“Friends who fuck . . .” I clarified, my tone bitter and harsh.
His jaw tightened. I sensed that he understood he was digging himself into a deeper hole with every word. “What do you want, kitten?”
“I’ve never been to your apartment. We’ve never been out together on a date . . .” And now you’re hiding me in your hotel room like you’re afraid of being seen with me, even though we’re thousands of miles from home.
He scrubbed his hands across his face. “I’m sorry. I should have known this would lead to real feelings. Fuck.” He squeezed his eyes closed and pressed his fingers to his temples.
“I’m sorry this is so fucking hard for you to figure out, Braydon. Let me spell it out for you. I like you and I want more.” I swallowed heavily, having laid myself bare. Adrenaline shot through my veins, warming me and making my hands shake. The ball was in his court. And that terrified me.
He looked down at the floor and licked his lips. “Nothing’s changed for me. I told you from the beginning I wasn’t looking for a girlfriend. I made that very clear. I thought I was honest with you . . .”
“You own me,” I whispered, my voice broken and raspy.
“You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t see the way you look at me? I never meant for this to happen.”
“For what?”
“Real feelings. You getting hurt. I feel like an asshole, Ellie.”
“I’m sorry me falling for you is such a hardship for you.” I wanted to say loving you, but I held my tongue. I couldn’t say it. Couldn’t put that out there when I knew I’d get so little in return.
“You don’t understand my past.” Angry hands tore through his hair. “Fuck, this is complicated. I just never wanted you to get hurt. I hope you believe that.”
I didn’t know what to believe anymore. I heaved a breath inward. Tears burned my vision, but I didn’t want to break down in front of him. Our easygoing banter had left the building, and this moment was more real than any we’d had before. Maybe I’d misjudged everything. There wasn’t anything real between us but sex. And I’d allowed myself to fall for him like a fucking moron. I crossed the room to the bathroom and closed the door behind me. The tears were coming, and there would be no stopping them.
Locking the bathroom door behind me, I pressed my hands against the cool marble surface of the countertop and hung my head. It had been a mistake to come here. I’d used up my hard-earned vacation time, spent two thousand dollars—my entire savings—on the airline ticket. I’d put everything on the line, had given myself to him completely, and what had I gotten in return? A body imprinted with the memory of sex with Braydon in every possible position so it’d be impossible to forget him.
I heard the hotel room door close with a thud. He had left. Just fucking fantastic. We weren’t even going to discuss this like adults. I splashed cool water on my face, my sadness giving way to anger. Looking at my reflection in the mirror, I gave myself a much-needed pep talk. I decided then and there that I wouldn’t allow myself to continue this arrangement. It wasn’t healthy for me. He wasn’t healthy for me. And if I wasn’t going to continue this, I had no business in this hotel room with him. I considered for a moment going to Ben and Emmy’s room, but knew that Braydon would come and find me and that all three of them would talk me into returning to his room. He had that power over me, to make me forget myself and give everything over to our shared chemistry. I couldn’t allow that to happen. The only choice I had was to get the hell off this island.
I stormed from the bathroom, renewing my strength, and began hastily packing my suitcase. I would be gone before he came back from his walk, or wherever he’d gone. Screw him. I wasn’t a doormat, and I wouldn’t be used like one. I needed to get the fuck off this island.
11
One fact was undeniably clear: I was miserable without him. Like a fool, I’d powered on my phone after the long flight home, desperate to see missed calls, voice mails, or texts from him begging me to return, or promising me things would be different. But my phone was eerily quiet. Not a peep from him.
I’d sucked it up and returned to work, desperate for the distraction. I shot death glares at my boss and coworkers when they asked about my trip and why I was back early. Because I decided to start thinking with my brain instead of my vagina for a change.
Several days later, I heard from him. One lousy text. I’m sorry I can’t be who you want me to be. Which I translated to mean that he wasn’t even going to try. He could have fixed this all so easily between us if he really wanted to. Invite me over to his place, agree to meet up with me for coffee somewhere, tell me he was ready for more . . . but nope. He hadn’t promised me a thing, and I was done grasping on to false hope and illusions for what would never be. The realization stung. I truly was just his bed buddy. The sex had been great, I wasn’t about to lie to myself. It had been truly off the charts. He was the best lover I’d ever had—by far. That was the worst part of it all, because now I’d lost everything—no chance at love, and no more mind-blowing sex to take my mind off that fact. Fuck.