If I didn’t like dick so much, I would give them all up.
Who the hell knocks up their fiancée’s best friend?
Who the hell fucks their best friend’s fiancé?
Where’s the girl code?
Honestly, Chloe is holding up pretty well for just doing a Julia Roberts and becoming the runaway bride. Her fiancé, Walker Randoff, will be losing his mind over her disappearing, mainly because his ego just got a big fuck you to the face.
You see, Walker is one of those precious species known as a professional football player, a legend on the field. To all those who worship the ground he walks on because he can kick and catch a ball—or something like that as I don’t follow sports—he’s a man who no one says no to. Not even his gorgeous fiancée’s soul-sucking best friend. I never liked Tracey. There was something always off about her, like Single White Female off. But Chloe loved her, and because of that, I tolerated her.
“Drink up, bitches, we are going to have the time of our lives.” Raising my glass of champagne as we hightail it to a tropical island a million miles away from the bullshit of Chloe’s non-event wedding.
My friends lift their champagne glasses and give me a weak-ass whoop. Looking around at the solemn faces, they’re all acting as if someone has died. We should be celebrating Chloe’s close call to marrying that dick cheese.
“Come on, guys. We are headed to a tropical paradise. We are going to have sun, sand, cocktails, and hot half-naked men.”
Ariana glares at me as I try to hype them up. Why shouldn’t Chloe jump straight back on the horse—hot guy on a tropical island with no-strings-attached hot sex to make her forget about Walker?
I know I can be a bit much for people, always have been. I’m naturally energetic. It’s the high school cheerleader in me staying long past school spirit week has gone. “Fuck him, Chlo.” Looking over at my dearest friend, I say, “You shouldn’t waste any more tears on that man because he sure as hell didn’t care when he rode your best friend bareback and knocked her up.”
“Emma,” Ariana hisses at me for being so crass.
I throw back my glass of champagne and sit back down again. Chloe’s gorgeous brother, EJ, the hottest celebrity chef in America at the moment, organized for a private plane for us to join Chloe on her honeymoon.
“She’s right.” Chloe looks up at me, her eyes are puffy and red from all the crying she’s been doing. She looks like shit, but thankfully, I have the best makeup in my bag to get her glowing again. “He doesn’t deserve my tears.”
“You can cry if you want, it’s absolutely normal,” Stella, her brother’s assistant and the last to enter our squad, tells her. She’s adorable, but also naïve as fuck.
Ariana sends me daggers.
“I’m not uncaring…” I speak up. “I just…” letting out a heavy sigh, “… you didn’t deserve any of this. And, in all honesty, I don’t think Walker is laying in his bed crying over losing you.”
“Emma, stop being a bitch,” Ariana yells at me.
“It’s okay, Ari.” Chloe places a reassuring hand on Ariana’s knee. “Ems is right. Walker wouldn’t be at home crying over the failure of our almost wedding. I mean, he would be crying, but over the money he’s losing in endorsements, the lost revenue from selling the exclusive photos of our wedding, and probably even the hate he might be getting on social media.” A single tear falls down Chloe’s cheek. “I doubt he’s worried about me.”
“I’m sure he is,” Stella tries to reassure her. Ever the optimist, that girl.
“I’m going to cry my eyes out for the next…” Chloe looks at the screen beside her, “… hour. Because once we step foot on that island, I want to forget all about what has happened.”
“You sure?” Ariana double-checks with Chloe before shooting me another round of daggers.
“Yes. I’m taking this week for myself because I know once I step foot back in the States, all the shit that’s happened is going to hit me right in the face.”
She’s right, I’ve been monitoring social media, and she has no idea how bad everything is. She’s blocked them all for her sanity, and that was a good idea. I can see Walker the fucking little weasel manipulating the media, making Walker look like the victim in this whole wedding fiasco scenario. Still, we need to get Chloe stronger before she deals with the insane media attention that will be coming her way.
Eventually, after lots of tears and a couple of extra bottles of champagne, we finally arrive. The doors open on the jet, and we step out into the glorious sunshine.
Yes, suck in that Vitamin D, girl.
There’s a limousine waiting for us as we descend the stairs, looking like some sort of girl band.
“Selfie, time,” I yell, stopping at the bottom of the stairs.
“I look like crap, Ems,” Chloe moans.
“Put your glasses on, pose, and show Walker you’re living your best life.”
She does as she is told, and I take the photo. Let’s be honest, my arms are the longest. I used to be called ‘Giraffe Girl’ in school because my body decided to have a growth spurt years before anyone else.
It doesn’t take us long before we arrive at the tropical resort, our limousine pulling up at the entry, and the staff is quick to have our doors open before we even have a chance to think.
“Welcome to the Stone Resort.” The gorgeous young man welcomes us to the hotel as we make our way through the front door toward reception.
We changed Chloe’s honeymoon arrangements from somewhere she didn’t want to go to somewhere she actually wanted to go. I called my friend Elise Parker, who’s killing it in Hollywood at the moment. I vaguely remember her saying something about her brother invested in some boutique resorts. It’s hard to remember because when we’re together, we go a little crazy. She said, ‘leave it with her,’ and here we are at the most gorgeous place on the planet—five gold stars to me.
