Hot for the Jerk, page 6
I swallowed, suddenly realizing just how suggestive, how inappropriate, and how wrong this all was. Clearing my throat, I rolled away and, like nothing happened, grabbed my laptop and sat back up against the headboard.
“What am I supposed to do with this?” she exclaimed, turning to face me, her voice a little shrill, but in a cute way.
“Bean flick fodder for later?” I gave her a wink, then dragged my laptop back between us and went on the hunt for a movie.
She shook her head and set her phone back on the nightstand, and I definitely pretended not to notice that she didn’t delete it. “Just when I thought there might be hope for us …”
“Hope for us?”
Shut up, McEvoy. Just shut the fuck up.
I kept giving her my stupid, charming smile, because it usually worked on women—just not this woman. This woman, I was used to riling up. I was used to making her glare, and frown, and plot my murder. But I didn’t want to do that right now. At least not the way I normally did. I’d rather rile her up in a different way. Get her skin to flush a deeper pink than it already was. Make her nostrils flare again, her eyes darken, and her tongue flick out and slide along her bottom lip, making it glisten.
“For a truce. At least while we’re stuck here in,” she waved her hand around to encompass the room, “this … place. This … shoebox of a honeymoon suite.” She inched further away from me. “She said this was a queen, right?” Then she snorted. “It sure fucking isn’t a queen. If this is a queen, then I’m a natural blonde.”
The laugh that barked out of me made her jump and glare at me. “Sorry,” I murmured. “I don’t know why I thought that was as funny as my laugh made it seem.”
All she did was glare harder.
“What movie do you want to watch?” I asked, going to Disney. “Frozen?” I snickered at my own joke, which she obviously didn’t find funny. “Ice Age?” Grabbing the rosé from the nightstand, I took a long swig.
“How about the new Matt Damon movie?” she suggested. “He never sucks, and his films rarely do. I mean, Downsizing—which was just weird—still had really good acting. It just wasn’t a great movie.”
I went to Netflix instead and typed in “Matt Damon,” then clicked on his latest release. “I actually agree with you. While I certainly appreciate the message that Downsizing was trying to convey, and the acting was good, I just feel like it missed the mark. Was it trying to be a comedy? A drama? It just couldn’t pick a genre and follow through in a satisfying way.”
Her head bobbed in agreement, and then she reached over and turned off the light on her nightstand, pitching us into the dark—aside from the light of my laptop. We finished our booze, but didn’t opt for more, and while my belly rumbled with hunger, I was done with the nuts. Too salty. I’d just have to have a big breakfast in the morning.
We watched the movie in silence. I’d subtly glance over at her periodically, then feel her subtly glance over at me. Never did we glance at each other at the same time. It happened so often though, it was beginning to feel like a dance. Her lips would move in that way they do when she’s trying to stay mad, or serious, and not smile. I found myself glancing at her more, just to make her mouth do it more.
Eventually, my bladder got impatient, and I got up to go to the bathroom. While in there, I brushed my teeth and poured us each a glass of water.
She glanced at me as I made my way back to the bed, stopping to set her water on the nightstand. “We should both drink some water, otherwise we’ll wake up dead tomorrow.”
Her throat moved on a tight swallow as she squeaked out a surprised little, “Thank you.” Then took a sip.
“I’ll sleep on the floor,” I said, sliding back onto the bed on my side, but not looking at her. “I’ll use fifty or so of those thousand pillows over there, and some of the spare blankets in the closet. I’ll be fine.”
I wouldn’t be fine, but I’d survive. My back would suffer for sure, but that was what Wolfe Unger, the magician chiropractor on San Camanez, was for. He’d crack-a-lack me back into working order in no time. And if I brought him a case of beer, he’d squeeze me in even if he was full for the day.
“Thank you,” she whispered, still staring at the screen.
All I did was nod. Nod, and resume my frequent sideways glances at her, along with the movie, until my eyelids grew too heavy to keep up, and I drifted off to sleep.
