Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 50801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
CHAPTER 7
PAXTON
The flight to the Maldives passes in a blur of anxious tension, two in-flight meals, and enough melatonin between Monroe and myself to help switch our internal clocks.
I’ve opened my mouth no less than a dozen times to talk to Monroe about what happened last night at The Queen’s Rum, but I stopped myself every single time. Mainly because I've never seen her act this way before—short answers, awkward laughing, and stiff body language.
I've known this girl forever, and she hasn’t acted like this since she tripped in the lunch room in fifth grade, spilling her tray all over her crush at the time.
Fuck me. Had I been that bad? Had the line we crossed showed her every fear I’ve always dreaded? Or did she simply regret it?
The memory flashes hot through my mind as the long journey finally comes to an end, the plane descending. It’d felt electric on my end, and the whimpers and moans that came out of her mouth, the way she'd kissed me back, had given me every indication that she felt the same.
And yet after we’d spent some time with our friends at the bar, she’d been silent on the drive home, and had smiled at me awkwardly before she ran to her room.
It’d taken everything in me to not go knock on her door and hash it out right then, but I wasn't about to force her to talk about something she didn't want to, hence our near silence throughout this very long plane journey.
Sure, we slept a lot on the ride, her head lolling against my shoulder, the only physical contact she'd allowed herself today. But still, I can feel the distance between us like a knife in my chest.
The plane lands, and we gather our carry-ons, stretching our limbs the second we're free from the confining space. It's a short and silent wait for the rest of our luggage, and before I know it, we're stepping outside and breathing in the fresh salty air, the kiss of it on our cheeks invigorating and lighting Monroe up in a way that gives me hope about regaining common ground between us.
“This is amazing,” Monroe says as we hop into a local taxi that will take us to the speedboat and on to our resort. “I can't believe we're actually here,” she continues, hanging her head slightly out the window and taking in the sights.
Miles of cerulean ocean hug white sandy beaches as our taxi driver drops us off, and I gather our luggage as we head toward the dock where the speedboat is waiting for us.
The captain is friendly, greeting us with a warm smile as I load the luggage onto the boat, then make sure Monroe is in safely before I follow behind her.
The captain takes off, slowly gaining speed, the boat bumping slightly on the waves as he expertly navigates it toward one of the many islands, pointing us in the direction where our resort resides.
Monroe laughs as the ocean splashes us with a fine mist, the sound real and unencumbered by the tension between us. The anxiety threatening to choke me loosens just a little, and I stretch my arm behind her on instinct as the boat nears our island. She doesn't draw away from my touch, instead smiling at me with a level of gratitude that isn't needed.
I pay the captain, and gather our bags, following a wide-eyed and open-mouthed Monroe up to our resort.
We head into the lobby, and she turns to look at me. “This is the place you booked?” she asks, astonishment lining her features.
“Yeah,” I say, tilting my head as we wait for our turn to go to the front desk. “Why? Something wrong with it?”
“Nothing is wrong with it,” she says, shaking her head and glancing around the elaborate lobby, complete with open-to-the-elements doors that show the beaches and the bungalows and the water beyond. “It's incredible,” she continues. “I just didn't realize how expensive it was going to be.”
I flash her a chiding look. “I told you I booked this before I invited you, so you don't need to worry about anything. I just want you to have a good time. You deserve it.”
Something flashes in her eyes…something that feels charged between us. She parts her lips, but whatever she was about to say gets cut off by us being called to the front desk.
We get checked in, and one of the resort employees takes our bags to the bungalow, encouraging us to get something to eat while they settle them into our room.
“I could definitely use some food,” Monroe says, and we head to one of the six restaurants located on the island, this one featuring fresh seafood caught straight from the waters outside their door.
We place our orders, the two of us greedily drinking down the water offered, doing our best to replenish after the long flight.