It never gets easier.
Looking at him, that is.
Natalie likens her brother’s appearance to a moody French model. She only means it to be teasing, but it is, in fact, heartbreakingly true. His cheekbones are almost obscenely chiseled, and his brows are as dark as his artfully tousled hair. He rises out of the seat, drawing a few curious stares as he walks toward me.
He’s wearing shorts and a loose white linen shirt with the top two buttons undone. A red hibiscus sits in his breast pocket, a splash of color that draws my attention only for a moment before I continue my quick perusal of him.
He shouldn’t already look so tan and handsome—we only just arrived here. Some of us are still one shade shy of eggshell.
He towers over me as he draws near, and I have to resist the urge to withdraw. My gaze focuses on his lips as he smiles.
We don’t touch.
We’re usually careful not to. At least I am.
“Did the attendant grab your luggage?” he asks, glancing behind me.
I nod. “Yes. Did you already check in?”
His dark eyes snap back to mine and seem to carry a sense of amusement when he replies, “I was waiting for you.”
So then we’re really going to do this.
Vacationing together.
What could possibly go wrong?
Noah and I have known each other for years. He came into my life because of my friendship with his sister, and we also work at the same hospital, but not in the same department. He’s in plastics. I’m in OB. Our paths don’t cross all that often, but when they do, I notice. It’s impossible not to take note of Noah Martin.
I’ve had a schoolgirl crush on him since the first time we met, but I’ve never shared that with a soul, not even Natalie. Especially not Natalie. What would she do if she knew I harbored feelings for her brother? Sure, I tease her about how cute he is—it’d almost be weird if I didn’t—but I’ve never divulged my fantasies or the extremes my brain takes me to when I’m alone and lonely.
My attention falls on his lips again, lingering too long this time…so I force my attention toward the front desk, downing a hefty sip of my margarita.
Noah follows, coming to stand beside me at the desk so we can check in together. We give the receptionist our IDs and then she starts typing away on her computer, leaving us with nothing to do but talk or sit in companionable silence.
Noah opts for the former.
“How are things going with you and Von? Is he still coming?”
I reply with a noncommittal hum, not ready to divulge the truth.
“He’s a lawyer, right?”
“Yes. A very successful one. Very important. And thank you for asking—they’re fine. We’re fine. Thank you.” I’ve thanked him twice now, so it’s probably time to shut my mouth before I actually let the truth slip out.
Von and I broke up a month ago, but I can’t admit that to Noah. I’m mortified that I wasted over a year of my life waiting for Von to take our relationship seriously. A perpetual workaholic with no sense of boundaries, he never seemed to care if we had plans on the books. He canceled on me last minute all the time, but I let it slide because when he did show up, he was captivating and charming and always full of promises about what our future could be.
He was so good at blinding me with possibilities that I was oblivious to the gaping holes in our relationship. I wrote off his wrongs in the hopes that one day he’d eventually change and pick me over his career.
When he left me hanging on my birthday last month—sitting at a restaurant sipping champagne by myself for two hours—it was the final straw.
I broke up with him that night via drunken text messages.
“Almost out of this meeting. Sorry babe. I’ll make it up to you, I swear” was the last text he sent me before I replied with a typo-riddled explosion of feelings.
“Fruck you! I’m done waiting. Th4d is over.”
“ALshO YOU AREN’T THAT GO0D IN BeD.”
Do I regret it? Sure. There are more dignified ways to end a relationship: a calm phone call, a certified letter sent via USPS—whatever. At least it’s over. At least I finally woke up and realized I deserve more than what Von was willing to offer.
“Okay, we have you two booked in the family villa. Dr. Brooks, will Mr. Von Taylor be joining you? We can give you two keys now if—”
I wave off her offer. “No key necessary.”
“He’ll want his own key,” Noah prods.
“He can use mine,” I say, clearing my throat and forcing a smile at the receptionist. “Now, is that everything you need from us?”
“He’s not coming, is he?” Noah asks.
“Excuse me,” I say, holding a finger up to her before turning to aim a narrow-eyed glare at Noah. “Do you have to be so nosy?”