So much for sleeping on the floor.
The next morning was unkind in every sense of the word. Not only did it come too soon, but it greeted me with the mother of all hangovers. I hadn’t been in this rough of shape in a long time.
I also woke up on the bed with a glaring and extremely tired-looking Raina staring at me. “I thought you were going to sleep on the floor,” she said, way too fucking loud for my brain.
I winced. “I fell asleep by accident. I’m sorry.”
Groaning, she rolled over onto her back and pressed the heels of her hands into her eye sockets. “Are you dead?”
“Yes.”
“Me too.”
I grunted in acknowledgment.
“Breakfast is served between seven-thirty and nine-thirty. What time is it?”
“You have a phone too,” I said, reaching for my phone from the nightstand anyway. “Oh, fuck.” I meant to spring out of bed like a limber baby gazelle, but it was more of a roll—like a walrus coming out of anesthesia after getting his wisdom tusks removed—and landed on my face on the floor. “It’s nine-fifteen.”
“Seriously?” She had a modicum more pep in her step than I did as she slung her body off the bed and toward the door. “Are you coming?”
“Aren’t you going to get dressed first?”
Glancing down her body, she then gave me a face. “Why? I’m not naked. I don’t care who sees me in my pajamas.”
Nodding, I used the bed to help haul myself up and joined her. “Good point.”
With concrete in every one of my steps, I followed her out of the door and down the hallway with its wainscoted walls, and dark-blue and gold houndstooth wallpaper, then the stairs, where voices and the clink and clatter of utensils sounded more like church bells in my brain.
But once the aroma of fresh coffee and bacon floated up my nostrils, I was no longer considering burning the entire house to the ground.
“Good morning,” Lenora greeted us, coming out of the kitchen through the white swinging door with the diamond-shaped window in the center. She carried a tray heaped with flaky pastries. “I’m pleased to see you’re both still alive.”
“Barely,” I murmured, going to the coffee carafe on the console table along the far wall and pouring myself a cup. Just like the interior of the house—with its shabby-chic, beachy décor—the bowls, mugs, and plates, were all beach-grass-themed stoneware—white and with a spray of tawny seagrass on the sides. I glanced at Raina and grunted to ask if she wanted one too. She nodded, because her mouth was already full of pastry.
I snorted in amusement and poured her a steaming mug of java too. I always took mine black, but I had no idea how Elsa took hers.
There was only one other couple—probably old enough to be my parents—left in the dining room, and they appeared to be just finishing up.
Even though there were plenty of empty seats, I took the vacant one next to Raina. “I wasn’t sure what you took in your coffee,” I said, smirking when a big glob of red jelly fell out of her pastry and onto her plate as she took an unladylike bite.
“Just cream or milk, if they have it.”
Nodding, and taking her mug back to the shabby-chic painted console table, I added a splash of cream before bringing it back to her. Her plate was now loaded with bacon, cheese, avocado, and a fried egg on an English muffin. I had to admit, that looked pretty fucking perfect for my starving, hungover ass. So I went to work fixing myself the same thing.
“It’s really pretty in here,” Raina said, sipping her coffee. “I like all the blue and green stained glass in the windows. And the art is lovely too.”
Chewing my first bite of my amazing sandwich, I scanned the dining room, which seamlessly bled into a sitting room. There were French doors open that indicated the two rooms could easily be separated if needed. The space was nicely decorated, if not a little cluttered. Even the vintage furniture—like the overstuffed chair in the corner by the woodstove—with velvet upholstery, was in either tans or blues. Everything else was in shades of white, blue, beige, tan, or butter-yellow—like the throw pillows. Lenora was clearly leaning into the beach house theme, as all the art—which appeared to be original acrylic on canvas—was ocean or beach inspired.
Speaking of our host, the petite woman with white hair and no patience for Raina’s and my feud came to stand across from us at the table. “Will you two be needing to book another night?”
Raina instantly shook her head. “No, no,” she said, shoving food into her cheek. “I don’t think so.”
