Sweet Cheeks (17 page)

And as much as I want to know if he cheated on his girlfriend, as important as it is for me to know he didn’t, I don’t say a word. There’s something about the look in his eyes, the irritation over the fact I might believe the rumors, that stops me from continuing. Because asking means I might be convinced it’s true and therefore don’t trust him.

“Don’t believe everything you see, Saylor.” His tone is wry. A warning. “Even salt looks like sugar at first glance.”

His comment makes me rethink my assumptions and puts me in my place. “No questions, Hayes.” I lick my lips and glance down to my fidgeting hands before looking back up at him. I wonder what is the truth and what is a front in a town that thrives on earning a living out of playing make-believe. “And honestly, I was talking about Tessa. Not Jenna.” I need to make myself clear. Let him know I was fishing but not about Jenna.

“Oh,” he says, shy grin sliding over his lips. “Sorry. I get a little touchy on the Jenna thing.”

I nod. Understand. I want to ask more but don’t because obviously there’s more to the story than meets the eye. He’s allowed to be upset over their breakup, considering how long they dated.

“Well, in that case . . .” He laughs, his tone is teasing, and the mood suddenly eases again. His smile returns and there is mischief in his eyes.

“Ah, Tessa.” It’s all I say. My own smile spreading despite the pang of jealousy that hits a little harder than I’d like to admit.

“We’re working together.”

I roll my eyes. “So you’re sleeping together.”

“On screen, yes.” His voice is unapologetic and yet a small part of me feels like he is toying with me. Gauging my reaction.

“And off screen.” I chuckle but question why I care.
Jesus, Saylor, stop asking
.

“Is there a reason you care?” He steals the thought from my head and doesn’t stop staring, so I shift my gaze to the ocean ahead, wondering the same thing.

The difference is I know why. I care because of that fluttery feeling I get when he smiles at me, the warmth that flushed through me when he put his arm around me on the way out of the little restaurant where we grabbed a quick bite to eat. I just don’t want to admit it.

“No. Not at all.” Uncomfortable under the weight of his stare, I let the silence fall between us. A steel drum is heard somewhere in the distance. The intermittent buzz of tourists’ laughter or shuffling of footsteps meandering through this sleepy Caribbean town can be heard behind us. I watch some local children play in the water, some in suits, some not, as their parents watch from the ocean’s edge.

“It’s nothing serious,” he says unexpectedly. “In fact I haven’t seen her in a few weeks.”

“Huh.” I let the comment settle between us, enjoying the fact that he didn’t have some huge farewell session with some beautiful starlet before coming to hang out with me.

“You’re awfully quiet, Ships.”

I can’t help my smile. The nickname not so bothersome now. “Yeah. I’m just trying really hard to enjoy tonight. To not think about the next few days. To—”

“Enjoy the company of the handsome man beside you.”

I laugh out loud and love that he can do that to me. Just like he did earlier as we sat in the local recommended favorite, Fresh Catch, while we ate our appetizers and sipped our cocktails. When we talked about our childhood escapades and arguments, steering clear of everything that happened after there was an
us,
and the aftermath I still don’t understand. I
had
promised myself I wouldn’t bring it up again while here.

It’s the least I can do considering he’s here, doing who knows what for me in this atypical situation.

I look over to him—wind-ruffled hair and dimples deepening—and think he’s so much more than handsome. He’s comfort and my past, mysterious yet familiar, funny and yet aloof.

“Yes. That too.”

“Why are you nervous?”

“I’m not nervous.” My too quick response says I’m anything but. His chuckle tells me he doesn’t buy it. “You know me, I’m not good with the unpredictable. With putting myself out there when I know everyone in the room will be looking at me.”

There’s an intensity in his eyes that unnerves me. Like he’s searching for an answer I can’t give him. “The girl I used to know didn’t care who was looking.” His voice is quiet, and I hate the urge to immediately refute him. To be defensive. Especially when I’ve wondered the same thing as of late. Distance from Mitch has only proven how much the time spent with him had changed me. Toned down my personality.

I shrug. Almost in an apology to him when it should really be to myself. “Maybe it just depends on who’s looking, I guess.”

He licks his lips and nods his head as if he understands, but the shift of his eyes and set of his shoulders say differently. Hayes lifts his face to look at me again. “Well, I guess I should warn you, you’re with me so don’t worry, when people are staring, it’s at me.” I think he’s dead serious at first, but when he cracks a smile, I can see he’s trying to put me at ease.

“Ah, I see. The famous Hollywood actor,” I tease but know he’s right. The glances at dinner. The interruptions on the boardwalk for a quick picture. I truly appreciate his attempt to lessen my anxiety.

He blows on his knuckles and pretends to polish them on his chest and winks at me. “So remember every time you think they’re looking at you—”

“They’re really looking at you,” I finish for him.

“Exactly.” He nods for emphasis. “And for your information, I have a very detailed schedule of how the next few days are going to go if that will help you with your need for predictability.”

I jerk my head in reaction. “There’s a schedule?”

“Yes. There was a schedule for the wedding handed to me when I checked in. It’s all mapped out for us. Golf for the guys and salon day for the ladies tomorrow.” He rolls his eyes. “No worries, I promised you no golf, and I mean it. We’re not going. We’ll make ’em sweat. Give them a chance to gossip about the rumor we’re here. Did you bring the invitation like I asked?”