“Welcome, ladies, to the Stone Resort,” the front desk attendant greets us. “Please help yourself to a welcome cocktail.”
Oh, I most certainly will. Oooh, fruity, I think when taking a sip.
“We have you all set up in our bungalow suites, which are situated on the hotel’s rainforest side, only a couple of steps away from the beach.” We look around at each other and smile. “There are a couple of golf buggies waiting for you outside.” The attendant points to the other side of reception, out through the glass doors, where men dressed in all white are waiting for us with our bags. “We hope you enjoy your stay.” The attendant smiles before waving us on.
“This is exciting,” Stella squeals.
“I’m already feeling one hundred percent better.” Chloe grins, sipping on her cocktail.
“Good find, Ems,” Ariana praises.
“Welcome, ladies, we will be taking you to your rooms. Please, hop in,” the gorgeous male specimen dressed in tight white tells us. Thankfully, he’s sitting in the buggy with my bags. This is going to be a great start to my vacation. Jumping in right beside him in the front of his golf buggy, his molten chocolate eyes roam over me as I slide in, the split in my skirt giving him a good look at my legs.
“So…” looking at his name tag, “… Jacque.” Then looking back up at him, he gives me some sweet side-eye as we make our way through the rainforest. “You single?”
He lets out a nervous laugh. “Yes, miss.”
“How deserted do the beaches get?” I ask as more greenery goes by.
“With the resort being boutique, and limiting the number of guests staying on the island, the chances of running into anyone on the beach are slim.”
“Good to know.” Licking my lips, I then say, “I hate tan lines.” I watch as Jacque swallows nervously. Thankfully, my other girlfriends are in the buggy behind me and can’t see this blatant flirt fest. I can just imagine their groans at my forwardness. They really should be used to it by now.
“There are a couple of secluded locations on the island where you can sunbathe undisturbed. I’d happily show you if you like?” I’m sure he would like to show me, and I would most certainly be okay with that, but before I can press him further, we are arriving at the bungalow.
“Your girlfriends are scattered along the beachfront. They are close, but because of the thick foliage, they cannot see you.” Jacque pushes open the door for me to slide out.
Letting my arm brush his hard chest as I step into my bungalow, I know I’m bad. Jacque comes back and steps inside with my luggage. “Where would you like me?” His question catches me off guard as he holds up my two bags in his hands. There is a smirk on his face that tells me he meant to say it exactly that way.
“By the bed would be great.” My eyes narrow on him, pointing to the closest one. He bends over, and my attention is pulled to his tight ass stretched across the white cotton of his pants. Damn, they look like they’re made of steel.
Once he’s finished placing the bags down, the attendant turns and stops beside my bed, waiting for my next command. “Is there anything else you would like from me?” His words are dripping with innuendo, so I raise a curious brow in his direction while tapping a nail to my lip as I look him over.
“Let me think.” Sexual tension swirls around the room. “What am I allowed to have?” I take a couple of steps toward him.
“Anything,” he answers almost breathlessly.
“I only have twenty minutes before I need to be changed and ready for cocktails with my girlfriends. Do you think anything would be quick?”
Jacque nods his head but doesn’t move.
I can see he’s a little unsure of the situation, wondering if this is actually happening. I take a couple of steps toward him, but he doesn’t move a muscle.
“I’m probably not the first guest to hit on you, am I, Jacque?” He shakes his head. “You’re a handsome guy, and I bet there would be a lot of cougars interested in you.” Running my nail down his hard chest, I continue, “Have you taken any up on their offers before?”
“A couple.” He smirks.
Good, it’s not his first rodeo, then.
“Am I making you feel uncomfortable, Jacque?” He indicates no by the shake of his head. “You’d tell if me I was, wouldn’t you?”
“Miss Banks,” Jacque addresses me. “My job is to make your stay the best it can be.” I’m pretty sure what I want to do to him is not in his job description. “You are a stunning woman.” I smile at his compliment. “If you have a need, I am pleased to fulfill it.” His voice is calm, his words are to the point that we are both on the same wavelength.
His chocolate eyes widen as he goes to reach for me.
“But…” Halting him, I place my hand on his chest. “I forgot to mention one thing… you do as I say. I’m in control of this.” Waving my hand between us, he nods his head eagerly.
Unzipping my skirt, I let it fall to the floor, so I’m standing there in my heels, G-string, and crop top. Life as a former model has me feeling very comfortable in my own skin. Jacque’s eyes widen in appreciation. “No touching unless I tell you to.” I raise a brow in his direction.
“Once I am off the island, then you may tell your friends about what’s happened.” Waving my finger between us, I ask, “Agreed?”
“Yes, miss.” The strain in his voice is palpable.
“If I am with someone else during my stay on the island, do not be offended.”
“No, miss.” Shaking his head from side to side, he smirks.
“I have less than ten minutes. So, if you don’t mind getting on your knees, that would be great.”
He does as he is told—such a good boy.
Walking toward him, I place my hands on his shoulders and stand over his face. “You may now touch.”
Jacque’s mouth disappears between my thighs, his tongue instantly moving to the barely-there scrap of material and swipes against me, making me fall forward. My hands sink into the mattress of my bed. Stronger fingers dig into my ass.