Lenora’s eyes and the tilt of her head said she didn’t think Raina should be making the decision so hastily.
Without saying anything, I stood up and went to the window to peer outside. The trees around the house danced like nobody was watching. They wouldn’t be making repairs to the terminal today, and I’d be very surprised if the harbormasters on San Camanez or Wayman allowed boats to go out.
I turned back to face Raina and Lenora. “I don’t think boats are going to be going out in this today.”
Raina’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
Lenora was nodding. “Harbormaster Ivan has already said it’s too dangerous for any boats to leave the marina from Wayman. He declared it this morning. And I haven’t heard anything about the terminal on San Camanez being repaired.”
Surging to her feet, Raina joined me at the window. “This is nothing. What do you mean no boats are allowed to leave the marina? I have to get home. I have to get back to my son. I can’t stay here another night. This isn’t right.”
Lenora’s attempt at an expression of sympathy was humorous. It mirrored what I felt inside. We all chose to live on islands. For the most part, it was great. Except during the stormy season when sailings got canceled and harbormasters declared marinas closed. Yeah, it was inconvenient, but it wasn’t like they did it just to piss people off. It was to keep people safe.
“Yes, we’d like to stay another night, please, Lenora,” I said, leaving Raina at the window and taking my seat again. I’d finished my sandwich and since there was still a bunch of fixings on the platter in front of me, and I was nowhere near full, I decided to make two more sandwiches. “If you have a second room available, that would be great though.”
Lenora’s pale-blue eyes turned sad behind her purple-rimmed cat eye glasses. “All we have is the honeymoon suite, which you’re in right now. Everything else is booked, I’m afraid.”
Raina made a noise of irritation as she stomped her way back to sit beside me. “I’m going to go see if I can find another place to stay then. Or maybe somebody I can bribe to take me back to San Camanez on their boat.” She said that last bit under her breath.
“I would appreciate another night, Lenora,” I said, ignoring the pounding in my head. “Please just bill me for the second night.”
Lenora nodded and scurried off back into the kitchen.
“You’re not going to find anybody willing to risk their life to ferry you over to San Camanez,” I said, spotting the jam behind the bowl of fruit and grabbing it. Yes, I’d already made myself two savory sandwiches, but the croissant with chocolate drizzle called my name. I slathered on the raspberry jam and took a bite, humming in delight.
“We’ll see about that,” Raina said, taking a rather savage bite of her sandwich. She shook her head and turned to me. “Do you have a tapeworm or something?”
Chewing, I ignored her and took a sip of my coffee, letting the vanilla notes of the medium roast mix with the chocolate and raspberry in my mouth. “You’re a very cranky person in the morning,” I noted.
“And you’re just as annoying in the morning as you are the rest of the day.”
Lenora came back into the dining room with a fresh pot of coffee, and I pivoted in my seat to face her. “Lenora, my love?”
Instantly, the little woman with curly, white hair blushed as she paused, waiting for my question.
“Would I be able to do some laundry today? I only packed enough clothes for the one night I spent in Seattle. And yesterday’s clothes are pretty damp. I’m happy to pay.”
“We have a laundry service here,” she said with a sweet smile. “I’ll bring a basket up to your room. Just place whatever you’d like washed into the hamper outside your door, then I’ll have it all washed and ready for you by supper.”
“You’re a peach, Lenora.” I winked at her, which just made her blush even deeper before she shuffled back into the kitchen.
“Do you just flirt with everyone? With anything?” Raina asked, sipping her coffee. “If it’s warm, and gullible, you’ll try to get into its pants. Be it a woman, a duck, or a radiator?”
“What duck wears pants?” I asked. “Not Daisy. Not Donald. Not even Daffy. And I would never fuck a radiator, not even one that filled out a pair of Lululemon tights nicely.” I finished my croissant, then picked up my second sandwich and tore into it, growling as I did so and keeping eye contact with the antagonistic woman to my right.
