Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 101254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
“Break?” he asks.
“Yeah, sounds good.”
I head back to the table where Skye is still sitting, nursing her Wild Turkey, while Garrett walks to a different table.
I grab a tissue out of my evening bag and wipe my forehead. “Garrett can really move!” I pick up my daiquiri and drain most of it.
“Ready to go?” Skye asks.
I laugh. A big, boisterous laugh. She can’t be serious. “Good one, Skye. Finish your drink. We need to get out there. This music is great.”
“But I—”
“No excuses, babe. Just down it.”
Skye downs it. I stop myself from dropping my jaw. Skye never downs it, but there’s a first time for everything. We head to the dance floor, and I’m busting some serious moves when Garrett and a friend join us. We dance as a foursome through the next four numbers.
“Sorry, I need a break,” Skye says.
“Need a drink?” Garrett’s friend asks.
The two of them exit the dance floor, leaving me with Garrett. He grabs my hand and has me twirling around in no time, and I’m exhilarated. Is it the banana daiquiri? The music? The man?
All three?
Whatever it is, I’m totally down for all of it.
…
Present Day…
Ugh.
I quickly erase the thought from my mind. I was ready to hand him my heart that first night. He had that playboy charm and such gorgeous hair and eyes. He was dressed in a tuxedo but was only wearing the shirt and pants. The bow tie had long been discarded, and his white sleeves were rolled up, accenting his gorgeous dark forearms.
We became an item—a happy item, or so I thought. He actually dumped me at one point, and I was so upset.
But then…
We got back together…
I was on top of the world…until I found out what he’d been doing to me the whole time.
Now I feel violated and ugly and used.
I glance down at my Skye cocktail.
Funny, if I had planned this party myself—rather, if old Tessa had planned it—we’d probably be serving pitchers of margaritas and dancing to Latin pop later.
This is better.
Ben Black did a better job of planning a bachelorette party for my best friend than I would have. It’s almost as if he knows Skye better than I do. Old Tessa would have made this about her own tastes. Ben made these festivities perfect for Skye’s tastes.
I can’t help a chuckle at the irony.
“Something funny?” Skye asks.
“No. Just thinking.”
“Whatever you’re thinking about, I’m glad you are,” she says. “I miss your laugh, Tess.”
“I miss it too.”
That’s no lie. Life is so much easier when you’re happy.
That gets another chuckle out of me.
“What is it this time?” Skye asks.
“Nothing.” I look down at my bare feet in the sand. “Maybe it’s just time… Time to heal.”
Skye grabs my free hand. “I’d love for you to heal, Tessa, but you need to do it on your own time.”
“But I want to make this a wonderful evening for you, Skye. You deserve nothing less. I was a brat when—”
She gestures for me to stop. “No, Tess, that was all me. I got so involved in my relationship with Braden that I left you out. That was never my intention, and trust me, it will never happen again.”
“I know that.”
True to her word, Skye has tried to involve me every step of the way. We’ve kept our Saturday morning yoga dates, and she calls me several times a week, texts me daily. Forces me to go out to lunch once or twice a week.
I think I see her more now than I did before Braden.
Still, we were such besties, and I did feel left out.
Now?
All I want is to be left alone.
But this weekend isn’t about me. And certainly not about my need to be alone.
I’ll do well to remember that.
I take another sip of my drink.
“I can’t believe you’re drinking,” Skye says.
“Betsy talked me into it, and I have to admit it’s a delicious cocktail.”
“It is.” Skye takes another sip. I simply smile. “I think we should probably head toward the table. They’ll be bringing our dinner out soon.”
“Wonderful. I’m famished.” Skye finishes her drink quickly, and we walk toward the table that has been set up inside a large cabana.
“What’s on the menu?” Skye asks.
That’s a good question.
“Just wait and see,” I say.
Dinner turns out to be a Jamaican feast, including a colorful array of jerk chicken, pigeon peas, and roasted vegetables.
I have to admit it’s tempting.
The savory aroma alone makes my mouth water.
I consider that a good sign. My mouth hasn’t watered for food—or anything else—in quite some time, except for the other night when I wanted my mom’s enchiladas, but that may have just been for comfort.
We enjoy our dinner, and no one notices that I don’t talk much, because Skye, Betsy, Kathy, and Daniela chat animatedly the entire time. No one notices that I eat slowly, because they’re all talking so much that they eat slowly as well.