“You too, Whiskey.”
I freeze in my spot and chance a peek back. His knowing smile sends my heart hammering. With a quick wink, he turns and walks away but stops once again. “Oh, and by the way, I’m not married.”
Chapter Three
Ryker
Whiskey. I chuckle to myself, strolling down the excruciating long walkway to my bungalow. Had I known that my hut was at the end, I might have skipped out on the upgrade.
She looked familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Until she snuck a peek at me and her cheeks reddened from being caught. That’s when it all came back. Seems the island girl has a little voyeuristic side to her. Even a hangover wouldn’t let me forget those eyes. They’re more impressive up close. Amber-colored with a glint of copper when the sun hits them. Reminds me of my drink of choice, whiskey.
The more reason to stay away from her.
So why the hell tell her I was interested? I swipe my room key and walk into the wood hut, dropping my bag on the floor and head straight to the shower.
I’ve been here three days and I’ve broken every rule they gave me. Train. Stay focused. And stay away from women. Fucking Jarod Meyers, this is all his fault.
You were the one who admitted to doing something you didn’t do, my subconscious reminds me. I squeeze the bridge of my nose. I’m not sure who I’m more upset with, myself or Meyers. He’s a talented kid and deserves another chance.
Despite my friends assuming I’m being self-destructive because Bryn broke it off, I wasn’t. That relationship happened six months ago. I’m over it. Bryn’s got a boatful of secrets I didn’t need tipping over into my world. She didn’t trust me enough to tell me what she was hiding, we wouldn’t have worked, anyway. I don’t have time for that bullshit. She was a risk to my career.
I let out a bitter chuckle. Yet, here I am putting my career in danger all by myself. Why did I feel giving him a chance at my expense was a good idea? I pick up my phone to call Coach, but throw it back down on the table. I’m in the middle of the Pacific, banished to this island. If they need to talk, they know my number. Irritated with my situation again, I pour a shot of whiskey and down it before walking out the door.
“Mr. Dallas, this way to your table.” I follow the lady to a table right off the stage. “Tonight we have something special for our guests. I hope you enjoy it.”
Holding up the drink menu, I glance over it at all the couples and feel out of place. A few of them glance my way so I focus on the menu, not wanting to acknowledge their looks of sympathy. Anyone who follows football knows what happened.
“What would you like to drink tonight, Mr. Dallas?” Herman, the same waiter I’ve had the last two nights, stands by the table, smiling.
“I’ll take a Mai Tai.” When in Rome, right?
“You will love the show. The girls” —he wags his brows— “beautiful.”
“Herman, my man. I’m not supposed to be looking.”
Herman and I closed the bar down a couple nights ago. He pointed out a few single workers then too. The booze made me extra chatty, and I spilled why I was here.
He shrugs. “It’s the land of romance. You never know.”
I laugh. If I was to partake in a little fun, there would be zero romance.
“I think I’ll skip out on the fun tonight. I’m beat from a long day in the water.” He walks away, shaking his head in disappointment.
After piling food on my plate from the buffet dinner, and a few surprised glances, I find my drink waiting for me at the table set for one. To prevent further stares, I contain my desire to shovel the food into my mouth. I do have manners on most nights.
Taking a couple more trips to the buffet, I’m finally full. As I sit back in my seat and finish my drink, I check out the entertainment for the night. Tahitian men and women, dressed in bright yellow outfits for the show, walk on the stage.
I hold my hand up, stopping Herman as he passes me. “I’m ready for my—” Words escape me as I recognize one dancer. My gaze wanders the full length of her body to her bare feet and back up to her honey-colored eyes.
“What were you saying?” Herman jokes, slapping me on the back. “Another drink?”
I nod without thinking, still not able to take my eyes off her. Even in the middle of a group, she stands out. Long strands of chocolate hair cascade down over her bare shoulders, past her perky small breasts, hidden behind a strip of yellow fabric, and her eyes glow against the tiki torches. A is naturally striking.
I really need to find out her actual name.
Our eyes catch, and she arches a brow, still smiling. I jerk my chin up in a hello. Yep, I’m staying now. I recount all the jobs she’s had since the first time I saw her. Housekeeper, tour guide and now, dancer. Who knows what else. Herman places my drink in front of me.
“Herman, is her name really A?” He follows my pointed stare and laughs once.
“Is that what she told you?” I nod and he shrugs one shoulder. “Then it seems it is.”
“I thought you were trying to help me with the women?”
“Not that one. You’re on your own with A.” He chuckles, saying her name. “Pure heart, tainted mind.” He pats his temple with his finger.
What the hell does that even mean? First, Dante expresses her dad is cuckoo and now she has a tainted mind? I watch her again and it seems like everyone likes her. Needless to say, his warning only makes the intrigue with her more intense.
During the show, I force myself to stop watching her. Damn, if I haven’t had to adjust my semi-hard dick from her gyrating hips at least five times. Focusing on a dude doing the same cures that. When the announcer asks for volunteers, one of the other dancers makes her way over to me. Disappointment spreads in my chest when I catch A pulling another guy on stage.
“C’mon and show me what you got?” The woman smiles, holding out her hand. I take it, readily. I’ll make sure A sees she picked the wrong guy. The woman leads me to the stage and has me stand by her side until every dancer has a volunteer. I glance over at A and wink when our eyes meet. “Hey! You’re with me,” my partner says, jokingly.
“Sorry. I’m all yours.”
She wags her brows and unbuttons my white linen shirt, taking it off with the urging of the crowd. I throw it to my table. If I wasn’t secretly waging war on the guy with a dad-bod, I’d keep my shirt on. But she’ll be watching.
And I already know she likes what she sees.
With a few instructions for the dance, we’re highlighted couple by couple. Thankfully, A and her partner went before us. The guy was a total dud, stiff as a board. I shake my arms out when they say it’s our turn. The music starts. I copy my partner’s movements. We end with me shaking my hips. Someone yells, “Go, Dallas” in the dining area and I’m certain I’ll be getting a phone call from my publicist about a video and how I’m failing at keeping on the down-low. The smile on A’s face made it worth it.
Strutting to my table after we’re finished, I don’t need to look A’s direction to know I have her full attention. I throw back the rest of my drink and put my shirt on, but keep it unbuttoned. She’ll come over and talk to me. I sit in my seat, still high from the excitement, and glance back to the stage to find A.