Page 23 of Our Chaotic Love Affair

“Positive. Go. Get a massage. Relax. I’ve got this.”

Melody squealed with excitement. “Yes! This is going to be so fun. Just us girls.”

We ate, downed more coffee, and headed to our rooms to get ready for the spa day. By the time I came back down, a sleek black car was waiting outside for us.

The drive was beautiful. Winding coastal roads with glimpses of the ocean between expensive homes. Melody and Sylvie chatted excitedly in the back seat while I stared out the window and tried not to think about last night.

I failed spectacularly.

The spa was exactly as luxurious as expected. All natural wood and stone and the sound of trickling water. We checked in, changed into fluffy robes and slippers, and were led to the massage room where three tables waited for us. Soft music pumped through invisible speakers. The smell of mint permeated the area.

“Full body massage,” the serene receptionist told us. “Ninety minutes. Enjoy.”

I climbed onto my table face down. The masseuse was a tiny woman with surprisingly strong hands. She got right to work.

The combination of the hangover, the lack of sleep, and the absolutely magical hands working my tense muscles created the perfect storm. I passed out within five minutes.

I woke up to the sound of the masseuse quietly saying, “All finished. Take your time getting up.”

I blinked groggily, trying to remember where I was. Then I noticed the droplets on the floor beneath the face cradle. Drool. I had actually drooled.

Please tell me I didn’t drool on her feet when she was working on my shoulders.

I sat up slowly, my face burning with embarrassment. Melody was on the next table over. She was grinning at me.

“Rough night?” she asked kindly.

“Something like that,” I managed.

We were led to the relaxation room for cucumber water and the next phase of our spa day. Melody leaned over. “You were snoring.”

“I was not.”

“You absolutely were. It was adorable.”

I groaned and buried my face in my hands.

CHAPTER 9

CASH

The golf course was immaculate. Perfectly manicured greens, ocean views from every hole, a clubhouse that looked more like a mansion than a facility for rich men to hit small balls with sticks. The place required a hefty membership fee. I wasn’t aware we were members until Austin gave our name. Made sense, I supposed.

We’d drawn a small crowd of caddies and club employees who clearly recognized the Bancroft name. They were looking for the big tips.

“So,” Kent said as we approached the first tee. “Are we playing for money, or is this just for pride?”

“Pride,” Austin said immediately. “I don’t need you taking more of my money after that poker game last month.”

“You’re just a sore loser.”

“I’m a consistent loser when playing against you, which suggests cheating.”

Finn laughed, taking a practice swing.

I lined up my shot, blocking out their bickering. The familiar ritual of golf provided a welcome mental reset after last night’s conversation with Cleo. I needed to stop thinking about her. Needed to stop replaying the way she’d looked in the moonlight. Mostly, I needed to stop thinking about the moment in the hallway when I’d almost kissed her.

I was blaming the alcohol.