Page 78 of Best Wrong Thing

Although my skin is getting a little sun-kissed from my morning run-swim combo. By the end of the holiday, I’ll probably have a half-decent tan without putting in endless hours of ‘effort’ like Mum.

“Will you be back for dinner?” she asks.

“Probably.”

“Make sure you have your phone.”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, Mum.”

“Don’t be cheeky.”

I stick my tongue out and hurry away before she can admonish me again. I can never keep track of whether Mum is going to behave like a mother or an older sister. In Barry’s presence, she tends to behave more like a mum. Is she trying to impress him? As long as she doesn’t start treating me like Barry treats Jacob. Why is Barry so hard on him? It fucking sucks, and it’s uncomfortable to be around.

I wander along the road in the shade of the palm trees until I reach Jumbo Centrum. It’s busier than when Jacob and I came here on our first day. Different times of day, I suppose. I buy a soft drink at one of the English bars and sit outside, playing a game on my phone.

“Don’t tell me you’re alone.”

I shade my eyes with my hand and look up. A guy with olive skin, dark shoulder-length, wavy hair, and sparkling brown eyes is smiling at me. He’s handsome. ‘Interested’ vibes roll off him in waves. Before Jacob, I’d have switched straight into flirtatious mode.

“Uh, yeah.”

“What are you drinking?”

I lift my almost empty glass. “Lemonade.”

“Fancy something stronger?”

“No, thanks.”

He goes into the bar. I return to my game, not giving him a second thought until he returns, sits at my table, and puts a fresh glass of lemonade with plenty of ice in front of me.

“Um, thanks.” I stir the lemonade with the black paper straw, the ice clinking together. “I should tell you right now that I’m not looking to hook up.”

He chuckles and holds out his hand. “Regan.”

“Archer.” I shake his hand. He has a firm grip.

“I can’t say I’m not disappointed. You’re cute.”

“So are you.”

“But you’re taken? Or just not looking for sex right now?”

“I’m kinda taken.”

He raises his brows. “Kind of?”

I sip some lemonade. “It’s messy.”

“Messy?”

“You don’t want to hear about a stranger’s messy love life.”

“I’d rather have chatted you up and taken you to my hotel room, but given that’s not an option, I’m happy to listen if you need to talk.”

I frown. “Really?”

“Really.”