Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
We’re on a tropical island, and this guy is in dress shoes. His entire closet consists of button-downs and blazers. For a casual night off, he casts aside his suits for a pair of “casual” dark jeans. His wardrobe is probably worth my yearly salary. If I ever saw him in a T-shirt, I’d die of shock.
“How are you so tan?” I asked him once. “You never step foot outside.”
He cast me a look chock full of mock suspicion. “Keeping close tabs on me?”
“I just know the lore. The second your skin comes in contact with the sun—” My hands mimicked an explosion. “Poof. Gone. It’s the same for all creatures from, well . . .” I clicked my tongue as my finger motioned toward the depths of hell.
He looked at me then with halfhearted annoyance, a common occurrence in our relationship, and replied, “My grandparents are from Sicily.”
“You have grandparents?!”
This was news to me. The theory that’s caught the most traction in the break room is that Cole only exists here because of a Meet Joe Black situation—i.e., Cole is Death, taking the form of a young man to experience life on earth. It explains the sharp-as-hell cheekbones and the fact that he can do math with inhuman speed and accuracy.
Now, here we stand, doing it again, pitting our wits against each other.
Thank god I don’t have to see Cole every day. My nerves couldn’t handle it. We work vastly different jobs here, after all. Most of the time, I’m out exploring the island with guests and he’s stuck indoors performing his number-crunching desk job. Word on the street is that he has his sights set on becoming the director of resort operations one day. It’s probably outlined meticulously in his five-year plan. It’s color coded and leather bound. He keeps it under his extrafirm pillow at night.
My five-year plan? Simple.
Enjoy life on the island.
That’s all.
Okay, not all. I would also like to experience love, and if that L-word proves too elusive, I will also happily accept lust. I even have the perfect target in mind. He’s Blaze, a new bartender in Siesta Playa’s beach lounge. I think he’s just the man I’ve been searching for—fun, easygoing, and outdoorsy. And I’m hoping beyond hope that he’s coming to the beach bonfire tonight so I have a chance to hang out with him. Our last few encounters haven’t exactly proved fruitful.
“Oh! You like smoothies too?” I asked when I walked past him in the main lobby the other day.
He frowned, completely confused.
I pointed to the smoothie in his hand, the one he was half finished with.
Still, he didn’t get it. “Oh, this? I had a coupon.”
I only planned for a discussion about blended fruit drinks, not coupons, so all my brain could come up with was “Cool, see ya.” Then I shot him some cringey double finger guns.
The next time I saw him, I was out at one of the local bars with some of my coworkers. I sidled up to him and asked over the loud music, “So, Blaze, where are you from?”
“The resort.”
I laughed and spoke up. “No, silly. Where did you come from?!”
“I came from the resort!” he shouted back.
So, okay, who cares if he’s not overflowing with brain cells . . . I have enough for the two of us, right? Plus, I’ve seen him without his shirt on, and those abs will surely get us through any hiccups that might arise from stilted conversations. But it doesn’t matter now. I’ll never get to that bonfire if I don’t finish up here with Cole.
“Are we done?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest so I don’t do something stupid like yank on his tie. I want to so bad.
Cole looks me up and down, no doubt finding my Teva sandals, workout shorts, and Siesta Playa tank top sorely lacking. If he had it his way, he’d force me into a pantsuit, add a little plaque over my breast pocket, and shellac my hair to my head in a tight bun. “Why are you in such a rush? Big plans?”
I shoot him a skeptical glare.
Does he know about the bonfire?
It’s hard to tell . . . I try yet fail to decipher his expression. He’s Fort Knox, this one. I don’t want to spill the beans and get anyone in trouble, but I also sometimes (very rarely) feel a little bad for Cole. As we lock eyes, I contemplate letting him in on the secret—something I’ll surely come to regret—but then he rolls his eyes.
“I already know about the bonfire.”
Suddenly, I’m on the defensive. “It’s not against the rules or anything. Théo isn’t setting it up on resort property.”
He frowns. “You act like you’re worried I’ll write you up.”
I’m not totally certain he wouldn’t . . .