My smile drops at the empty stage.
I dart my gaze to the sides to find some performers talking among each other, but the one person I was hoping to find isn’t anywhere around.
The unfamiliar sting of rejection strikes me through my chest as I walk back to my hut.
Alone.
This is the ultimate walk of shame. And it’s a first for me.
Chapter Four
Ryker
“I am not a quitter.”
I did not take my team to the championship from their 0-6 season when they brought me on without perseverance and determination. Or winning two Super Bowls the following two years.
Spreading gel through my hair, I stare in the mirror, hyping myself up. Nights we lost our games felt better than yesterday. This girl has me all twisted up. I know you win some and lose some, but hell, I’ve never lost a girl I was interested in.
And I don’t plan on starting now.
The entire day replayed in my head last night. Then it clicked. People don’t hold three jobs unless they need money. And I have plenty of it and a plan.
Now, I just need to find her.
Washing down the delicious cookie we get daily, with water, I make a mental note to ask for more. Maybe even a recipe. Gail, my sugar dealer also known as my baker in New York City, needs to make me some of these. I can’t pinpoint the ingredient that makes them so good, but holy shit, I need more.
The concierge smiles at me as I pass the desk. I stop and rub my jaw, debating if I should ask. Screw it. I spin in place and her smile widens when I approach the desk. “Mr. Dallas. I hope your stay is going well.”
“It is, thank you. I’m searching for someone and I’m hoping you can help. Her name is A.” I shake my head, knowing it sounds ridiculous out loud. She blinks a couple times. “She works here and was also a performer last night.”
“And you’re sure her name is A?”
I drop my eyes to the desk, tapping my thumb. “No. Never mind.” I sigh out of frustration. Without her name, I just look like an idiot. “Oh, wait, there is something you can do for me. The cookies we get daily… can I order more?”
“Certainly. I will have them delivered to your room this evening.”
I lean against the counter, flashing a smile women love. “You think I can get the recipe?”
She blushes at my gaze, looking away for a moment. “Sorry. That I can’t help you with.”
It was worth a shot. “Well, thanks for the extra cookies.” I tap the counter and spin to leave. My phone rings in my pocket and I’m not at all surprised to see who’s calling.
“Let me guess,” I say, answering, walking down the winding outdoor path through the hotel.
She lets out a bitter laugh. “You know what I love doing all day?” I roll my eyes at the snark in her voice. “Getting bombarded with questions about why our golden boy is partying it up in Bora Bora while he’s on suspension. Dallas, you’re playing right into everyone’s hands with this shit. We sent you to one of the most remote islands ever to stay out of the tabloids.”
“Bree, I was dancing for a minute. Give me a break. You didn’t expect me to come here and hide in my hut all day.”
“Yes. Yes, we did.” They have lost their fucking mind. I could have stayed holed up in my condo if they wanted that. “At least get people to take pictures of you working out or practicing drills. Something other than partying.”
A voice pulls my attention away from the scolding. Standing at the front desk in a red floral dress with her hair in a bun is A. Something about her awakens every part of me. She hands them three white boxes and steps back to a golf cart to grab another box.
“Gotta go, Bree.”
“Wait, Ry—”
Her voice vanishes as I hit end and shove the phone back in my pocket. I smile to myself thinking about doing something other than partying. And that something is standing three feet away. I wait for her to drop off the box before approaching.
“Hey, Whiskey.” I glide up to her stiff body, her sweet scent making my mouth water. She slowly turns around and pastes on a fake smile.
“Orana, Ryker.”
Her greeting takes me back a couple days ago. Her cheeks redden and she drops her gaze to the ground, smoothing out her dress. Seems she remembers, too.
“Mr. Dallas, can we help you?” the lady behind the desk asks.
“Nope. I’m good, thank you.” As soon as my attention is off A, she slips away, hopping in the cart.
“Wait,” I blurt out, jogging the couple steps to the golf cart. She looks at me, impatiently. I have two seconds to figure out what my next move is. Afraid she might drive off, I hop into the passenger seat and her eyes widen.
“What are you doing?”
“I need a tour guide.”
She blinks and then points. “The excursion desk is over there.”
“I know. But I need a discreet guide.”
“Mr. Dallas.” Her tone turns serious. “I’m not sure what you’re implying, but I am not for sale.”
I throw my hands up. “No. That’s not what I meant.” I run my hand against my jaw, irritated that I’m fumbling with my words. “I’m supposed to stay out of the public eye so I need to hire someone to take me around the island for the day. But I don’t want any record of it.” She stares at me and I’m sure she’s about to kick me out. “I’ll give you a thousand dollars.”
Her mouth gapes open before she shakes out of her stupor. She squeezes the steering wheel and I can see she’s fighting herself over taking the job.
“Why me?” she finally asks.
Because you’re beautiful and intriguing and for some reason, I can’t stop thinking of you. I hold that piece of information to myself. “Because you know about the island and I understand you perfectly.”
She laughs. “You sir, are the one with a funny accent. Not us.”
“Touché. But even with your island accent, I don’t have to think about what you said.” She blows out a breath and sits back in her seat with her arms crossed, contemplating. “And no shagging,” I add, chuckling at the word. Even though if it happened, I wouldn’t care what she called it.
“Why do you find that funny?”
“It’s not. The word is funny. I don’t think I’ve ever used it.”
She turns in her seat, amused. “Then what do you call it?”
“Sex. Screwing. Fucking. Getting laid—”
“Oh my. You and I have totally different views on getting lei’d.” Her freckled nose scrunches and I laugh. “Okay. But I have to finish my deliveries this morning. I’ll meet you at your hut at ten.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Her foot presses down on the gas the second my feet hit solid ground. Not until a lady behind the desk clears her throat, do I catch on that I’d been staring at her cart until it was out of sight. I shove my hands in my pockets and give the ladies a courtesy nod before turning and walking back to my hut with a little bounce in my step.
Chapter Five
Aspen