36
I pick a lounge chair farther down the beach, away from the resort music and activities, but especially away from Pureskin execs. Today’s beach day is my day off. I don’t have to guide, organize, entertain, or lead anyone. Instead, I plan to lie here, facing the sun and listening to the waves. Maybe later, I’ll take a paddleboard out in the ocean.
For the tenth time this morning, I check my DMs, hoping for a message from Mr. International. I sent him another message last night before I went to bed. Something stupid about loving the scent of fresh hotel linen.
No response.
He’s been silent since asking to meet in person the other night. I don’t think we’ve ever gone this long without talking, so his silence is a bit concerning. Normally, my mind would come up with all sorts of excuses. He’s flying, or he’s dead, but since you can see people’s recent activity status in your Instagram inbox, I know he’s not offline or dead. He’s just ghosting me as if he’s having second thoughts about meeting me.
The mature thing to do is not to panic. So, I send another message.
@girl_sees_the_world:
Are you still there?
Then I put my phone away and relax. He’ll answer when he’s ready to.
Even though my eyes are closed under my sunglasses, I feel the shade on my face when someone approaches. One eye peeks open, catching the end of Nate checking out my body in my bikini. I had a swimsuit on yesterday, but it was more of a sporty one for work than what I’m wearing today. I figured Lauren Ashley would rock the beach in some kind of thong. I had to at least try to keep up so Isaac doesn’t win the my-fiancée-is-better-than-you game by a landslide.
Nate’s sunglasses hide his gaze, but the subtle movement of his head—side to side, the length of my body—tells me what he’s looking at. I’m not mad. If anything, his checking me out stirs something exciting inside.
“Get a good look, Costanza?” I say without flinching.
“What?” Nate startles. “No. I was just…” He places his hands on his hips, looking down at me. “You watch Seinfeld ? Because I watch Seinfeld. ”
I smirk. “Nice subject change.”
“I thought it worked well.” He drops his bag and sits on the lounge chair next to mine, twisting to stretch out his towel over the back.
“You’re staying? By me?”
“You are my girlfriend. It would be weird if I didn’t.”
“ Fake girlfriend.” With how everything’s been going between us the past couple of days, the clarification seems necessary.
This isn’t real. These feelings for Nate aren’t real.
He lies back, putting an arm behind his head for a pillow. “Yes, why aren’t you my real girlfriend?”
My mind stumbles over his question, but I recover fast enough to say, “Because we’d kill each other.”
“That was before we knew each other—the real us. Now that we do, we don’t have any reason to fight.”
“Maybe not, but you’re still my coworker and?—”
“You like that other guy,” he interrupts.
I turn my head from him, glancing down the beach. “Yes.”
“So what does that guy have that I don’t?”
“I’m not talking about this with you.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s personal and embarrassing.”
“I think we’re well beyond personal and embarrassing.”
I scrunch my nose, looking back at him as I debate.
“Come on.” He nudges my leg with his toe. “What’s so special about the other guy?”
I bite my lip, refusing to speak. But then I realize talking to Nate about Mr. International might not be the worst idea in the world. It would establish a clear boundary in our relationship if we discussed romantic feelings between another man and me. Plus, Nate is a guy. Maybe he could give me some advice on how to handle the recent radio silence.
“For starters”—I flip my gaze to him—“I don’t work with him.”
“I see. And…” His fingers roll, gesturing for me to continue.
“And I have a strong emotional connection with him.”
“Where you and I are more physical.” He says it like a statement of fact, not a question.
I straighten. “Exactly.”
“So he’s ugly.”
“No!”
“Emotional connection means he’s ugly.”
“He’s not ugly.”
“Let me see a picture.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
I shake my head, looking away.
“Because he’s ugly,” Nate says again.
“No, because I don’t have a picture of him.”
“How do you not have a picture of him?”
I roll my lips together, sucking in a breath. Am I really going to tell Nate I have a pen pal like it’s 1902?
“Wait a second,” he says. “You don’t actually know him, do you?”
“I know him,” I snap in defense. “I just haven’t met him in person yet.”
