Page 46 of Moonlighter

Yeah, there’s the bossy personality I remember so well. I never once controlled the TV channel on the Vineyard, either. “You know, you’re the reason I watchedDirty Dancingabout thirty times.”

“I’ll make it thirty-one if you keep complaining.”

I get up again and locate my phone. When I pick it up, the edges are glowing yellow, which indicates that someone has sent me an urgent text.

It’s from my brother. All it says isI told you not to fuck her.

“Uh oh.”

“Problem?” Alex asks.

“No,” I lie. “This was just, uh, a team message.” I’m not about to embarrass Alex.

My reply to my brother is short, too.Should have sent a different guy to Hawaii, then.

There are a hundred other things I could add.We’re adults, and it’s none of your business, is at the top of my list.

Beside me Alex flips the channels, her hair tousled, her cheeks pink.

Everyone in this bed is having a great night. Max can go fuck himself.

12

Alex

Playingit cool is a particular skill of mine. Even from a young age, I knew how to pull on a mask. How to pretend to be calm even when I’m all stirred up inside.

But tonight is a serious test of my skills. I can’t hold the thread of this TV show, because my cunning mind—the one that can spot a trend from two years away and make million-dollar decisions in the blink of an eye? It’s blown. To bits.

No man has ever overwhelmed me like Hurricane Eric. That was a Category 5 experience. Evenbeforewe made it into the bedroom, it was already the most passionate night of my life. The man carried me into the hotel suite, pressed me up against the door, and kissed the daylights out of me.

I honestly thought that only happened in films. Passion isn’t something I dwell upon. I’ve been more focused on finding my Forever Guy.

But tonight that seems like a mistake. Every man I dated was either A) looking only for fun or B) ultimately a bore. Or he was Jared Tatum, world’s biggest asshole.

I kept searching until this year, when I began to feel desperate and depressed. That led to some bad decision making. First, I got drunk and had sex with my old friend, Nate. It was awkward from start to finish. There’s nothing like endangering a really good friendship to make you see your own desperation for what it is.

And then—in an effort to move on from that disaster—I dated Jared Tatum. I’d met him before and dismissed him already. I knew in my gut that he wasn’t The One. He wasn’t even in the top fifty. But I let the charade drag on because I was in despair. Bad choice after bad choice.

But tonight, Eric Bayer demonstrated what I’ve been missing all along. Let’s hear it for incredible sex without expectations.

The TV flickers in front of me, but I’m too stuck inside my head to watch. I hand the remote control to Eric. “Here. Watch your game if you want.”

“No way, really?” He puts an arm around me as he begins to flip the channels. “I knew you were a fun date, Engels.”

When he smiles, I feel it everywhere.

After midnight,I finally fall asleep. But then I have dirty dreams. My subconscious has rediscovered sex, and it wants more.

The dream begins like a replay. Eric carries me into the suite and kisses me against the door. But this time we don’t stop. He lifts up my dress and just goes for it.

And then—because dreams don’t have to make sense—we’re on the bed again. We have sex in several different positions, without any kind of pause or end. Several times during the night, my eyes snap open in the dark. Each time I find the real Eric sleeping soundly beside me. I listen to his deep breathing and fall asleep again, still overheated and restless.

Eventually, I wake in the morning light to find that I’m wrapped around him. Honestly, I don’t know why this keeps happening. I’ve been sleeping alone for the vast majority of my life.

Note to self—I never once woke up wrapped around Jared Tatum. Maybe that should have been a sign.

Eric feels so good, though. A big solid hunk of man. I love the scrape of the rough hair on his legs against mine. And the tight abs beneath my palm are not to be believed.