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Kara graces him with another look, this one even more withering than the last. “Yes, we can agree about that, Dax,” she says.
Dax struggles to compute her words with her expression. “Great,” he says finally. “So we’re good?”
Kara tosses her phone to the side, stands, and says, “No, Dax. We’re not ‘good’. And if you want my advice, I’d get the fuck off this island and back to Boston before I punt your ass there.”
Dax’s smile falls off his face with a wet plop. For the first time, he’s realizing this isn’t going to go his way. And that there are a lot of witnesses to his humiliation.
“I don’t know why you’re being such a bitch,” he says. “I told you. It didn’t mean anything.”
“And you didn’t mean anything to me,” she says. “Hope you find a less bitchy girl who’ll put up with your shit in the future. Or, actually, no I don’t. It’d be bad karma to wish you on any poor girl out there.”
“Look,” Dax says, stepping forward. I move to stand, but, as always, Dalton beats me to the punch.
“She wants you to leave, man,” Dalton says, standing in front of Kara in a single long stride.
Dax scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Dude, you’re too corny. Get the fuck out of the way, Friend Zone, before I move you out of the way.”
“I’d like to see you fucking try.”
On a better day, Dax probably would realize he can only lose in this situation. But on the spot, stinging from a humiliating rejection and probably already at least a couple beers in, his judgment is irrevocably skewed. What happens next seems inevitable.
Dax turns away slightly, chuckling, looking as if he might make a retreat. And then his eyes flash, turning back with a fist raised and streaking towards Dalton’s chin.
Tori shrieks. Evie jumps to her feet. I start to dash forward.
But it’s all too late and pointless anyhow. Dalton leans backward like a boxer and the punch whiffs past his face. Thrown off balance, Dax stumbles forward… right into Dalton’s fist. The spot where the kid punched me earlier smarts sympathetically as Dax is thrown to the sand, a long fall for the basketball player.
It’s over in a few seconds, time slowing and then racing forward again. Before I can fling myself into the mix, resort security beats me to the metaphorical punch. They must have been on the sidelines, unnoticed professionals on a rowdy island, because they seem to know that Dax was the instigator. They drag him off to hoots and hollers from the Krew and we’re able to return to enjoying the evening, Dalton the hero of the night.
I hadn’t wanted to leave New York, had dreaded it even. Who was I without my routine, my company? But this trip across the Atlantic has opened my eyes to the man I could be, maybe even already am. One who dances, who wakes up late and goes to bed after dawn, who only has eyes for the beautiful woman laughing across from him.
Evie snatches my attention and holds it close. No matter who I’m speaking to or what else is going on, my eyes can’t help but drift back to hers, looking for her reaction or to test her mood. Frequently, when I glance her way, she’s already looking at me, and I can’t suppress the thrill of excitement that rips up my body at the thought of going home and trying something new.
The evening ends with the sunrise. As the small hours slipped away, more and more of the Krew melted off to bed. The party moved back to Kara’s suite when the beach closed for the night, and now it’s just Kara, Dalton, Evie, and me, watching the sun rise from the hot tub on the balcony. We’ve gone through quite a few bottles of champagne, told just about every funny story we can think of. Now there’s only silence and reflection. Evie is resting against my shoulder; Dalton and Kara aren’t quite touching but have moved closer and closer all evening.
I press my lips to the top of Evie’s head. It feels perfect, a kind of tranquility that I never thought was possible for me. But I’m happy to be proven wrong. And I’ll be even happier once I can get Evie alone back home and tell her exactly how I feel.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
EVIE
And then we’re at the airport, waiting to go home.
There is only one afternoon plane off the island, so not only do I sit surrounded by hungover strangers but also Brent and Cheryl. They sit on opposite sides of the room, glaring daggers at each other and at me. They’ve apparently broken up. A month ago I would have been over the moon. Now I can barely bring myself to care.
My thoughts are consumed by Nick. He’s gone. He’d said he’d go get coffees an hour ago and hasn’t been back since. I think he’s avoiding me. Should I be happy? Would that make our coming separation easier? It’s no use. I can’t logic my way out of this one. Nothing about this is going to be easy.
Paris had been illuminating, exciting, magical. The perfect fairy tale romance in the city of love.
Then Ibiza had taken those beautiful pages and ripped them to shreds. They’d fallen around my feet, words and phrases without context or closure.
My speech to Nick on the plane was supposed to make this part easier. A clean break, back to business as usual. Easy, right? Impossible.
It doesn’t help that Nick is acting like nothing has changed, or I suppose like nothing is going to change. He’d held me against his chest for most of the party last night. I’d fallen asleep in his arms.
I can’t stand sitting here a moment longer, stuck between Brent and Cheryl’s fury and Nick’s continued absence. I walk down the terminal to a gate that’s empty and sit with my back to the window.
It had been too hard to charter a private plane last minute to New York. Instead we’re taking the next flight to London and… Well I suppose I’ll continue back in commercial myself. Or maybe it’d be weirder if we didn’t. After all this is a business trip. If I were just some guy, Nick and I would fly together without thinking twice about it. So is that the better way to act? Like nothing’s happened, business as usual? Or do I give him space?
