Page 1 of Beyond Me (Beyond Me #1)

Sunday

A RED Solo cup was thrust into my hands, and I automatically grabbed it.

Foam spilled over the top and dripped on my flip-flops.

I had never gotten into the taste of beer, and was hoping for one of those sweet cocktail drinks with the umbrella in it.

Like Sex on the Beach. The girls had gotten me hooked, and I’d had my fair share since we landed.

Of course, I wasn’t at the hotel, and this was probably going to be the best I got.

Unless I wanted hard liquor. I suppressed a shudder.

I’d gotten drunk on rum once and threw up for hours.

I still couldn’t smell it without getting nauseous.

I forced myself to take a sip and maneuvered my way through the crowds, heading outside.

The house was set up on a hill in a more rural part of the island, and reminded me of those mansions shown on HGTV.

White with powder blue shutters, it was three stories and held an enormous deck that showcased the in-ground lagoon-type pool, tiki bar, and hot tub.

Girls in tiny bikinis lounged on the side with their feet in.

Some were on guys’ shoulders doing chicken fights and pretending to be embarrassed when their tops slipped and they flashed the crowd.

Of course, they had breasts, not like me, who was built with more of a slim frame and barely filled out a B cup.

Boys stood in tight groups, drooling over beer, drooling over women, and drooling period.

Ah, crap. I shouldn’t have come. The first day was perfect—we got off the plane, settled into our awesome rooms, and relaxed for the evening.

The hotel was first class—Mackenzie only did top shelf—and the place boasted four restaurants, two pools, swim-up bars, a dance club, and the all-important room service.

We swam and hung out the rest of the afternoon, then had dinner at the pool.

That was the type of event I enjoyed—my best friends, beachy drinks, a stacked hamburger, and some laughs.

But today they ditched me early, citing excuses about plans made already, so we arranged to meet at the local bar this evening.

The first few hours were cool, but then I began to feel pretty pathetic alone in my one-piece suit while couples or groups swarmed around me.

Then a girl with a bobbing red ponytail thrust a flyer in my hand and invited me to a party in one of the private villas on the island.

Not that I was special. She handed them out to everyone in lounge chairs, chirping about how it was the party of the century and a tradition for Key West spring break.

I never went to places alone, with people I don’t know.

But I could only do so much sunbathing and pretending to read a hot romance on my Kindle.

I was getting twitchy and bored. Water sports weren't my thing, so I figured, why not? Do something daring, Quinn. Go to a party where you’re a stranger, and maybe meet a hot guy. Hook up, get laid, get happy.

Now, I wished I’d stayed put.

I sipped the lukewarm beer for something to do, and found a spot near the balcony.

Hooking my elbows over the top, I watched the show at the pool while music pounded out in grindy hip-hop rhythm to inspire abandon and nakedness.

For one second, I wished I was the type of girl to climb in the pool, shake her ass, and enjoy a little feminine power.

I always felt so out of place wherever I went, unless it revolved around work.

Social scenes reminded me I wasn’t flashy enough or bouncy enough or enough of anything.

Poor Quinn. At a cool party in Key West on spring break and complaining . My inner voice—who I termed my “inner bitch”—rose up and made me smother a giggle. I had gotten used to talking to myself back in the day and never got out of the habit. Sometimes I was my best company.

My gaze swept the pool deck to see if there was anyone I may know, or want to get to know, and then— boom .

There he was.

Mr. Perfect.

I blinked and tried to clear my vision. Trust me, I’m not one of the swoon-worthy girls who describes a guy like some male specimen.

I’ve never been into the visual as much as enjoying a guy’s sense of humor and conversation.

Always thought I wasn’t built that way. Even the first naked guy I saw on HBO didn’t do it for me, and all my friends had gone on and on about his abs and ass and dick like they were dying to do him. Me—not so much.

But for the first time, I kind of lost my breath.

He wasn’t movie-star handsome and didn’t own rippling muscles or crazy tats or piercings.

He leaned against the railing behind the bar, watching me, a tiny smirk resting on those full lips.

As if I amused him by doing nothing. His hair was midnight black, rich against his tanned skin, and fell into perfect, tousled curls over his forehead.

His eyes were a startling light blue, so pale they seemed to shimmer in his face with an odd light.

I tried to break the gaze, but he wouldn’t let me, just held my stare and refused to let go. As if the first one to look away lost.

I actually shivered under the hot sun. Something about that gleam of interest and laziness said he was trying to decide if he wanted to play the game.

If he played, he’d bring it hard. This guy was no bumbling, inexperienced boy.

Probably twenty-three, but his gaze said he’d seen things, done things, and would maybe like to do them with me.

He was bare chested, with plain navy-blue board shorts, and nicely built. Toned, but not overdone. His stomach rippled, and he stood with his feet slightly braced apart, as if he owned his space.

Whoa.

My heart fluttered in my chest, and suddenly my palms grew damp.

I squeezed the railing tighter and tried to be cool.

Ridiculous. He may be hot, but I don’t think I even liked him.

He was too confident, too used to girls falling over him and giving him what he wanted.

I hated men like that—as if just by showing up they deserved more than anyone else.

It was an entitlement thing, and since I’d had none of it, and had to work my way through every struggle in my life by myself, I didn’t respect him.

He suddenly arched a brow, as if he read my thoughts and was even more amused. Usually, that would embarrass me enough to race inside to escape, but this time I did something that was quite unlike me. I gave him a tight smile, and deliberately turned my back on him.

There. Take that.

Way to go, Quinn. There goes your one opportunity to sleep with a guy who probably knows what he’s doing.

Nah, not worth giving him another notch for his sexual belt. I did have my pride.

But not orgasms.

Please, shut up.

“I didn’t even say anything. How can I shut up?”

Oh God, it was him. I knew it.

I dragged in a deep breath and turned around.