“Yeah. Why?” I narrow my eyes.

“Because I bet you they never told Uptight Ursula they invited you. They did it to mock you, never expecting you to show. I want to make sure you have it on you in case she attempts to kick you out—”

“Hayes?” I have to get something off my chest.

“Yeah.” Eyes looking. Expression perplexed.

“I’ve thought a lot about this, and I just want to make sure you understand that I’m not here to ruin their wedding. That’s not the type of person I am. Every little girl dreams about their wedding day and who am I to say that Mitch isn’t Sarah’s Prince Charming? Just because he wasn’t mine, doesn’t mean he’s not hers.” I twist my lips, look down at where my fingers are drawing aimless designs in the sand before looking back up to him. “The only reason I’m here is to prove I’m okay with it. To show that leaving Mitch was a good decision for both of us.
He’s happy and marrying someone else
. Only someone who is ashamed runs and hides, and I am not that. I want my business to thrive and if there’s a chance that coming here—to be smiling and supportive and giddily confident—will prove them otherwise, then I have to take it. If I hadn’t come and Sweet Cheeks failed, then I’d always wonder . . . and I’m sick of wondering things.”

My words trail off, my voice breaking on the last few words. I hate that I brought the conversation back to where I swore to myself it wouldn’t go—to where everything seems to lead these days—to thoughts of us back then and the what-ifs I’ve lived with.

We consider each other in the dimming light, each passing second feeling like it’s erasing the years since we’ve seen each other. Brown eyes to blue. His silence to my comments.

“I knew you were still the same girl I used to know.” His voice is a murmur. I look down to catch a dart of his tongue to lick those lips of his, and then meet his gaze again. “I know what your intent is, Saylor. You’re too kind to want anything less. You’re selfless. Forgiving.”

“I thought you said I hold grudges.”

“Only with me.” He smirks. “You always did. Let’s hope I’m on my best behavior this weekend so you don’t hold any with me by the time this is over.”

“Good plan.” I laugh again and realize it seems like forever since I laughed this much over absolutely nothing. It’s a good feeling.

“Getting back to plans—”

“Ah yes . . . tomorrow, we’re ditching the salon and golf because your nails are already done and golf is boring as fuck. So we’ll do our own thing. I have to run some lines for a part I’m screen-testing for when I return and then we have the rehearsal dinner that they’ve invited their guests to. The wedding the following day. The reception. Then—”

“No more.” I cover my ears and laugh. “Thank you. Really. I’m relieved to know you have all the particulars of our schedule worked out. Seems like the normal wedding events.
And those I know all too well
. I can rest easier now.”

He chuckles and all of a sudden my back straightens. “That’s their schedule, Ships.
Ours is a secret
.” He abruptly stands and grabs my hand to pull me up. My body jolts at the connection that sitting side by side with him all this time has had buzzing just beneath the surface. As if knowing he was close enough to touch but not really touching was an awareness all in itself. I know he can feel it too. That I’m not alone. Because the words on his lips falter momentarily before he recovers. And a part of me wants to stay like this a bit longer but know it’s just that missed connection we lost so long ago that’s causing the sensations to simmer to the surface. Nostalgia. Muscle memory of the heart. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

“
Go?
”

“Yes. Go. It’ll be easier if you think of this whole trip as an adventure rather than
their
wedding.”

“And what? You’re my tour guide?”

“If that’s what you want to call me. I prefer cruise director though, considering we’re kind of stuck with the nautical theme,
Ships
.” He winks and holds his hand out.

“Oh, please.” I roll my eyes.

“Or
captain
.”

“You’re certifiable, you know that?” I shake my head and he pulls on my hand to help me stand.

“Quite possibly, but all that matters is I’m in charge of this schedule, and we need to get a move on it. Your adventure awaits.”

“And, oh captain, my captain, that adventure is what?” I drag my feet like a child, curious what he’s talking about but smiling nonetheless.

“Do you actually think I’m going to tell you?” He dazzles me with that smile I can’t resist. “Didn’t you know? Spontaneity is the best kind of adventure.”

Oh. Shit.

“N
o way. Uh-uh.” I try to step away but my back hits the unyielding wall of Hayes’s front. We’re pressed body to body and panic flickers through me.

“Remember what I said.” His voice is warm against my ear.

Spontaneity is the best kind of adventure,
my ass
.
I tried to do this once before. On a double-dog dare at the age of sixteen. From him.

I turn around, a blatant rejection of Hayes’s idea of
spontaneous fun
. Of the stage before me, the people sitting in chairs around it, and the microphone and screen that will hold lyrics.

And yet when I do turn, I run smack dab into every long, lean, firm inch of him. My body reacts immediately to the feel of his. Hair stands up on the base of my neck. My nipples press against the smooth fabric of my bra and are more than aware of the warmth of his chest. My muscles tense everywhere.

All I can do is suck in my breath when his eyes hold mine. They’re full of the same mischief that paints his smile. “Remember that time at Wild Irish?”

“How could I forget?” Sneaking in the back door of the local bar a few towns over, feeling like we were so cool. The anxiety of being caught in a bar underage making the night that much more exhilarating. Hayes’s dare to go put my name in, take the stage, and perform a song of his choosing.

“Remember how much you had to psych yourself up to do it?” he murmurs. I can smell the hint of Red Stripe on his breath.

These are treacherous waters.

But it’s The Captain leading me into them.