Throb

I miss the feel of her skin and the sounds of her laugh. The way she comes back at me with a jab every time I challenge her. It pains me to see the feistiness gone from her eyes. Eventually, I muster the strength to hit play and, within minutes, I wish I could hit the rewind button and unsee what flashes on my screen.

Dickhead cozies up next to her. Wrapping his arm around her shoulder, he pulls her close to him, his hand rubbing her shoulder intimately.

“You feeling better today?” he asks.

“Yes. Sorry about not joining the welcome party last night. I really didn’t feel well.”

“You didn’t miss much. Mercedes got drunk and Jessica decided to go ski

“Sounds like at least you had some fun.”

He strokes her hair. “There isn’t much fun when you’re not around.”

“Thanks. But I’m not very much fun these days.”

“Well, I’ll have to work on that.” He grins at her and I get the urge to smack the con-artist dimples from his face. “My new sole mission in life is to see a smile on that beautiful face.” Yeah, and to fuck three other women. Dickhead.

“Come on.” He stands and offers her his hands.

“Where are we going?” She hesitates but puts her hands in his. He tugs her up and then, in one swooping motion, lifts her over his shoulder.

“Fly

I have to walk away to compose myself for a few minutes before coming back to shut the damn laptop off. I should have just let it play, because what I see hits me like a kick to the chest when I return. They’re coming out of the water, holding hands, and she’s smiling.

chapter thirty-six

Kate

It’s day three post Cooper Montgomery and, while the world didn’t end, there’s a little piece of me missing. I’ve been doing better, smiling when it’s appropriate, interacting with people—well, the staff and Fly

We may have only been here for five days, but there’s a memory at every turn. At night, after everyone goes to bed, I lay in the yellow room, replaying the last couple of months with Cooper over and over. Hindsight is supposed to be twenty-twenty. Yet I see nothing clearer as I look back than I did when it was happening in front of my eyes. Perhaps if I had seen it coming, it wouldn’t cut this deep.

Yes, I was “dating” another man. The word hypocrite may even seem appropriate from the outside looking in. But we both knew what I was doing … and why I was doing it. We’d even made promises to each other—rules we would follow until the show ended. No kissing on the mouth, no sex with anyone but each other … he’d been the one to make the damn rules.

I believed him. I trusted him. Three days of looking for the clues I missed, has left me nothing but exhausted and clueless. Why now, when I look back, can’t I see it coming? The only logical answer crushes me—I can’t see the change because he never really felt what I thought he felt to begin with. I was seeing what I wanted to see all along.

I try the Sadie school of thought to get myself out of my state of perpetual melancholy. If you don’t feel good, at least look good. Finally losing the ponytail I’ve worn since we arrived, I spend a full hour and half getting ready for our group date. I blow out my hair, do my makeup and put on a beautiful blue dress the show wardrobe designer swears was made with me in mind. Looking at my reflection boosts my spirits as much as it can.

When Fly

After getting a greeting from the third beautiful woman, I watch as he scans the room. His smile lights up when his eyes fall on me. He does that overt flirty sweep of me that he always does, and comes to me.

“You look gorgeous,” he whispers in my ear after kissing my cheek. Unexpectedly, goose bumps break out on my arms.

“You don’t look so bad yourself.” He’s wearing a linen dress shirt with an ocean blue knotted tie that brings out the azure in his eyes even more than usual. Perhaps it’s the tattoos sticking out from the expensive shirt, but somehow he manages a look that screams casually elegant blended with rockstar. It works for him, and he wears it well.

We all pile into the SUV limo and head out for our first group date on the island. My heart lurches when we pull into a parking lot. Of all the places on this island, Miles had to pick the Saturday night beach fish fry. The same one Cooper and I went to the last night we were here.

“What can I get you to drink?” Fly

“I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

“You sure about that?” he questions. “I was about to order vodka tonic and I seem to remember you getting tipsy off a glass of wine.”

I look around, the memory of Cooper and me slow dancing on the grass while everyone around us danced to a fast reggae beat causes a new wave of pain. Pain I need to dull, even if just for a little while.

“Vodka sounds good to me.”

The effects are quick, my mind already numbed as I swallow the last bit of poison from the glass. “Let’s dance.” I grab Fly

Bodies close in tightly around us—strangers reveling in the warm night air, moving with the sensual verve of the music.

“That’s it.” Fly

“Thank you. I needed that,” I whisper and kiss him on the cheek as I leave him in Jessica’s quite capable hands.

The problem with drinking alcohol when you’re depressed is that you’re always chasing that initial feel-good buzz. Sobriety starts to rear its solemn head, so you have another drink. But the second one doesn’t affect you like the first, so you have yet another. And before you know it you’re somewhere between feeling no pain and ostensibly obliviated.

I watch from a stool at the bar as Fly

I order another drink to drown the thoughts in my head. A break in the music draws my focus to the stage. Fly