And all it cost was a broken heart and a much skinnier savings account.
Damn it. She could feel herself sliding into sadness again. The corners of her mouth tugged down and she ducked her head, hiding her face beside Logan’s shoulder. Get it together, Fletcher.
“None of that,” he said quietly, rolling to face her—and taking her hiding spot away from her at the same time. He touched his fingers to her chin and lifted her face gently until she was looking at him. “If you’re going to get sad again, we’ll need ice cream or alcohol to deal.”
She started to laugh, but it died feebly on her lips.
Logan’s normally steady gray eyes were stormy and dark, and something like anger pulsed in their depths.
Enough whining. And as long as she was looking at Logan, that sadness truly wasn’t there. It was only when she let her second-guessing thoughts intrude. But when he held her gaze like she was truly special, like he genuinely wanted to be here with her…nothing else mattered.
Not even her ex-fiancé.
The realization was a splash of cold water on overheated skin. She jerked back and Logan reached for her, but she was already scrambling to her feet.
“Alcohol or ice cream?” he called as he followed her back up the beach toward the villa.
Both. Definitely both.
Six
Logan took the world’s fastest shower to rinse off the salt water and sand, then towel-dried his hair and pulled on his nicest cargo shorts and a light blue dress shirt over a white tank-top.
From Tori’s room, he could hear a hair dryer.
He paced around the suite’s living room, telling his gut to stop fluttering like it was full of butterflies. This wasn’t a date. He had zero reason to be excited to see her step out of her room. Zero reason to want to escort her to a restaurant, share a pitcher of rum punch, laugh until their sides hurt and then come back to a hotel room together.
Two rooms, dude.
But as he had ever since tenth grade, Logan found himself waiting with the eagerness of a puppy for Tori to appear.
He used to linger in the library when she had debate club prep. He’d never been a big reader, but that sophomore year, he’d discovered the reference books on engines and aircraft. Submarines and scuba-diving.
His unrelenting desire for another half-hour alone with Tori had also ended up being the trigger for his eventual career in the Navy. He’d read while she did her club thing, and then he’d walk her home. They’d take the long way around the park, sometimes stopping at the swings if they were in the middle of a conversation.
If Tori was talking, he could listen for hours.
And when she was watching him, a little smile curling up at the corner of her mouth as he told her about the intricate ins-and-outs of a helicopter he’d just discovered, he felt like he was ten feet tall.
She’d always made him feel like that. Special. Capable. Heroic.
Her door swung open, and she stepped into the small hallway between their bedrooms.
She was looking down at her feet, adjusting the swinging hem of her dark red sundress, so he had a second to drink in his fill of her. Tan skin, dark hair, and those legs…
I love you. The punch in the gut wasn’t anything new. If he were a smarter man, he’d avoid it because it was so fucking predictable it hurt.
But it was all he had of her, so he took it every time without even flinching.
She glanced up and smiled, but it took effort. Damn. She looked tired.
“You sure you want to go out?” He shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching for her.
“Yeah.” Another smile, this one bigger. “I want to make every single second of this vacation count. My new life starts right now.”
“That’s my girl.” He held out his hand and she slid her fingers around his, giving them a little squeeze as she stepped right into his personal space.
“Thank you,” she whispered, pushing up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “You’re the best.”
He was the worst, in fact.
Dinner had been great. There was a well-signed path that ran from the resort to the edge of town, half a mile away, and there they found an awesome bar, right on the ocean, that made a mean rum punch and an awesome, simple grilled fish dinner.
Then there had been dancing. First, Tori danced with a couple of friendly local men, then she’d pulled Logan onto the dance floor.
Thank you, rum punch.
But this was what he’d signed up for—a week of Tori cutting loose in dresses that showed off her legs and bikinis that showed off everything else. A week where he had one job—not to think of those legs wrapped around his waist. Or his head.
Jesus.
He was the absolute worst because he was failing at that so hard.
They were halfway back down the path to the resort. Tori was tugging on his arm, her fingers interlaced through his. Tug. Swing. Giggle.