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“You’re perfect, Becca.”

She bursts out laughing. “And that’s why I’m divorced at thirty-two.”

The door clicks, and I follow her in, checking to make sure she’s alone. Two twin beds, a kitchenette, a bathroom with a huge walk-in shower. Outside, her villa is similar to mine. The back faces the ocean, but the view is obscured by foliage. In the daytime, it’s probably a perfect place to relax.

She comes from the bathroom with her hair pulled back in a small ponytail at the nape of her neck, sporting pajama shorts and a tank the same color of her eyes. Becca Shearer is as beautiful on the outside as she is on the inside.

Housekeeping must have been here because there’s a glass pitcher full of water, sliced oranges, and a first aid kit laid out with aspirin, band aids, and nausea medication. I guess they know their guests overdo it on the first day.

I offer her the glass that I filled to the rim and place the aspirin in her hand. “I’m not leaving until you take the meds and drink half of the water.” She raises the glass and tilts her head back, swallowing. “Get under the covers. I’ll leave when you’re asleep.”

Wiggling until she gets comfortable, she finally relaxes into a spot. Her hands are in a prayer-like position under one side of her face, looking sweet and peaceful. As I sit on the edge of the bed, she releases a dreamy sigh with her lids shut. “And Becca, you’re divorced at thirty-two because you chose the wrong man.”

If she hears me, she doesn’t respond, so I slip my phone from my pocket and text Corbin.

She’s asleep. I’ll stay for an hour or so to make sure she doesn’t wake up and get sick.

Of course, he doesn’t answer my text because he’s honeymooning with Oakley. Maybe I should have been more like Corbin and sworn off women until the right one was ready for me. He’s mentally stronger than me—my libido wanted sex and my mind needed a distraction from Becca. But now I see thatscrewing lots of women was a waste of time. Dating Stella was an even greater waste of time.

But it showed me without a doubt that I was settling for convenience. Obeying my father to keep the peace. I’m done living for his expectations. Step one was accepting the new deal from the Rattlers.

I trace my hand over Becca’s body covered by a lightweight down comforter, then I lower myself into the chair in the corner and watch her sleep.

Becca did a number on me at the ripe old age of twenty-one and here we are, a decade later, both single. By my calculations, I have this vacation to prove that we belong together.

If not now, when?

CHAPTER NINE

Becca

Waking up with the sound of waves gently lapping on the shore and sunlight streaking through the palms instills calm inside me, even though I made a fool of myself last night. I’m entitled to a night where I throw caution to the wind. Dennis and I never got out of control or let ourselves go, and I’m not living that life anymore.

I vaguely recall John handing me a glass of water and sitting on my bed. What I don’t know is if I dreamed him saying, “You married the wrong man.”

The doorbell rings, indicating an employee. When I open the door, it’s breakfast. “I didn’t order breakfast.”

“Another guest ordered it.”

“I bet it was my brother Corbin Shearer.”

Elio, dressed in a tan shirt and shorts, pushes the cart through the villa to the patio and replies, “Mister Basilio requested this be sent to you.” He lifts the lids, showing me avocado toast and scrambled eggs. He points to the carafe. “Coconut water for hydration.”

“Thank you,” I say, preoccupied with my thoughts of John.

Most people don’t know this side of John. Cocky seeps from his pores and drips from his mouth. They don’t see the gentlesoul behind the incredible looks, the brash personality, and the body created in the image of a warrior.

I eat, listening to the relaxing noises of the island. Then my phone dings and the girls’ group text is wild.

Oakley: Did you and John hook up?

Brooke: I finished the best book this morning. Do you want it? It’s a brother’s best friend sports romance. It’s fire!

Me: I’ll take it. God knows I need to at least read about it.

Lettie: John’s single. No need to read.

Me: Stop.