Sweet Cheeks (16 page)

“Why?” His eyes ask the rest of the loaded question:
why did I put up with Mitch’s behavior?

The sad truth is, I hadn’t even realized I had. And I’m embarrassed to admit how insignificant I felt on a daily basis. So I keep quiet in this awkward silence between us and hope he’ll let it go for now. Pretend that he doesn’t see what I assume is humiliation in my eyes over allowing myself to be constantly devalued.

We both startle when the doorbell rings announcing what I assume is the arrival of my luggage. Grateful for the interruption, I move to the door without a word but know he’s going to want an answer at some point.

And hopefully I’ll have enough courage to tell him what I now know to be the truth.

Because he wasn’t you.

“D
on’t call me again, Jenna. I’ve already done my part. Do yours.”

“But Hayes . . . I’m . . . I’m struggling and really need you here right now,” she pleads.

So says the actress
. The queen of melodramatics. The attention whore.

I grit my teeth and don’t buy into the lie this time. “No. You don’t. You’re perfectly fine without me.”

“But Hayes—”

“No,
but Hayes
, Jenna. You’ve texted me at least thirty times in the last few hours. I’m on vacation. This is my time. Not yours. Not the studio’s. Any problems you’re having, you’ve created yourself. So deal with them. I’ve gotta go. My cell will be off the rest of the trip.”

I hang up my phone and clench my fists. I hate this nightmare I’m in but am so very thankful for the reprieve. For Saylor and a chance at temporary normalcy instead of the crazy of my life.

Why the hell did I ever agree to go along with Jenna’s shit?

I have no intention of turning my phone off but when a new text alerts—yet another from Jenna—I put it on Do Not Disturb. Shoving it in my pocket, I figure it’s time to get out of here for a while and explore. But when I come to the doorway of Saylor’s room, I stop. Just stop and watch her unpack her things. Efficient in her movements, she never breaks from folding her clothes to look out the window where the breeze blows in to admire the crystal clear water. She’s all business.

Everything about her trip here is. And yet I know from Ryder she’s been working nonstop to make the bakery a success. Starting her life from scratch after being with
the prick
for six years took courage. And then to realize her friends found the Layton’s clout and money more alluring than her friendship? That had to have been brutal.

And lonely.

How could they just drop her like that? Cut her out of their lives and forgo her friendship?

Fuck.
Pot? Meet kettle
.

The parallels between Saylor and me, and the fallout between her and Mitch, are getting a bit ridiculous now. Nothing like making me feel like I’m more of an asshole with each and every similarity that comes to light.

But that’s why I’m here. To redeem myself. To heal old wounds.

And it’s all of these revelations that confirm how hard it must have been for her to call me—the guy who hurt her just as badly—and take me up on my offer to help.

She tucks some hair behind her ear and then tightens the sash on her robe. Those legs-for-days beg me to take a long look at them.
And damn
. They’re definitely worth a second look.

It’s like I know her but don’t. It’s a fucked-up feeling for a man not used to caring at all. Not needing to.

She continues her methodical movements. Unpack. Unfold. Refold. Place in the drawer.

What happened to the spitfire personality? The screw-you attitude? The girl who didn’t care who was watching or what they thought? Is it because of that fucker? Did Layton steal that from her? Is that what her silence was telling me earlier when she told me he wasn’t worth it? Why would he tame the fearless side that made her who she was?

Time to make her cut loose, and get the girl back I used to know with the wicked smile and wild eyes.

Her phone rings. It startles both of us but her back’s still to me. “Dee, what’s up?” She pauses refolding a T-shirt. “Again? Seriously? Christ. Call the same place we used before. See if he can get the temperature to steady so you can manage until I get back. Then I’ll figure something out . . . Yeah. Thanks. I appreciate you taking care of it for me.”

She tosses her phone on the bed and sighs out loud.

“Five-minute warning.”

She yelps and spins around. Her hand goes immediately to the opening of her robe on her chest, while her eyes—blue and wide—lower momentarily. Every woman loves the V. Thank fuck working out is part of my job for most roles because mine’s definitely defined.

And she sure as shit just noticed.

“Five-minute warning?”

“Yep.”
Eyes up here, Ships
.
Then again, feel free to look away
. “That’s how much time you have to get ready before we leave.”

Her lips shock into an O. My mind fills with images I shouldn’t have. Of what can slip between them. And it doesn’t help when I glance down to see her nipples tight against the thin material of the robe.

“What do you mean?”

Eyes up, Whitley.

