“I’ll change and meet you at the bar in ten.” And with that, she closed the door on his too-handsome-for-his-own-good face.
Brushing her hands off from a job well done, she started to turn away when she heard him yell, “Why don’t you go ahead and get changed? I’ll meet you at the bar.” She could just barely make out the muffled sound of laughter as he walked away.
…
The Moana Bar sat in the center of the Mau Loa’s pristine beach, less than fifty yards from the ocean. An open square bar in the middle of the sand with stools on all four sides. Like most things in Hawaii, it sported a polished wood structure under a thatched roof with strings of lanterns to act as beacons in the night to thirsty guests. Surrounding that, small tables with umbrellas were scattered in the sand for patrons to sit and eat at or people-watch while they sipped their drinks.
The atmosphere was a fusion of native and tourism: the crescendo of the ocean waves rushing toward the shore, the conversations and laughter of the resort’s patrons, and the raucous antics of the bartenders entertaining with spinning bottles of liquor like scenes from Cocktail.
Jackson stood at the bar, enjoying the Heineken in his hand and the memory of Vanessa’s reaction to the unnecessary act they’d put on for Jilli. A reaction he’d cut short with his declaration of knowing how to treat a woman, and by the look on her face, it had set things spinning in her head she did not want there. Which made it all the more fun.
Of course, that fun was about to come to a screeching halt. Once he plied her with a drink or two, he needed to tell her the truth. They’d talk to the planner, explain the situation, and Vanessa would be free to make the wedding arrangements and be herself for the rest of her stay.
While despising him and avoiding him like the plague.
Jax took a swig of his beer and wanted to kick his own ass. He wouldn’t be in this situation if he’d have just shown up on time like he was supposed to. Then again, if he hadn’t been late he probably wouldn’t have seen the spitfire side of her that intrigued him in the first place, compelling him to spew lies so she couldn’t dismiss and avoid him for the entire week. Of course, this was the most asinine thing he’d done since thinking he could still spar when he forgot his cup. Now he’d be damned if he told her the truth and damned if he didn’t. Fuck.
With all the noise, there was no way he’d be able to hear Vanessa coming, which made it all the more odd when he felt compelled to look over his shoulder the moment she approached the table area.
Winding her way through the erratic seating arrangement, she swung her hips to avoid chairs in her path. Either that, or to make every man in a fifty-yard radius forget his point mid-sentence.
Emerald scraps of cloth clung to her breasts with nothing but a gold ring nestled in her cleavage to hold the sides together. The purpose of the white netted skirt tied low around her hips was a mystery. Although it hid the general design and cut of her bottoms, it slashed diagonally to the mid-thigh of her left leg, leaving the creamy expanse of her right leg prominently on display.
As she approached the bar, Jackson assessed her over the top of his mirrored shades and let out a soft whistle. “You vacationing or entering the swimsuit competition in the Miss America pageant?”
Sliding onto the stool next to where he stood, she began, “You see, Jackson—”
“My friends call me Jax.”
Vanessa pushed her tortoise shell sunglasses up on her head and regarded him with a twinkle in her green eyes. “Ah, like those annoying pointy little things for kids that always seem to be underfoot.” She nodded as though all the world’s mysteries suddenly made sense. “I so get that.”
Damn, he liked her spunk. “I’ll just bet you do,” he said, giving her a huge smile he didn’t have to fake.
“As I was saying, Jackson,” she emphasized with a saccharin-sweet grin, “a girl should always look her best. She never knows when she might meet a handsome stranger at a beach bar who can rescue her from her lunch date.”
“Drink date.”
She waved her hand dismissively. “Semantics.”
Gesturing for the bartender, she ordered herself a Blue Hawaiian, or as she called it, “That big blue thingy I keep seeing.” How adorably tourist.
“Unfortunately, you can’t get rid of me. How would it look if Lucie left Reid to cavort around the island with another man the week of her wedding?” He didn’t bother mentioning he planned on leaving her after they shared their drinks and he came clean about his impulsive fibbing streak.
“Sadly, you’re right. But next week, while Reid and Lucie are enjoying their honeymoon on a Mediterranean cruise, I’ll still be here and incredibly available.”