Promise Not To Fall Read online

  Oh, God, is he. I want to say that, but don’t. I want to keep those thoughts to myself.

  Just the mention of the night sends a chill of excitement over me, and I’m reminded of the entire evening. His hold, his kiss, his smile, and then I’m daydreaming. The entire night comes back to me in flashes starting with that smile and the way he said, “What’s your pleasure?”

  Him doing the tequila shots and the kiss on the beach. The way his hips pressed me against the door outside my room. Apparently, it’s all more than my mind can handle because I have to stop to take a much needed breath.

  “Hey, where’d you go?” Rylee asks, waving her hand in front of my face when I don’t answer.

  “Heaven,” I sigh, feeling like I’m swimming through a haze of emotions.

  “So… was he good?”

  I grin, batting my eyelashes. “A lady never tells.”

  Opening the big glass doors to the hotel spa, Rylee laughs. “Well, it’s a good thing you’re not one.”

  “True. There are literally no words for how good he was.”

  The night is definitely one I will never forget.

  Something else I will never forget: that spa. It’s in a class of elegance I’ve never seen before. Deep, rich walls meet marble floors, giving you a sense of exotic tropical luxury.

  Rylee and I, we indulge in the full experience—massages, facials, body wraps, getting our hair done, and then our nails. It’s like we’re preparing for a night at the Oscars. I don’t think I’ve ever been more pampered in my life. The massage though, fuck that hurts like hell. And the tiny little woman giving me my massage, she notices the bruises on my hips and arms. Apparently, Jake’s hold was a little more than I had thought. I have bruises all over my body. It’s crazy. I have them around my neck and thighs as well. He really did give it to me, didn’t he?

  “What happened to you, honey?” Her accent is thick, so maybe she doesn’t say exactly that, but I think that’s what she said.

  Lifting my head, I smile. “Only the best fucking night ever.”

  Rylee bursts out laughing at me, as does my little masseuse.

  They don’t stop me from reliving those memories though. No one can stop this high. It’s like he drugged me last night. And that drug isn’t wearing off anytime soon. They say some drugs you get addicted to after the first hit… Well, Jake is my drug of choice, and after my first “hit” from him, I can bet my black and blue ass I’m going back for round two tonight.

  Any time I’ve ever been pampered, I feel the need to go out afterward. I have the same feeling after I go through the car wash. I drive around town showing off my shiny baby while avoiding any pothole and the occasional rogue sprinkler spraying on the street. But, as luck always has it living in Phoenix, the moment you pull in to your driveway, a fucking dust storm will roll through.

  That’s beside the point. Now that I’m all sparkly and clean, I’m sure you can guess where I’m going.

  Later that afternoon, Rylee finds Wesley in the casino. They make plans to go sit by the beach, and while that sounds fine, Island Boy’s drinks are calling my name. Or maybe his dick, but whatever.

  There’s something thrilling and new about the way he makes my insides all fluttery and excited. I know—well, I have an idea—I’m not the first city girl to feel this way about him, but it doesn’t matter, and I refuse to let it deter my plans for round two.

  After changing out of my yoga pants, I put on a pair of jean shorts and a loose-fitting light pink tank top with a pair of flip-flops, and head back up the beach. The walk seems shorter than last night—maybe that’s because I practically sprint toward the bar.

  When I spot the familiar deck and signs scattering the entrance, the place looks different.

  I justify returning with the excuse that Jake didn’t charge me enough on my bar tab last night. When I glanced at the receipt this morning, he’d only charged me for two drinks. I had so many I lost count. At something like $12 a piece, I was expecting a bar tab in the hundreds and only got one for $34. Something was wrong.

  That’s my ruse for returning.

  I want to pretend I’m going in there for a reason and not in search of island dick.

  Trying to look less obvious, I retrieve the receipt from my purse and have it ready should I need to defend myself.

  For a Monday afternoon, the bar is packed and blaring with what sounds like a mix of the same music I’d heard last night: rock and hip-hop. Holding my receipt like a lifeline, I find the only open seat at the bar.

