Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 91820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
So, now, I’m on my way to the boat dock—after a quick trip back to my villa to change out of the bikini I had put on under my shorts and tank top, which I’d planned to spend the whole day sunbathing in, and now, I have on a more sensible swimsuit. I figure I’ll need to be a bit more covered up to go snorkeling. Alone.
Yay for me.
I wonder what West is up to today.
I haven’t seen him since he took off for his run. He wasn’t at breakfast, although I did eat late due to showering, washing my hair, and finally unpacking my suitcase.
But I wasn’t looking for him, obviously.
Well, I was. But just so I could avoid him.
Suuure.
Okay, I wasn’t looking to avoid him. I’m not actually sure why I was looking for him at all.
When it comes to West, I don’t know if I want to hide from him or jump into those strong arms of his, which I already did last night when I climbed up that big body and made him carry me back to the villa. So, yeah, it’s probably best to refrain from all urges to leap into his arms the next time I do see him. I already made a massive twat out of myself last night. Best not to keep adding more twattish behavior to it.
Thinking about last night though and how kind West was to me, looking after my drunken arse and letting me crash in his bed, maybe I should have offered him the empty place I have on this snorkeling trip, which was meant to be the prick’s. I mean, it is already bought and paid for, and he was really nice to me last night.
Although I guess it might be a bit weird, inviting a total stranger on a random snorkeling trip with me.
Only he’s not a total stranger. I slept in his bed last night and spent the evening drinking in the bar with him even if I do only remember the tiniest portion of it.
I don’t know why I’m even stressing over this. He’s probably already got plans today with whomever he’s here on the island with. And I’m still not sure whether he’s single or seeing someone even though that itch in my brain is telling me I know the answer and that he’s single, but I don’t know if that’s actual truth from something I learned in my inebriated state last night or just wishful thinking on my part.
No, not wishful thinking! Because it doesn’t matter to me either way if he’s single, married, or has a harem. I’m here on this honeymoon turned single girl trip for no other reason than to heal my wounded heart. Not hook up with a gorgeous American dude. Even if he does look like the love child of Brad Pitt as Achilles and Chris Hemsworth as Thor and is the hottest man I have ever seen.
Ever.
Yes, the second ever was needed.
Not that any of this matters anyway because I didn’t offer him the ticket and I’m stressing out my hungover brain with crap that has zero relevance or point in my life.
Okay, so I’m just going to stop thinking about it now and try to enjoy this solo snorkeling trip of mine.
I walk out of the cover of the palm trees and across the beach. I can feel how hot the sand is, even with my flip-flops on. It’s a scorcher of a day. I already applied sunscreen, but I’m glad I put a bottle of it in my beach bag because I’m gonna need another application. I have pretty good skin. I don’t burn and tan easily. But I don’t want to age my skin prematurely or risk skin cancer, so I always apply a good factor sunscreen in the heat.
Leaving the beach, I step up onto the jetty, where a group of people are already standing under the cover of the open building that sits at the end. To the right is another smaller building, which looks like a hut, and next to that sits a docked boat—or dhoni, as they are called here in the Maldives—which I’m guessing is what will be taking us out to the reefs today.
I’m halfway up the jetty when I see West. It’s not like he’s hard to miss.
He’s like a water fountain in the middle of the desert.
My stomach does this little flip-floppy thing at the sight of him standing there, leaning up against the hut, just slightly away from the main group of people. His face is turned down, reading something on his phone. His hair is tied back in one of those man buns, and he has a pair of aviator sunglasses covering his eyes. I’ve never dated a guy with long hair before.
And you don’t plan on dating this one either, Dillon.