Throb (29 page)

“Don’t the partners whose names are on the letterhead make the rules?”

She winks. “I just let them think that.”

We spend the next few hours at the salon. Sadie insisted I get the deluxe package, threatening the poor girl at the front desk if she didn’t accept her credit card over mine. Everything I chose, Sadie overruled. I asked for a French manicure, Sadie made the girl paint them bright pink, saying it was more island appropriate. I told the hair stylist to give me a trim. I wound up with four inches cut and bold highlights, a heavy streak of blond brightly contrasting with my tanned skin.

I said regular bikini wax, Sadie demanded Brazilian … we settled somewhere in the middle on French. Pretty much the only thing we didn’t argue over was the shape of my eyebrows. In the end, I have to admit, Sadie was right. Although I still felt like shit, the primping and pampering made me look good on the outside, which raised my spirits somewhat.

It’s nearly four o’clock when we finish. I study my reflection in the mirror as Sadie goes around and tips the dozen people who worked their magic on us. They really did do a remarkable job. The makeup artist even managed to bring the swelling down under my eyes and hide the dark circles.

“Looking good is the second best revenge after a breakup,” Sadie says as she comes up behind me, admiring my new appearance.

“Should I bother asking?”

“Fucking a hot rockstar.”

I smile and shake my head as we exit onto the street. “I’m not sleeping with Flynn.”

“Why not? It might make you feel better. I know it would make
me
feel better to fuck him.” She wiggles her eyebrows.

“I hate Cooper right now. But I’m also in love with him.” I finally admit it out loud. Figures it takes me until after he breaks my heart to come clean with myself.

“I know.” Putting her usual sarcasm aside, my best friend takes my hand in hers as we walk. “I’m sorry he hurt you.”

“Thank you.”

“But you know the old saying. When life hands you lemons, grab the salt and tequila.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s ‘make lemonade.’ But I get the idea.” I bump shoulders with her.

“Seriously. Turn this into something positive. Remember the reason you agreed to do the show to begin with. I’ve been watching you walk around silently blaming yourself for something you had no control over for years, Kate. I can’t even imagine what it will do to you if your mom loses the house and Kyle has to stop his therapy. The grand-prize money won’t just help them. It will go a long way to make life easier for you to go back to living. Focus on winning. Don’t let Cooper take that from you too.”

The stretch limousine waits ten minutes while I finish packing. Between my jumbled mind and fragile emotional state, I’m not even sure what the heck is in the sixty-pound suitcase.

Sadie walks me to the car and peeks her head inside. “Wanna French kiss and totally blow their three empty minds?”

“Maybe another time.” I hug her tight. “Thank you for today. For every day.”

“Enjoy yourself,” she whispers. “And focus. After everything you’ve been through, at least win the prize for your family.”

The sweat drips from my brow as I turn the machine higher. It’s been two days—two days of conjuring up ugly pictures in my head. Day one was thoughts of Kate being upset. Of her coming to the realization that I’m a total scumbag and crying over the loss of a man she thought she knew. It shredded me.

Then I started to dream up how she would get even. The visions of her in Dickhead’s arms make me run faster. I press the button again and my run turns to a full-on sprint. I run faster and faster, chasing something I can never catch.

A knock at my door saves me from myself. It’s Lou. I open it while I struggle to regain my breath.

“Working out hard, huh, Mr. M?”

“Just running. Helps me decompress.”
Usually it does anyway.

“Delivery guy dropped this off from Mile High. Figured it might be important.” He hands me an unmarked small brown package.

“Thanks, Lou.”

I consider tossing the thing in the garbage, actually getting as far as opening the drawer with the hidden trash can and
almost
dropping it in. Almost. But my curiosity wins out. What the hell could Miles send me after the shit he’s pulled? Begrudgingly, I open the package. It’s a clear jewel case with a DVD inside. I turn it over and find it marked.
Day 1 Barbados.
That sick, sadistic bastard. He’s going to continue to send me the dailies.

I make it almost a full hour before I’m staring at the monitor. I mutter a dozen curses as I hit play. Five minutes in, the camera zooms in on her. She’s sitting on the beach alone wearing a flowing cover up staring out to the ocean, her knees drawn to her chest. She looks sad. Lonely, even. I freeze the video and stare at the screen like a stalker.

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 skinny-dipping.”

“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.

“Flynn!” she warns as he takes off running toward the water. She flails around and he splashes as he hits the water, but he doesn’t stop until he’s chest deep. He shifts, adjusting her from over his shoulder, and cradles her into his arms. Scowling, I clench the laptop in my hands so tight my knuckles go white.

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.

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 Flynn at least—and taking every available opportunity to leave the guest house.

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 Flynn arrives, I hang back and watch from the hall doorway as the ladies greet him one at a time. Each fusses over him, making physical contact as they speak, flirting in that way that screams he wouldn’t have to work very hard to be in their bed tonight. Flynn stands there, a sweet smile on his face, but the way he looks at them isn’t a mirror of what they’re feeling.

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?” Flynn yells, his hand at the small of my back, leading me through the crowd to the bar. It’s way more packed than the night I was here with Cooper.

“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 Flynn’s hand and lead him to the packed dance floor. Closing my eyes, I soak in the energy of the crowd and the heavy beat of the steel drum and begin to let my body sway to the music.

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

“That’s it.” Flynn wraps his arm tightly around my waist and takes lead of my body. “Let the music take whatever burden you’ve been carrying for a while.” In the moment, surprisingly, it’s easy to do. The alcohol released some of the tension in my body, and the loud, hypnotizing beat of the drum, coupled with Flynn’s hand leading my movement, allows me to forget everything else. By the end of the third song, I’m more relaxed than I’ve been in days. Even when Jessica cuts in, I’m still feeling no pain.

“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 Flynn dances with the three women surrounding him. He’s having fun, but the more I get to know him, the more I realize he can pretty much turn anything into a good time. The antithesis of Cooper, Flynn is a free spirit—one who goes with the flow and emanates a casualness that sets the people around him at ease. Cooper, on the other hand, makes people sit taller when he walks into the room.

I order another drink to drown the thoughts in my head. A break in the music draws my focus to the stage. Flynn is peeling off his sweat-drenched shirt. The tattoos on his hard-ridged abs glisten, to the delight of the audience. The local women who had been dancing up a storm scream their praise in heavy island accents and catcall whistles. A dimple-baring crooked smile on his face, Flynn shakes his head, enjoying every minute of it, and takes the microphone from the bass player.

He doesn’t bother with an introduction. Instead he begins to sing. Starkly different than the singer on stage just moments ago, his voice is incredibly soulful and seductive. A woman next to me comments to her friend how she’d like to trace his tattoos with her tongue. Staring at the stage, I can totally see the appeal. He’s a ridiculously handsome man with an undeniable youthful charm. And that voice … it’s throaty and sexy and travels straight through me.