He chuckled warmly and got comfortable next to me. “I admit, a child-free zone is heaven right now.” He sighed contentedly and put on his shades. He’d brought a book I wanted to read later, but not now. “I might actually see the return of my appetite here. We should try the hotel’s seafood restaurant tonight. It smelled amazing when we passed.”
“Um-hum,” I managed to mumble.
He planted a hand on my head. “Don’t fall asleep, boy. They’re bringing over our cocktails now.”
I grunted and pushed myself up on my elbows. The bar was on the other side of the pool, and I guessed their version of bottle service was kinda convenient—as long as they didn’t water down the drinks. Rather than bringing over bottles and mixers, they prepared the drinks for us. We’d picked four each off a menu, plus those damn snacks I needed ASAP.
Hard to think it was only three PM. Part of me thought it was time for breakfast, while the other part—that’d traveled all fucking day and night—was ready to crash.
It was the breakfast brain that’d been in charge of choosing my first drink, which was a simple screwdriver.
Shan accepted a Moscow mule from the perky server, who also gave him a come-hither smile.
Whore.
I would’ve told her off, maybe, if I hadn’t been busy stuffing my face with some of the best onion rings I’d ever tasted and garlic shrimp with a delicious lime aioli. Fuck me, I was hungrier than I’d thought.
Once we were alone, I couldn’t help but stroke his ego a little. “I guess I’ll be spending the vacation warding off little senoritas who’re ready for some Daddy O’Shea.”
He laughed under his breath and set his drink on a napkin on the little side table. “You can tell them I’ll be busy making up for neglecting a sweet punk for too long.”
Those were the magic words. I grinned and bit into another onion ring.
Before dinner that evening—because we had to wait twenty minutes for a table—we took a walk around the neighborhood to see if there was a new restaurant we’d want to try tomorrow.
We both found it funny that instead of a bike lane next to the sidewalk, there was a lane dedicated to old-people scooters. We’d been passed by several already, mostly Brits and Germans who’d had vacation homes here since the dawn of time. I knew Luna encountered them often enough in the Facebook groups for vacation rentals she was in.
“A town that’s both party central and a hot spot for silver alerts,” Shan mused. “Perhaps we should call it Europe’s Miami instead.”
I reached up and combed my fingers through his thick, wavy hair. “Speaking of silver.”
“Oh, you.” He failed to look annoyed and smacked me upside the head. “What’s this obsession with age?”
That made me laugh. “Says the man who bitched about not wanting to see anyone under thirty-five—preferably forty,” I mocked.
His mirth simmered down to contain some hesitation too. “I did say that, didn’t I.”
“You did.” I retrieved my smokes from my back pocket and offered him one. “But I’m sure you and the fellow silver-alert candidate you’ll end up with one day will enjoy driving your scooters through Benidorm.”
He winced and chuckled. “I deserved that.” He stopped on the sidewalk to light up his smoke. “On the other hand, in that age group, I might find someone who can handle my baggage because they have their own. Or even better, we handle things separately and meet up in the middle when we’re in a good mood.”
How romantic.
“Looks like you’ve got it all figured out.”
“Oh, I don’t, Kellan,” he sighed, exhaling some smoke toward the night sky. “Less and less for each day, I want to say.”
Same here. Now I couldn’t help but wonder if it was worth trying. He was still so…resistant.
“What about you?” he asked. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable dating someone your own age?”
I frowned. “No?” When was he gonna fucking get it? I wasn’t hooked on Shannon for lack of trying other options. “I’m not looking for simple or comfortable or easy. I want something real, and real is always as ugly as it is beautiful. At least, that’s what my grandmother used to say. ’Cause she always said people were natural fucker-uppers—that’s a direct quote.”
Shan smiled.
I took a pull from my smoke and glanced up the sidewalk. We were almost back at the hotel entrance. “Here’s what I think,” I said. “If you have to force something, it ain’t meant to be. And if you’re running away from something that pulls you in, you’re probably a chickenshit. Unless you’re a self-destructive person, I guess.” I wasn’t a fan of easy fixes to complicated problems, which ruled out most of the Instagram quotes my sister liked to forward to me. But there was something unique about chemistry. “Chemistry is where it’s at for me. Either it pulls you in or it pushes you away. And it works with everyone, one way or another. Friendships can’t be forced either. You gotta enjoy spending time with a person for the friendship to stay alive. The rest is secondary.”