Page 15 of Love Off Course

Sheridan

H e’s an asshole.

Most guys are.

That’s why you love David.

My brain is being logical, but my stupid heart aches. I knew better than screwing around with someone like Camilo. He’s a player. All he wanted was a good fuck and then he was done. Back to being a dick. I’m so pissed at myself for giving in.

“Earth to my bestie,” Damian chirps, waving his hand in my face. “You’re not even listening to me. The ’73 Voyager had yellow shag! Shag carpet from the seventies in all six rooms. It was horrendous! Yachts are supposed to be elegant, not have disco balls and fringe on the sofas!”

I stare at him, feeling numb.

“Wonderful,” I snip. “When are we allowed to go back to our rooms?”

He flinches at my cold brushoff. “Who twisted your panties in a wad?”

“The handsome pilot,” Estefania reveals, her voice sad. “He broke her heart.”

I snarl at her. “He did not break my heart. And thanks for throwing me under the bus.”

“I’m your bestie,” Damian squawks. “How did I not know the sexy Mexi hurt your feelings?”

Rising from my chair, I pin him with a hard look. “You’re not my bestie. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get out of here.”

Ignoring them, I storm out of the restaurant and into the rain.

I splash my way back to my room. When I push inside, I find Rosita and Eduardo inside, talking frantically in Spanish.

All I can do is stare at the gaping hole in the ceiling and the fact that everything I own is soaked. Lovely. Just freaking lovely.

“Thank God for travel insurance,” I bite out. “Can you please show me to my new accommodations?” I give Rosita a frosty smile.

Her eyes narrow and her nostrils flare. “We can assess one of the empty villas and see about having you transferred over there as soon as?—”

“Now,” I bark. “I need a place to lie down and not catch pneumonia while I’m at it. Show me to my new room now.”

Eduardo shoots me a pleading look that I ignore. I know I’m poking the bear. Rosita isn’t exactly nice. I recognize another shark of a woman when I see one.

“Oh my,” Estefania cries out when she steps inside the room. “Oh, Sherrie-dan, you must be so upset!”

“Everything’s soaked and ruined, but surprisingly I’m okay,” I grind out. “I just want a new room. Now.” I know I sound petulant and bitchy, but I need space from these people before I go nuclear.

“I will gather our things,” Estefania says, splashing across the ruined carpet.

“I’ll pay double to have my own villa,” I tell Rosita.

Estefania whirls around and gapes at me, hurt flaring in her eyes. “Sherrie-dan?—”

“Sheridan. Not Sher or Sherrie or Sherrie-dan. Sheridan.” I have to look away from the way her eyes glass over with tears. This is me. I push incompetent people away. These people have nothing to offer me. They aren’t assets, they’re pains in my ass.

“You’re a real peach,” Rosita mutters under her breath. “I felt a little sorry for you when my son lost his cool, but now I get it. You don’t deserve him. If you had anywhere else to go right now, I would make you leave.”

Her words hurt, but I know I’ve brought them on myself. Rather than showing the emotion that’s ripping me to shreds, I bare my claws and fangs and whatever else defense mechanism I can draw out.

“I’m the peach?” I say, scoffing. “You’re not much better. Guilting your son at every turn. Letting your family walk away because you couldn’t bear to let go of this shithole . And look at it now? Ruined. Too bad you also ruined your family in the process.”

Smack!

I gape at her, rubbing at my stinging cheek. “You hit me.” I’ve never been hit in my entire life.

Eduardo’s voice grows authoritative as he barks out a whole lot of nonsense in Spanish that makes Rosita wither a little. Real fear shines in her eyes. Not from what he says to her, because Eduardo wouldn’t hurt a fly. But because of what she thinks I’ll do to her.

I’ll fucking sue her to death.

For a moment, her eyes are sad. Her chin trembles. She looks so small. It reminds me of Momma there at the very end when she was trying to be strong for her little girl. This is worse than any slap. It’s a stab to the heart. A sob wrenches up my throat and I stumble back, trembling.

I’m a monster.

Momma would be horrified at the woman I’ve become.

I want to apologize to Rosita. To tell her I’m not this person.

At least, I don’t want to be. But no words come out.

Just tears. Estefania, whom I lashed at only seconds ago, comes to my aid.

Is this what real friendship is? Still caring for someone even when they’ve been a mega bitch to you?

She hugs me and I let her. I’m supposed to be pushing them all away and hardening my heart because the moment I leave this place, they’ll all be part of the past anyway.

And yet I can’t bring myself to push Estefania anymore. I feel like I need her.

“Rosita and I will move your things for you. Your villa is número dos , er number two. We will meet you there,” Eduardo says, his voice apologetic.

He has nothing to be sorry for.

It’s me.

I’m the problem.

Estefania leads me out of the room and back into the rain. We find Damian outside, his mascara running down his cheeks, shivering and looking like a drowned rat. I thought I couldn’t feel any worse. That was wrong.

I feel like scum.

“Come here,” I tell him, my voice hoarse with emotion.

He splashes over to us and hugs the both of us.

