Page 15 of Broken Hearts (Hibiscus Hearts #1)

I look over my shoulder and find Nate and Alana watching me, and when I do, Nate quickly whips his head the other way, making it very obvious they are talking about me.

Did he tell her he kissed me? Did he say why he did? Because that’s the question that’s been running through my head since it happened.

A few days ago, I was certain he hated me, possibly sleeping with one eye open out of fear he was going to send my mattress adrift out on the Pacific, and now, he’s kissing me.

We were drunk. I’m chalking it up to drunkenness, even if by that point we were both sober. It was the alcohol, and boredom, loneliness. He was just comforting me after finding those childhood pictures my dad kept. But, for real, who kisses someone out of comfort, someone they at one point seemed to hate? Maybe it’s Hawaiian tradition to kiss.

I’m grasping here, my heart beginning to race as I think about the way his lips felt against mine. Soft and warm, comforting and gentle, and a part of me never wanted it to stop. I want it to happen again. I want to walk over there and pull him to me, wrapping my arms around him, begging him to kiss me like that again. I want him to take my breath away, to make my knees weak, to make my heart drum in my chest at a pace that only a kiss can do.

The moment his lips touched mine, it made me forget the sadness I’ve carried with me since I arrived here. It made me want to feel more, feel more with him.

Now as I’m standing here in my dad’s shop, all I can think about is Nate shirtless, something I’ve seen often, and my brain is now filling in what he looks like without shorts on.

“Sage!”

Alana calls out, startling me. Shit, I hope my mouth wasn’t hanging open, obviously ogling Nate. What I can’t do is call my mother, because while I’m sure Alana knows nothing, my mom will hear it in my voice immediately.

“Yeah,”

I reply, feeling the sweat build under my arms, like I’ve been caught doing something naughty. And I guess in a way, I have been, picturing Nate naked.

“Got any plans later?”

she asks, hands on her hips, her long dark hair piled high on top of her head. She couldn’t look more native and surfer than if she were intentionally cast in a surfing movie.

“No. I don’t even know anyone here,”

I say, trying a joke to distract from my thoughts.

“Yeah, you do,”

Nate barks out, almost sounding insulted.

I swallow hard, my thoughts back as I take in his gorgeous face. I’m drawn to him, and not just because of his looks. He has this tragic backstory, and all I want is to see him smile. He lost my father, the only man who seemed to care about him, and that breaks my heart.

“Um, so yeah,”

I reply, my words shaky, and there’s no way he doesn’t realize I’ve literally been thinking about him all day. “Sorry, I do have friends here,”

I add, sounding like I’m desperately trying too hard. “I don’t have any plans later.”

As the words leave my mouth, I catch Nate watching, his shoulders visibly sagging with my answer.

Guess I’m not the only one thinking about what happened last night. I wonder if he regrets it. I don’t and given the chance to be alone with him again, I’ll do everything in my power to make it happen. Besides the obvious. I don’t want to be obvious.

I’m pretty sure I’m already there, my gaze hanging on him now.

“Cool, I’ll come by and get you, and we can walk over to my place,”

Alana says, smiling at me. “You’re not invited.”

She directs her comment at Nate, who rolls his eyes and tosses a bird her way as he walks back toward the office.

“God, he’s so dramatic,”

Alana now says, matching Nate’s eye roll. “How’s seven work for you? I’ll have dinner ready. Nothing fancy. You good with chicken long rice?”

My face must give me away, not even sure what chicken long rice is, but I still give a little nod, which only makes Alana let out this melodic laugh.

“It’s Hawaiian. It’s good. You’ll like it, and if you don’t, we can order pizza,”

she replies, shrugging. “So, see you at seven."

“Sounds good,”

I say, checking my watch, noticing I still have a few hours to kill before she comes back. And with that, return my thoughts of kissing Nate.

Alana heads out the back door, leaving Nate and me alone in the shop, alone with my thoughts, alone with that kiss on replay in my head.

I liked it, but a part of me thinks I shouldn’t have. Nothing can happen between us because how the hell could that even work. I live in New York. I love my life there, and my mom’s there and school and my friends and my apartment.

I’m getting way ahead of myself. It was just a damn kiss. Innocent and possibly drunken.

But if I was sober, then he was sober.

Oh my god, I need to shut up.

“Yo, Nate!”

a voice calls out, the bell on the door chiming as people begin to file into the shop.

I quickly look around, almost in a panic as to where Nate is. I haven’t really had to interact at all with customers since I’ve been here. I can’t help with anything but calling for someone to help.

I’m standing behind the counter when one of the guys walks up. He’s holding a stack of papers, setting them down, he looks me over.

“You new here?”

he asks, his eyes scanning my face, his brow furrowed. “We met before?”

he now asks, a smile slowly developing on his lips. With a flirtatious grin on his face, he taps his knuckles on the counter. “Nani,”

he mutters, and one of the guys who came in with him lets out a laugh.

“You’re a dick,”

the other guy calls, still laughing as he heads toward the back of the shop and through the doorway that leads to the office. “Nate!”

I hear him yell, and I turn back to look at the guy standing in front of me.

