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CHAPTER EIGHT

John

Do I want to cool Becca off? A question I’ve been pondering on the way back to our villas.

We could skinny dip in the aqua-blue waters at night, which might be chilly.

We could have sex in the snow, warmed only by my heat meeting hers.

I could blast the air conditioner in my car just to see her nipples pebble.

What I really want is for her to be happy. Every time she moves her tight little cheerleader body, my dick tries to lunge from my shorts. I keep the monster inside, but it doesn’t stop the taut feeling in my chest.

She’s a little tipsy when she says to her brother, “Corby, we can’t all four ride on one golf cart.”

“Oakley will sit on my lap, and you and Basilio can ride on the back.”

“Basilio. What a fun name. It’s more fun than Shearer or Dumas. I should have known Dennis Dumas was a dumb ass,” she says as her Southern drawl takes over. I admit I’ve missed her accent. I think she has worked diligently to get rid of it. In college, she worked with a speech therapist .

I grab her by the waist and plop her onto the white padding before I scoot in beside her. We breeze quickly through the winding cart paths. Other than the cart whirring, the only sound is the bugs chirping. Becca wraps her arm around my bicep. “Can I hold onto you?”

Can you hold onto me? Is she seriously asking? Does this girl not have any idea of how I feel about her? Have always felt.

I lift my elbow, and she snakes her arm through, then lays her head on my shoulder.

Corbin tells the driver, “Let’s take my sister to her villa first.”

Oakley says, “John will make sure she gets back.”

Yeah, that’s what Corbin’s afraid of. He’s reluctant but then agrees. “Okay.” He reaches back, tapping me on the shoulder. “You’ll text me when she’s in her villa with doors locked.”

“Sure, no problem.”

A few minutes later, we’re in front of the Shearers’ mega villa. Oakley jumps off Corbin’s lap, comes around to Becca, and wraps her in a hug. “Make sure to cool off.”

“I already feel better. Thanks for making me have fun. You’re the bestest sister-in-law ever.”

“I know. Now let John take care of you.”

Corbin arches a brow with his hands crossed over his waist. I know that look, and he’s mulling over the possibilities of me making sure that Becca gets in bed—without me in it.

When their Mamaw died, Corbin knew that Becca leaned on me for support and comfort. Hell, they were in Dallas for a playoff game the night Mamaw died. She ran to me. My condo. What I don’t know is if Becca ever explained to him our college story. Our secret.

But when Becca left me that voicemail, basically cutting ties with me, I reached out to Corbin to make sure she was okay. I respected her wishes and didn’t contact her, and I hadn’t spoken to her until we came here for the Stallions reunion.

“Don’t worry. You know I’ll make sure she’s fine and has water and headache meds before she goes to sleep. ”

He slaps my back. “I trust you.”

But if he did, would he say that?

“Night, Corby.” Becca sometimes calls her brother, Corby. “Have fun with your little thief.”

Oakley giggles. “He loves when I steal things.”

Becca almost falls off the golf cart laughing, and I have to pull her arm to straighten her back up.

“Can you please lose the nickname?” Corbin asks, tired and getting a little grumpy.

“Why? It’s cute,” she says.

“Because we’re in our thirties. And it’s what I call Oakley, not what you call her, sis.”

I bump my shoulder against hers. “He has a point.”

“Nobody asked you, Godfather.” Her smile brightens the night around us, and her captivating sea-blue eyes look navy blue in the moonlight. “See, I have a nickname for you too.”

“No, that’s what the guys call me. It’s not what I want you to call me.”

“I didn’t realize bulked up hockey players were so sensitive,” she says with a bit of playful snark.

The driver zips through the pathways, and we end up at Becca’s villa. I tip the guy twenty bucks even though the trip is all inclusive. When I look around, Becca has one shoe in her hand and one on her foot, wobbling on the slatted wood.

“Whoa. Hold onto me,” Becca says to me, but it’s me holding her.

“Where’s your key card?”

She dips her fingers inside her bra. Her brows pinch together until she pulls it out and waves it in the air. “I thought it may have fallen out while we were dancing.”

“Why?” I hold her steady while she taps the lock.

Glancing at me, she says, “I don’t exactly have boobs.”

“You’re perfect, Becca.”

She bursts out laughing. “And that’s why I’m divorced at thirty-two. ”

The door clicks, and I follow her in, checking to make sure she’s alone. Two twin beds, a kitchenette, a bathroom with a huge walk-in shower. Outside, her villa is similar to mine. The back faces the ocean, but the view is obscured by foliage. In the daytime, it’s probably a perfect place to relax.

She comes from the bathroom with her hair pulled back in a small ponytail at the nape of her neck, sporting pajama shorts and a tank the same color of her eyes. Becca Shearer is as beautiful on the outside as she is on the inside.

Housekeeping must have been here because there’s a glass pitcher full of water, sliced oranges, and a first aid kit laid out with aspirin, band aids, and nausea medication. I guess they know their guests overdo it on the first day.

I offer her the glass that I filled to the rim and place the aspirin in her hand. “I’m not leaving until you take the meds and drink half of the water.” She raises the glass and tilts her head back, swallowing. “Get under the covers. I’ll leave when you’re asleep.”

Wiggling until she gets comfortable, she finally relaxes into a spot.

Her hands are in a prayer-like position under one side of her face, looking sweet and peaceful.

As I sit on the edge of the bed, she releases a dreamy sigh with her lids shut.

“And Becca, you’re divorced at thirty-two because you chose the wrong man. ”

If she hears me, she doesn’t respond, so I slip my phone from my pocket and text Corbin.

She’s asleep. I’ll stay for an hour or so to make sure she doesn’t wake up and get sick.

Of course, he doesn’t answer my text because he’s honeymooning with Oakley.

Maybe I should have been more like Corbin and sworn off women until the right one was ready for me.

He’s mentally stronger than me—my libido wanted sex and my mind needed a distraction from Becca.

But now I see that screwing lots of women was a waste of time.

Dating Stella was an even greater waste of time.

But it showed me without a doubt that I was settling for convenience. Obeying my father to keep the peace. I’m done living for his expectations. Step one was accepting the new deal from the Rattlers.

I trace my hand over Becca’s body covered by a lightweight down comforter, then I lower myself into the chair in the corner and watch her sleep.

Becca did a number on me at the ripe old age of twenty-one and here we are, a decade later, both single. By my calculations, I have this vacation to prove that we belong together.

If not now, when?