All three of us cry like little girls on the playground.

It’s embarrassing and oddly freeing all at once.

In this horribly vulnerable moment, I allow my two best friends—my only friends—to hold me together because I’m quickly unraveling.

I don’t deserve them. I don’t understand why they’re still here, even after my being a mega bitch toward them. It makes no sense whatsoever.

“My momma used to always tell me when life gives you lemons, toss them back, grab some limes, and make margaritas.” I sniffle and shiver. “I owe you both a margarita and an apology. I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Damian says.

“I will practice saying your name,” Estefania offers.

I pull away, shaking my head at her. “I like the way you say it.”

She grins at me. “Sherrie-dan it is!”

“Ew,” Damian whines. “Are you two going to make out? Because I’ve been told I have a horrible gag reflex. I can’t watch. My eyes!”

We all laugh at his dramatics. Then, my best friends and I walk through the rain, feeling happier and lighter than moments before.

God, I’m going to miss them.

After spending the night on a cot and then getting soaked in the rain, napping on the bed in the small villa was heaven.

Estefania must be asleep in her room on the other side of the villa and there’s no telling where Damian ran off to.

All I know is it’s blissfully quiet. I haven’t had a quiet moment to myself in days.

Someone raps on the door and I cringe.

I’m hoping it’s not Rosita or Eduardo. When they delivered my things, it’d been awkward. Eduardo tried to be the perky hotel host, but Rosita’s dark mood put a damper on things. I managed to take the soaked luggage without getting slapped by Rosita or going off on her. Crisis averted.

Groaning, I slide out of bed and head for the front door.

A part of me hopes it’s Camilo coming to apologize.

It’s girlish and silly. I’m smarter than that.

Where Damian and Estefania are true friends, Camilo just wanted in my pants.

Or panties in my case. Ugh. Gross. He’s gross. I’m gross. We’re all gross.

I fling open the door, a sour look on my face, prepared to send him on his way. Instead of finding the hot pilot who pisses me off, I find his grandmother. Lovely. She has a bag over her shoulder, mutters something in Spanish, and pushes inside.

Um, okay.

“Can I help you?”

She ignores me, or doesn’t understand me, and makes her way into my room. When she starts unpacking her bag, I tense up with irritation.

“Ma’am,” I grumble. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave. It’s been a long couple of days and I need a breather.”

She points to my bed, a look of impatience on her wrinkly features.

Fine. This lady wants to watch me nap? Cool. I’ll add it to the obnoxious list of weird stuff that’s happened to me since I got on that plane.

As I walk past her, she tugs at my shirt, trying to pull it off.

“Hey!” I cry out. “Don’t touch!”

She huffs, shaking her head, and mimics massaging.

It’s then I’m reminded she’s the hotel masseuse.

Oh, dear God. This is awkward. I’m not about to let an ancient grandma rub me down with her arthritic fingers.

Pass. That’s just mean. I’m a lot of things, but making this old lady massage me when it should be the other way around is not one of those things.

When she smacks my bottom, I cry out in shock.

She’s serious. I guess I’m not getting out of this.

With a huff of frustration, I pull off my shirt and lie face down on the bed.

I can hear her unpacking things and then she sets something down on the nightstand.

A few seconds later, familiar music starts playing.

I tense up.

“Rocket Man.”

I’d overheard she was an Elton John fan after I played for everyone on the piano, and now it’s confirmed.

Hearing a song my momma taught me to play when I’m already in a fragile emotional state hits me right in the gut.

I’m tense as I will the tears away. Something warm squirts out onto my back and I jump.

She smacks my bottom again and then starts rubbing my back.

At first, it’s gentle. Then, she puts incredible strength into pushing on the knots in my shoulders.

I gasp in shock. Who knew this little old lady had it in her?

I groan in half pain, half pleasure as she works me over.

This is quite possibly the highlight of my horrible trip.

As I begin to relax, I can’t help but think about Momma.

I don’t even remember what she looks like anymore.

Sure, we have pictures, but it’s not the same.

Her face is a fuzzy memory. Her scent is something I no longer can recall.

All I have left is the way she made me feel.

Loved. Happy. Safe. All the things Daddy had to double down on when she died.

It’s not fair to him the way I clung to him once she died.

I never gave him any room. I embedded my life so deeply in his that I’d never be alone again.

Is this why I want David?

Because not only is he Daddy’s best friend, but it would mean more time together?

God, talk about being the ultimate daddy’s girl.

I’m pathetic.

If Momma were here, though, she’d laugh and tell me I’m over the top. Not in a bad way. In a good way. The kind of girl who loves too much, too hard, too intensely. It’s not a bad thing when all that love is being directed your way. Right? Daddy adores me and never once acted like I was a nuisance.

I realize I’m crying. I don’t try to hide it as the song leads into “Tiny Dancer.” I just cry quietly, missing both my parents. I cry for the way I treat people. It makes me want to try harder. And ultimately, I cry for Camilo.

He’s just so…something.

Something I was given a tiny taste of but don’t think I’ll ever have a chance to fully indulge.