“It’s Sage, not Nani,”

I reply. “You must have me mistaken for someone else.”

My words come across cold and a little bothered. These Hawaiian boys are quite bold.

First, I’m met with Nate and all his grumpiness and now I have this guy who seems more interested in what I look like in a bikini than he is in getting to know me.

“Dude, back the fuck off,”

I hear Nate’s gruff voice shout, coming to stand beside me. “She’s Mitch’s daughter. You think he’d want you hitting on her?”

“Ah, so yeah, I see that. The eyes,”

the guy says, extending a hand. “I’m Malo. Name means winner in Hawaiian.”

Winking at me, I feel my cheeks flush. Obviously, being Mitch’s daughter means nothing.

“Last I checked it means loser,”

Nate growls, stepping closer to me. He’s so close I can smell the deliciousness of his tanned skin, of the surf wax that seems to be ever-present, reminding me of that damn kiss.

Fuck, I can’t stop thinking about it.

Malo lets out a hearty laugh, blowing off Nate’s comment. He pushes the stack of papers over toward Nate as he says, “Last time I checked, you haven’t been laid since…”

he pauses, looking over at me, he stops, shaking his head.

“How’d the week go?”

Nate now asks, the banter gone, and both guys seem to have a friendship despite the arguing that ensued.

“Good, good,”

Malo replies, and I notice several more people, a mix of guys and girls milling around out front of the shop. The guy who went to find Nate in the back returns, hitting Nate with a fist bump as he walks by.

Tucked under one arm is a surfboard and a wetsuit is tossed over his shoulder. “Want to hit the water with us?”

the guy asks, directing his question at Nate. “And you are?”

His eyes fall on me, and I seem to be like a shiny new toy. It is a small area of the island and I’m sure everyone knows everyone here, and I’m the outsider. I stand out like a sore thumb with my pale skin, looking like I’ve spent the last five years hiding from the sun.

“I’m Sage,”

I start but am cut off by Nate and his comment that seems to come out of him like a robot.

“She’s Mitch’s daughter.”

“Yeah, I’m Mitch’s daughter,”

I say, a mocking tone to my voice. I’m starting to get annoyed that I’ve become just ‘Mitch’s daughter’.

“I didn’t even know Mitch had a daughter,”

the guy says, and Malo nods in agreement. “I’m Owen. I work for your dad.”

“Feels like everyone works for my dad,”

I mutter, joking a little, but there’s also some seriousness to it. Again, the island is small, and The Pipe Dream is one of the busier places, second only to the coffee shop.

“So what do you say,”

Owen says, turning back to Nate. “Catch some waves with us?”

“I gotta close up here and then finish up a design, but after that, sure,”

he says, and he’s strangely not surly, just a casual conversation.

“Cool, we’ll see you out there,”

Owen says, and with Malo following, they begin to leave the shop.

Malo turns back, looking over his shoulder, a smile on his face. “And if you need anyone to show you around, maybe teach you how to surf, let me know.”

“She doesn’t,”

Nate barks, glaring at him. His body is practically touching mine, standing so close that I’m surrounded in his smell, and I have to squeeze my thighs together to keep myself from getting turned on. I have no idea what is going on with me.

“They work for my dad?”

I now question, curious on how they fit into all of this. I know Nate and Alana help run the shop, Tanner makes the boards, but I have no idea what those guys could possibly do.

“Yeah, they teach lessons,”

Nate says, but he doesn’t really elaborate, his attention now on the stack of papers that Malo dropped off.

“Where?”

Nate looks up and laughs. “In the Pacific Ocean,”

he sarcastically replies, pointing to the turquoise waters in front of us.

“I just meant like, where do they find the people who take the lessons?”

I try to keep the sarcasm out of my own tone, realizing Nate tends to be a little harsh when things are uncomfortable for him.

Setting down a highlighter he picked up, he lets out a hard sigh. “Your dad has a contract with several of the hotels in the area. It’s something he worked really hard for,”

Nate replies, the last part seemingly added for my benefit.

“That’s really cool. How come they don’t just work directly for the hotel?”

I’m hitting him with a lot of questions, something I can tell bothers him, but I want to know about my dad. Nate is the one person I can hit with the questions and learn what my dad did here.

“Because the hotels are assholes. They charge like two hundred bucks an hour and the instructors get like ten percent of that.”

“That’s shitty.”

“Yeah, super,”

Nate says, settling in a little. “So Mitch, your dad,”

he corrects or adds, “was able to create a contract with several of the big-name hotels to be the middleman. Basically, Mitch pays the wage for the instructors and handles all the scheduling and hiring and organizing so it’s out of the hotel’s hands.”

“And they all live here and work for my dad?”

I ask, thinking about the guy who showed up here not long after I arrived, wanting me to sell off The Pipe Dream.

“They work for you, Sage,”

Nate says, catching me off guard. “You’re the owner of The Pipe Dream. You are the one paying their paycheck now.”

It’s like he can read my thoughts, pushing me to understand what happens if I choose to sell The Pipe Dream.

I swallow hard, guilt taking over, but I try to tell myself that I have to make the decision based on what works for me, and not what works for everyone else. Selling The Pipe Dream would set me up for the rest of my life.