Page 44 of Rule 4: Never Get Stranded with a Sports Reporter

This time, I don’t hit the coconut, though that’s probably because my gaze keeps flicking to Cal’s caramel colored hair, and the way his ears jut out just a bit. I shouldn’t be thinking about the man’s ears, but it’s only natural to think about that when I’m near him.

I grit my teeth together and whack the stick again and again and again.

Coconuts drop, and I gather them together and carry them back to Cal. I place them carefully at his feet, avoiding running my eyes over him.

He has a roommate.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Jason

Dusk descends, the sky turning from a proper pastel blue to brazen splashes of tangerine and lilac, a disco palette that has never graced the sensible, beer-soaked sports bars I frequent, where even the patrons wear a uniform of primary-colored jerseys.

My head spins from the coconut diet. The team nutritionist would have a coronary if he saw what I was eating. My sugar levels are shot, and every muscle in my body feels like it’s protesting a war I didn’t know I was fighting.

The jet ski ride wrecked me. I’m sore, dehydrated, and woozy.

Icy gusts tumble in off the ocean, stirring the palm trees into a rustling huff and sending a prickling chill across my already cold skin.

I lie down on the sand and form a lumpy pillow out of it. Nature’s memory foam.

Cal scrutinizes the sand. “Do you think there are poisonous insects that will sting us?”

“We’ll find out.”

“Right.” Cal continues to pace.

I roll my eyes. “Sleep time.”

“Fine.” Cal collapses beside me.

I raise an eyebrow. “You know there’s a whole beach here? And a beach on the other side of the island? Like, you could be anywhere else.”

Cal stiffens.

Damn it.

I remind myself that this is the guy who pranked me in high school. Who made me a national story. Who might have alreadydestroyed my career. Who followed me to Fiji. Who practically chased me out of Boston.

Relaxing around him? Impossible. And right now, I need to relax. If I’m lucky, this will all have been a nightmare and I’ll be back at the hotel when I wake up.

“Fine,” Cal says, voice tight.

I sigh. “What now?”

“My muscles hurt.”

“I’m not giving you a massage.”

He whips his head to me. “I didn’t ask for one.”

He stomps to the far end of the beach, then flops down dramatically.

This is what I wanted. Space. Silence.

But the sky feels too big above me.

I stare up at the stars, trying to find the Big Dipper. I think I’m successful, but I can’t find the Little Dipper.