  At first I don’t see him, but I do see Nash. He grins, widely, like the surfer boy I remember, and gives me that head nod most men do. Nash is attractive, very attractive, but he has nothing on Island Boy.

  My eyes seek Jake out, scanning wildly around the bar until they land on him coming around the corner with two plates of tacos. His dark hair is chaotic and tangled, which only makes him sexier. His eyes, they’re bloodshot but still sky blue and bright behind the black shadows of his eyelashes. Damn, still so hot and delicious. My tummy flips at the reminder of last night and what it felt like to have those eyes on my naked body and the way they fluttered closed when he came.

  Fuck, it’s really hot in here.

  Without looking at me, he passes by and delivers the food to a table behind me.

  He nods once, acknowledging me when he walks by, heading for the back of the bar into the kitchen. Crap on a cracker. That’s all I get? A head nod? What the fuck?

  For a moment, I contemplate leaving to save myself the crushing blow of his denial. Maybe he doesn’t want to see me. That’s how one-night stands work.

  Or… maybe he’s busy. I’ve definitely had one-night stands I hadn’t cared to see again the next day. I once spent an hour walking around the grocery store randomly, ducking behind grapefruits and end displays all in an effort to avoid the previous night’s hookup. I know how this works. Maybe that’s the deal here. Maybe I made a terrible mistake by returning.

  But the determined part of me requires I stay.

  I have never been scared to see a guy I’d slept with the next morning, until now. I’m not sure why, but something about Jake is different from the guys I’d been with in the past.

  While my mind obsesses over the meaning behind a nod, Jake’s gone for about five minutes before he returns with two more baskets of food, delivers those to tables, and then stands in front of me, smirking.

  You’re so fucking hot it should be a goddamn sin.

  Crossing his arms over his chest, a look of smug satisfaction appears. “Welcome back, City Girl. How are you feeling?”

  Hearing his voice again sends a pinch of excitement through my body. I shift, leaning forward without wanting to, reminded of the soreness between my legs.

  “I’m okay.” It’s then I remember throwing up after he left this morning and the soreness settling in my ribcage. “I feel like someone shoved their dick down my throat, but other than that, I’m good.”

  Shit. I might still be drunk.

  To my surprise, Jake laughs.

  Clearing my throat, I straighten my posture. “I’ve come to settle my bar tab. You only charged me for two drinks. I had, like, twenty.”

  “Honey, I assure you, you didn’t have twenty drinks.” Licking his lips, he beckons me forward again. Willingly, I go. I can’t help myself. “And I think you more than made up for the difference, don’t you?”

  Is he implying I had sex with him to avoid paying for my drinks? Appalled he went there, I draw back and cross my arms over my chest. “What the fuck does that mean?” I level him a very serious look. Shit, it’s practically grave.

  To my surprise, he laughs and winks, because why wouldn’t he? He’s Island Boy. Nothing rattles him. I find myself watching his lips when he speaks, remembering the way they ghosted across my lips last night. “Easy there, tiger. I was joking.”

  “I’m not some kind of prostitute who works off their debt.” I can feel the anger creeping into my face at his i
mplications.

  So can Jake, apparently, but it only provokes him. He laughs, all breathy and dreamy. Shit, pull yourself together, girl. “I’ve known a couple of prostitutes,” he tells me, reaching for a bottle of rum and a glass when his dad hands him a piece of paper. “And I would say you’re nothing like them. They also aren’t working off debt. They’re making a living.”

  I blow out a breath I hadn’t been aware of holding in. “Not an honest one.”

  “Maybe not to you.” There’s a spark of emotion in Jake’s eyes most would miss. Not me though. I can’t tell you what it is, but there’s something he’s hiding behind those gorgeous blues. Should have known. All the pretty guys are secret keepers. “But to them, it’s all that’s available. It’s not like they just decide one day, shit, sucking dick is so much easier than a real job.”

  I’ll be completely honest. He’s kind of starting to piss me off in his defense to justify prostitution. And that only means one thing. He’s either one himself, or he’s been with one. Or maybe—and this might be completely farfetched—he’s the baby daddy of a girl named Candy and he’s secretly raising their daughter Chocolate Truffle.