I hold my hand out to her. “First, I’m taking your phone away. And then we’re going exploring.”

“You want my phone?”

Among other things
. If a robe is having this effect on me, causing me to want things I can’t have, then . . .

“Yep. Mine’s gone off what feels like a hundred times already and is driving me up a wall, and by the sound of your call, yours is stressing you out, too. So I think we need to turn our phones off and unplug this weekend.”

“Unplug? You’re serious, aren’t you?”

A flash of her legs as she shifts her feet and her robe parts.

“As a heart attack.” I look down to my outstretched hand and then back up to her eyes. “We’re in paradise, Ships.” One side of her lips curls up and I know I’m winning her over. “Send a text to Ryder or whoever that was and let them know your cell is off so no one worries that you’ve been abducted by Uptight Ursula. Then turn it off and hand it over. I’ll do mine at the same time.”

She eyes me again. “Okay. Deal.”

I nod and we both pick up our phones, fire off texts, and then she hands hers to me when it’s shut down.

“Are you happy?” She lifts her eyebrows like she’s annoyed but I can tell she likes this idea.

“
Very
. Now that that’s out of the way, it’s time to explore. Go check out the island and then have some fun here.” Her eyes look panicked from the suggestion.
Fuck
.

“I figured you’d want to avoid attention. Hang out here so you’d have some peace and quiet and enjoy your anonymity.”

Nice try, Ships, but that won’t fly this weekend.

“I learned years ago that attention is something I can’t control. We’re on a tropical island, Saylor. In the middle of the ocean. There’s sand, sea, and fun to be had. Besides, getting out and about is the best way to make it known we’ve arrived. I assure you on this little island, word travels fast.”

She bites her bottom lip and sits down on the bed. She really did think we were just going to sit here. And even though that’s what I had every intention of doing tonight, there’s no way we’re doing that now. Plans change. And I’m determined to get Saylor back.
My old Saylor back
.

It’s time to go have some fun and find her.

Right when she’s about to speak, to disagree, to reject, I look at my watch and then back up to those aqua blues of hers.

“You’re wasting time. The clock’s ticking.”

“I
sn’t your new flame going to be pissed at you for taking off to a tropical island and leaving her at home?” I avoid glancing over to Hayes although every part of me wants to see his reaction to my question.

I’ve seen the tabloids. The field day they’ve had with him over the past few months. Know his high-profile relationship with Jenna Dixon is over. That supposedly he cheated on her and she’s since gone into hiding to cope. Their fairy-tale relationship ended.

The press has played it all out. The rumors have been printed and reprinted each time with a new spin to them. Speculations over who he cheated with cover the gamut of anyone he comes in contact with. And yet he’s remained silent the whole time.

Does that mean they’ll target me, too?

I shake away the thought. We’re just friends. Friends on a tiny island in the Atlantic Ocean at an all-inclusive resort. There’s no way anyone would even care about me anyway. I’m nobody in the Hollywood circle of need-to-know.

I don’t even remotely resemble the women he’s been associated with, past and present, who have been floated about as possibilities. Besides, the most recent rumors state he’s dating Tessa Gravestone—his gorgeous and completely temperamental (if I believe the tabloids) costar. I’m curious if it’s true, and if so, what does she think about him being here?

He chuckles and yet the sound is lacking any amusement.

“Obviously you haven’t been reading tabloids lately or else you’d know I don’t have a girlfriend, Saylor.” Tone steadfast. Voice without hesitation.

I risk a look to where he sits beside me, back against the seawall, bare feet in the sand, and am met with a lift of his eyebrows. A nonverbal, just ask what you want to ask, expression on his face.

I snort at his response. He flashes a quick grin for some reason, and I just shake my head. “Aren’t you dating,
whatshername
though?”

“Considering you don’t know what her name is, then no, I’m not dating her.”

“That’s a cop-out answer if I’ve ever heard one.” And I do know her name . . . just don’t want to let him know that I follow his life in skewed tabloid ink.

He shifts to turn and look at me. Eyes intense, head angled to the side, irritation obviously awakened. “Really?” he says dryly. “Considering the coals I’ve been raked over lately regarding Jenna and the accusations made about my character, I’d think saying I don’t have a girlfriend is a logical answer.” His expression is severe, lips tight as he waits for me to respond. There must be something in my countenance that questions him because he shifts and purses his lips. Starts to talk. Then stops. Starts again. “Go ahead and ask the question, Saylor. Ask me or believe
them
. Your choice.”