We separate reluctantly, him heading back toward the bar, me walking toward my rental. Even as the distance between us grows, my lips still tingle with the memory of his kiss.
He knows how to kiss. I mean, I need to change panties because I just know mine are soaked. He hasn't even touched me like THAT yet.
What is happening to me? I came here to decompress. To read books and drink margaritas and do absolutely nothing productive for seven straight days. I've been on this island for less than twenty-four hours, and I've already kissed a stranger. Some might say I molested a stranger, but it didn't feel like that to me. I don't think it did for Logan either.
I think about my cubicle back home. The beige walls. The way the fluorescent lights make everything look slightly green and hopeless and dying. I mean, it chipped at my soul every minute I spent there.
I booked this trip after calling in sick and realizing I'd rather not feel well than go to work. I'm still twenty-eight, and yet I looked in the mirror and saw someone close to sixty. I felt sixty.
In less than twenty-four hours, I've kissed a stranger who made my knees go weak. I close my eyes and high-five myself.Choosing this break was a gamble. Wish I could say I ran the numbers. Played the odds. But that would be a lie.
As for the job itself, I genuinely like being an accountant. I enjoy numbers because numbers don't lie. But the work environment, the bosses, the cutthroat colleagues—I hate those. I always felt like if I dropped dead one day from exhaustion, they would just move my body to the side and find someone else to take my spot.
And now I'm walking down a beach with the ghost of Logan's kiss and my heart hammering against my ribs.
I feel more alive than I have in months. Or years. It's like waking up one day and seeing the sun shine for the first time.
It's a fling; I know that.
One week.
No strings attached, no expectations beyond right now. I'm allowed to have fun. I'm supposed to have fun. That's the whole point of a vacation, right?
So that's decided then.
I'm going to that party.
Gettingready takes longer than it should, mostly because I keep catching myself grinning at my reflection like an idiot. The polka-dot bikini is perfect—high-waisted bottoms and a halter top that actually supports everything it needs to support. I packed it on impulse because it reminded me of old movie stars, and now it's like I planned this whole thing.
Is this what they mean when they say the universe is sending you a message?
I look good, and I know it. The bikini hugs my curves in all the right places, and my skin already has the faintest hint of color from this afternoon. Just shy of looking like a lobster, but whatever. I twist half my hair up into a messy bun and call it retro.
There's a beat of nervous indecision as I grab my bag and head for the door. I'm going to a party alone where I know exactly one person and his best friend. This is either brave or pathetic, and I'm not sure which.
But Logan will be there. That's enough.
Shore Thingis transformedwhen I arrive. The name still makes me laugh, and it's partly why I went there earlier. I love bad puns. And after meeting Logan, even briefly, I have to say I reckon it's on-brand for him.
String lights crisscross overhead, casting everything in warm golden light. The music is pure 1960s: surf rock mixed with crackly oldies that make you want to dance. My grandpa's fave songs to play on weekends.
People are scattered across the patio in vintage swimwear and high-waisted everything, drinks in hand, laughing over the sound of waves.
The bar is packed and alive, and I scan the crowd looking for Logan's dark hair and broad shoulders.
I don't see him right away, and part of me is terrified I might spot him with someone else, because I'm pretty sure I'm not the first tourist to find him hot.
"You must be Hannah."
I turn toward the voice and find the bartender from earlier—Eli. Up close, he's even more striking. Green eyes, dark blonde hair that looks like he just rolled out of bed, and those full sleeve tattoos.
"And you're Eli. The one who watched Logan make a fool of himself earlier."
"Guilty." He slides a towel over his shoulder and leans against the bar. "Though to be fair, Logan doesn't make it a habit of making a fool of himself. That's why it was fun to watch. Plus, you enjoyed watching him too."
Heat inches up my neck. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Right. And I'm sure that kiss on the beach was just a friendly gesture."