“Let me guess. Online pen pals exchanging messages back and forth?”
My mouth drops open. “How did you know?”
“Eh.” His shoulders lift. “I’ve seen it a hundred times. So he really could be ugly.”
“No, I’ve seen enough of his profile on Instagram to know he’s not ugly.” My chin lifts. “But even if he were, that doesn’t matter to me.”
His head tilts with an air of disbelief. “It doesn’t matter to you if you’re not physically attracted to him?”
“No, I like him for who he is.”
“Yeah, right.”
“No, really. It doesn’t matter.”
Nate sits up, surprising me by leaning into my space. His face is close to mine, mouth mere inches. “Knowing you as I do, you’d never be satisfied without the physical attraction component.” The sultry undertone to Nate’s raspy whisper has my entire body flooding with heat. “You like to play with fire.”
My mouth goes dry as my heart races.
Nate pulls back, lying down again on his chair like nothing happened. “So what’s his Instagram handle?”
A rough breath seeps out as I try to compose myself. “I’m not telling you that.”
“What? You think I’m going to troll him?”
“Maybe.”
“Come on, Carly. Give me more credit than that.”
“Fine.” I roll my shoulders back. “It’s @worth_traveling_to.”
“Sounds like Farns worth. Like me. Maybe I’m related to this guy.”
“No, he just has an Instagram travel page where he posts cool places he’s been to. That are worth traveling to.”
“Ah, a fellow traveler.”
“That’s how we connected. I posted something about the best places to travel in Arizona, and we started talking about how much we both love exploring the world.”
Nate nods like he gets it. “The emotional connection you were referring to.”
“Yeah.” Even as I say it, I’m reminded how Nate and I have bonded over the exact same thing during this trip, strengthening our emotional connection too. “We’re going to meet next week,” I blurt as if to keep my mind in the right place.
“Really? Whose idea was that?”
“He suggested it, but I felt like it was time too.”
“How long have you been talking?”
“Ten months.”
“Whoa, that’s long. Like, more than the gestational time of a baby.”
“Exactly. It’s long enough for me to know that I like him.”
The corner of his mouth pulls higher. “After that much time, I hope you more than like him.”
“I guess we’ll just have to see next week.”
“Next week. That’s big. Are you nervous?”
“Why would I be nervous?” I shake my head, trying to seem indifferent.
“What are you going to wear?”
“I haven’t really thought about it yet.”
“Maybe that fitted black dress with those pointy shoes.” There’s a whole lot of swagger rounding out his smile. “Or I like that hot-pink cardigan thing you wear with a pink skirt.”
I blink at Nate. “You have my clothes memorized?” The revelation shouldn’t be that surprising. I have a lot of Nate’s clothes memorized too.
“A few of my favorites.” The charm in his expression is hypnotizing.
“I don’t know what I’m going to wear.” I glance down to break the spell. “We haven’t ironed out any of the details yet.”
“Why not? It’s a big moment.”
My head lifts to add some confidence to my words. “After he suggested meeting, I haven’t heard from him since.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it.” His soft tone somehow makes me feel better. “He’s probably just working a few things out.”
“Yeah, I’m not worried.”
“I bet he’s anxious to meet you…in a good way. I know I would be.”
I flip my gaze to him, ready to talk about something new. “What about you and the girl you were telling me about?”
“It’s complicated, but”—a giant smile appears, creating a knot of jealousy in my stomach—“I think she might be the one . I just have to convince her of that first.”
More jealousy and, if I’m honest, a bit of hurt. It's not a logical reaction since we just finished talking about the possibility of me and Mr. International, but feelings don’t always make sense.
“You’re very charming,” I say, playing it cool. “I’m sure you’ll have no problem convincing her.”
He laughs. “You’d be surprised.”
No, I wouldn’t.
This is Nate Farnsworth, the guy who spent months making passive-aggressive comments about my work, micromanaging my every decision, ridiculing my checklists, and making my job more difficult. He’s the last person I should be feeling things for.
Yet, he’s completely charmed the heck out of me.
But I’d rather lie than tell Nate I’m falling for him.