“God, I hope there’s somewhere else on the island with a vacancy,” she murmured, finishing her sandwich and standing up to take her plate to the dish tub on the shelf beneath the center console table.
“You and me both,” I said, unable to resist watching her walk away as she headed upstairs, tripping on the transition between the sitting room and hallway and nearly eating it, but saving herself at the last minute. I smothered my chuckle in my sandwich, but she must have heard me, because she spun around as she held onto the wall and righted herself, a murderous glare in her eyes.
Hopefully, some fool on the island took pity on her and gave her a cot, or a manger, or something to sleep in. Because she sure as hell wouldn’t be bunking with me again tonight.
I took my time finishing my breakfast. My headache was more or less gone, now that I had some caffeine and food in my system, and while I still didn’t feel like I could run a marathon, I was no longer knocking on death’s door either.
I figured that if I took my time getting back to the room, Raina would be all packed up and ready to check out by the time I did.
Not quite.
The laundry basket sat in front of the door, so I brought it into the room with me, only to find Raina on the phone. She wore an exasperated look—and she was still in her pajamas. “What do you mean?” she asked the person on the other end. “Yes, I know what ‘no vacancy’ means, but … no, I am aware of that. Yes … I’m just asking if the family who is renting two rooms would consider just renting one so I could have the other. I’m happy to pay more … hello? Hello?”
I snorted as I stalked to my duffel bag and dug out my dirty clothes, loading them into the hamper. I went to the bathroom next and the stuff from last night’s deluge on the ferry hadn’t even begun to dry where I’d hung it up in the shower. That went into the hamper too.
“Hello, yes, my name is Raina Aaronson. I am one of the owners of Westhaven Winery on San Camanez, and I’m wondering if you have any vacancy? I’m happy to sweeten the deal with a year’s supply of wine. A case a month? Two cases a month? No? You don’t have anything? Not even a couch in the lobby?”
Back in the bedroom, I located the dark-gray sweatpants I packed as just-in-case pants, and carted those into the bathroom, where I quickly changed. Unfortunately, I didn’t have any extra socks, which was not like me at all. Normally, I had extra socks packed; I had extra everything packed. Joining her back in the room, she seemed more frustrated and defeated than ever.
“No luck, Elsa?” I asked, plopping my duffel bag on the bed to give it another thorough look-through. There had to be socks in there.
Raina cast me another homicidal glare.
“Well, the ferry was full. And every person on there got rerouted to Wayman. Every person is stuck here for a second day. And no vessels are leaving the island, so nobody can leave. Not previous guests of accommodations. Not us.” I shrugged. “I need to go buy socks. Wanna go check out the town center?”
“You find this hilarious, don’t you?” she said, almost on the verge of tears. “It’s not like you have a kid at home waiting for you or anything. This is just one big joke, right?”
“Just because I’m not a parent doesn’t mean this isn’t massively inconvenient for me. I’ve been the extra parent to my nieces and nephews for over five years. I would kill and die for all of them, and me not being home right now is probably fucking things up because I do a hell of a lot of babysitting.” I shrugged. “Or maybe it’s not. I don’t know. What I do know, is that there’s no sense dwelling on it. We’re not leaving the island. It’s not safe to leave the island. At least we have a place to stay. And I need socks.”
Her glare softened … minimally.
“I’m asking you if you’d like to go with me into town. Or whatever semblance there is of a town on this tiny-ass island. I’m sure I’ll be able to find socks somewhere.”
“I don’t have any clean or dry clothes,” she said, swallowing hard, which did a bang-up job pulling on my heartstrings and making me feel sorry for her.
“Then wear your pajamas,” I said with a shrug. “I don’t think anybody will care. And if they do … fuck ’em.”
She blinked at me a few times. “We are going to need food for lunch and dinner, I suppose.”
“We?” I asked. “I seem to remember you telling Lenora you were checking out. I’m paying for tonight because I’m the only occupant in this room. Gonna consummate this honeymoon suite with my hand.”