  “How so? They could go get an honest paying job.”

  Jake shakes his head, like he’s annoyed he’s explaining this to me. “Now, how is it not honest, City Girl? They’re providing a service. They should be paid.”

  “Having sex shouldn’t be a service,” I point out. I don’t understand how he can’t see my side of this.

  He winks again, I think to piss me off. “Depends on how you look at it.”

  I want to punch him. Kiss him first, then punch him, and then maybe kiss him again so I can lick his wounds. Fuck, I’d lick him good.

  Stop it. You’re mad. Act like it.

  I toss some traveler’s checks on the bar. “Regardless, I want to pay for my drinks.”

  He leans back against the counter behind him, his arms crossing over his chest, refusing to take the money. “Come on, you know you want another drink.”

  He’s so fucking frustrating. I’m the type of girl who gets mad and stays mad. Sometimes it takes me weeks to get over an argument, or months. Hell, my neighbor stole my bike once when I was seven, and after getting my bike back, I didn’t talk to that little bike stealer for three whole years.

  But that was the old Kendall. What would the new Kendall do?

  His words come back to me. What is it going to be?

  Him. It’s going to be him. It’s going to be Island Boy and his delicious drinks and talented tongue.

  I wave my hand around and knock over a napkin dispenser in the process. “Ignore me. I’m being weird.”

  After finishing the drink he’s making, Jake reaches over to right the napkin dispenser. “No, you’re not weird. I would say you’re just nervous, yes?” His brow arches, and I nod.

  Scary how he knows me pretty well, even after one night.

  And then I start laughing. No, seriously. I start laughing. As if it’s completely appropriate. Shaking my head, I smile and try to rein it in. “I just came to settle my tab,” I tell him, trying to take even breaths. The bar is noisy, and he clearly doesn’t have time to be flirting with me. A woman rushes by, stopping at the bar to grab the drink Jake just made, and then tells him, “Mac n jack at table four.”

  He nods, his eyes on the restaurant behind me. “Yeah, got it,” he barks out, seeming annoyed.

  Shit. I should leave. Standing, I straighten out my tank top. “I’m going to grab some dinner now, so thanks for the drinks last night. I never got a chance to thank you.”

  Smirking, he pulls up his shirt slightly, revealing his chest—in front of the entire bar, with absolutely no shame. “I think you thanked me pretty well,” he teases, gesturing toward the scratch marks from my nails on his chest. Crap. I don’t remember doing that to him. My mouth gapes open as I stare at him. He gives me another one of those head nods he’s so damn good at. “You coming back later?”

  Thinking I need to play hard to get, I know I can’t have all the cherries in his cup, can I?

  The correct answer is no. I can’t.

  So I smile and wink, using some of his own flirty gestures on him. “Guess you’ll have to see, Island Boy.”

  Licking his lips slowly, he studies me for a beat and then swallows, the muscles in his neck moving. I watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. “I bet I could convince you to,” he goads, his eyes twinkling with a boyish mischief.

  “How so?” My voice shakes, a little more than I want it to.

  That’s when he leans forward—in front of the entire bar crawling with patrons and his dad—and pulls my face to his, smothering my words. This kiss is nothing like the ones I’d experienced last night. Nope.

  This one is full of intent, passion, and promise. Hell, it’s damn near as hot as that drink he set on fire last night and I burnt my lips on.

  I’m dying, scrambling for meaning, and desperately fighting off the sudden urge to crawl on the bar and spread my legs in front of everyone like a porno version of the movie Cocktail.

  This kiss though, it’s slow, thoughtful, and sends shivers of hunger throughout my entire body. I’ve never understood the expression, he makes me wet, because that doesn’t happen to ladies. But you know, I take it back. I get it now, and sadly, the sudden dampness of my panties is a dead giveaway.

  And then, just as I contemplate crawling on the bar like some kind of uncaged animal searching for the kill, Jake draws back and fucking grins. “See you later?” He draws his bottom lip in slowly, licking the wetness from his lips.

  “Maybe.” Maybe, my ass, but I have to recover some of my dignity after that soul-scorching kiss!

  2 parts tequila

  1 part orange juice

  2 dashes grenadine syrup

  Pour tequila in a highball glass over ice and top with orange juice. Stir and then add grenadine by tilting the bottle vertically and then pouring down the side. You want the grenadine at the bottom of the glass and then to rise up slowly through the drink. Garnish with cherry and orange slice.

  After changing into another simple sundress, this time white—always a bad idea—I go to dinner at a restaurant inside the hotel called Chop Stix by myself. I asked Rylee and Wesley to come along, because I don’t like eating by myself, but they decided to head into Nassau and go to a restaurant they heard about. And I gotta say, something seems completely off about them, and there’s a drastic difference in their behavior from the way they were on the plane to now, but the ever-avoiding confrontation Rylee blows it off and tells me to go have a good time. Pun intended.

  The food at Chop Stix is delicious, but the drinks are awful. They’re too strong, which is usually a good thing, but I miss the perfectly crafted ones I had from Island Boy.

  Once I finish dinner, I suddenly find myself walking up the beach at sunset, heading back to his bar.

  I try to think of something I should do, other than return to the bar, but I only have one thing I want to do.

  Jake.

  Over and over again. He has that effect on me.

  It annoys me I can’t stop thinking about him. I don’t know this girl I’ve become in just one day. Jake doesn’t know me at all, and there’s something exciting about that to me. It’s like he’s drugged me and made me into this new, more exciting version of myself.

  My nerves are all over the place when I approach the bar for the second time today, and Jake seems irritable. Inside, a handful of people are scattered around, some at the bar, some sitting at the tables. The tiny white lights strung up are once again creating a tropical mood that fits the bar and the atmosphere.

  I take a seat at the bar, same spot as last night. I notice a woman at the end of the bar to my right, her appraising stare on Jake.

  He places her drink in front of her, and without saying anything, he walks away. The lady takes one sip and then spits it back into the glass. Flustered, she wipes her napkin over her lips. “What is this shit?”<
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  Jake glances over his shoulder, his body tensing as he raises an eyebrow and presses his lips together. Turning around, he walks back over to the woman. They speak for a moment, and then he yanks the drink back toward him and throws it in the sink behind him. The glass shatters, but nobody says a damn thing.

  “Hey, City Girl.” Nash winks at me, leaning over the bar. “Good night last night?”

  “Shut up.” I push his face back with my palm smacking his forehead. “Who is that woman?”

  Dramatically, Nash touches his forehead. “So violent. Now I understand.” He laughs, smiling suggestively at me. “I would say it was a good night looking at the bruises on you—” He pauses, touching my shoulder where it’s black and blue. “—and the fact that dude was four hours late to work because he fell asleep on the front porch.” Nash glances at the woman, and then back to me. “Ex-girlfriend’s mom. Bitchy. She comes here every so often to treat him like shit.”

  Ex-girlfriend? Who in their right mind would break up with Jake? Are they crazy? I want to know every detail, but I decide to be subtle about it and go with, “What’d he break her daughter’s heart or something?”

  Nash gives me a look, a lot like some of the ones Jake gives me. The ones that let you know you’re not going to get the answer you want. “That’s his business, sweetheart.”

  Nash walks away, and I watch Jake a little closer. With annoyance radiating off his every move, he makes the woman another drink, hands it to her, and makes her take a drink with him standing there.

  “Much better.” She smiles, approving the alterations, and then turns back to her friend who’s sitting beside her.

  “It’s the same as before,” Jake mumbles, coming back my way. Knocking his knuckles on the bar, he sighs. “What’ll it be?” he asks me, his voice sounding off. Maybe he’s having a rough night. I’m sure the interactions with the woman at the end of the bar isn’t helping his mood, but I’m not about to press the issue.

  “Tequila sunrise.”

  With his eyes on the bar, he nods and begins grabbing bottles. I watch closely as another guy, maybe mid-thirties, sits down beside me in a pair of board shorts and no shirt. He’s definitely American by his appearance, which matches Wesley’s frat-boy style. Out of the corner of my eye, I glance at him, sensing him looking at me.