HAVE YOU EVER SEEN THOSE MOVIES where the camera focuses on the main character, strutting through their day, chest puffed, a large grin spread across their face, everything going the way they so expertly planned while the song, Walking on Sunshine plays in the background, letting all viewers know that life doesn’t get any better than this?
Well…that is me.
Consider me #blessed.
The sun is shining.
I’m in a tropical paradise.
My breasts have never looked better in a two-piece.
And my spray tan gives me an earthy glow that makes it seem like I’ve been on this island for a month, when in reality, we’re looking at day one.
Low-slung sun hat, large black sunglasses, and a pink sarong that shows just enough to turn heads but still covers the daredevil thong bathing suit bottom I chose.
Yup…you guessed it. I’m here on vacation for one purpose and one purpose only: to meet a man in a Speedo and have ravenous sex with him on the edge of the private plunge pool in my over-the-water bungalow with a view of Mount Otemanu.
It’s why my breasts are barely covered by the triangles of my bikini top. It’s why I went with the high-waisted thong to show off my curves, and it’s why I sprayed perfume on my neck, wrists…and inner thighs.
It’s time to clear the cobwebs and allow my body to be thoroughly owned, preferably a man with dimples above his ass and a bulge twice the size of my fist.
Your girl has been working hard.
Wedding after wedding after wedding.
If you don’t know already, I am the proud owner of Magical Moments by Maggie, an up-and-coming event planning business in San Francisco. I started the business right after I graduated, and in the last year, I’ve picked up some very large clients, which has landed my name in bridal magazines around the country. All the exposure has given my business the kind of boost that meant I could afford a one-bedroom, over-the-water bungalow in Bora-Bora, accompanied by a first-class trip where I drank far too much champagne, passed out before meals were served, and ended up drooling all over my complimentary Saks Fifth Avenue pillow.
And sure, I might have gotten a discount on the bungalow, but that’s neither here nor there. What matters is this girl has run fast and hard for the past few years, and I’m ready to take a break to focus on me.
Because let me tell you, I’ve had a hell of a year so far, wrangling drunken fathers who can’t possibly understand how their little girl grew up and trying to rein in wedding parties with too much drama—like when the maid of honor used to sleep with one of the groomsmen and now she can’t even look at him, let alone be near him. I’ve dealt with divorced parents “accidentally” kicking each other. Wonky wedding cakes with poor structure because Aunt Susan thought she was better than the pros. Candles being tripped over, setting the outdoor ceremony’s lawn on fire—despite my warnings to the bride and groom that this would happen. Flowers being trampled because the wedding guests didn’t understand to enter the rows of chairs from the outside, not the aisle. Late officiants, grooms falling into bodies of water, brides crying their makeup off before the wedding, rings gone missing, and so, so much more.
This girl is tired.
Which means this week—it’s all about me.
No emails.
No texts.
No insane phone calls at two in the morning because the bride can’t possibly walk down the aisle without her cat by her side and I need to find a way to convince the venue to allow felines in their facilities.
Nope…this vacation is about my skimpy bathing suits, my glowing spray tan, and my much-needed lady pleasure.
And I couldn’t have picked a better place.
The Saint Hopper.
Located on the northeast side of the island of Bora-Bora, surrounded by a turquoise lagoon filled with protected coral reef, it is absolutely picturesque and includes kid-free pools, palm-shaded lounge chairs, and poolside service.
Heaven.
Absolute heaven.
“Good morning,” a staffer holding a towel says as I approach the shaded pool area.
“Good morning,” I say as he hands me the towel. “Oh, thank you.”
“Miss Mitchell, correct?” he asks.
I press my hand to my chest, my bosom nearly on full display. “Yes, that’s me.”
He holds his arm out to me. “Shall I show you to your lounge chair?”
“I would be absolutely delighted,” I say as I slip my arm around his beefy one. It doesn’t take me long to notice the way his white polo shirt sleeve clings to the boulder in his bicep, or the tattoos that slide down his arms to his wrist. Or the obvious veins in his hands indicating this man likes the gym when he’s not escorting ladies around the pool.
“Have you worked here long?” I ask, wanting to strike up a conversation since my body seems to approve of his tattoos. Seems like that’s all it takes to awaken the desires inside of me.
“Two years now,” he answers as he brings me to a lounge chair situated on the wood deck right next to the pool. Shaded by a giant palm tree with a small table to the side, it’s the perfect location for me to relax and read, maybe listen to some Hayes Farrow songs that often gets me in the mood. *wiggles eyebrows* If you know what I mean. “My wife works here as well, and she was the one who helped me find the job.”
Wife? Uh, not the term I want to be hearing around these parts. These breasts are not glistening under the beautiful, bright sun for married men.
But figures, Mr. Tattoos is attached. There were two options when it came to the beauty of this man—he was either attached, or forever a bachelor, hooking up with all single ladies that frequent the resort.
Too bad he’s the attached kind.
“How nice.” I offer him a smile, despite wanting to shake myself free of him. “Do you see her often while working?”
“Yes, I get to see her beautiful face anytime I walk in the lobby.”
And even worse, a man head over heels in love.
Should I ask if he has any brothers…cousins…friends?
Possibly with the same sort of tattoos?
“My name is Makani and I’ll be serving you today, so please, Miss Mitchell, do not hesitate to ask me for anything you might need.”
An orgasm, are you selling those somewhere?
I widen my smile. “Thank you, Makani. I appreciate it.”
“Would you like anything right now?”
“Some of that cucumber water would be amazing.”
“Right away,” he says before taking off.
I lay out the towel on the cushioned lounge chair and hang my bag over the back after taking out my phone. Then, I undo my sarong and I fan it over the back of the chair as well and adjust the straps of my bottoms on my hips while I look around the pool.
Breeze across my tush.
Breeze across my nips.
Breeze through my hair.
Yes, this is going to be a great day. I can feel it.
Orgasm alley, here I come.
There’s a couple off to the side of me, sharing a cabana and looking like they might be on their honeymoon. Great choice of location for privacy.
There’s another couple in the pool near the side, drinks perched on the edge as well as a plate of fruit. Ooh, that looks yummy.
Another couple is stretched out on the lounge chairs across from me, holding hands as they face each other.
An older couple is sitting on the stairs together. One of the men has his arm draped over the other, both with burly, hairy chests, both not remotely interested in my protruding bosom.
I sit on the lounger and take another glance around the pool.
Couple.
Couple.
Couple.
Couple.
What the actual hell?
I pull up my text thread with my best friend, Hattie, and I shoot her a message.
Maggie: First day here and I think I might have made a huge mistake. This hotel is full of people in love.
Hattie and I met in college. She was everything I ever wanted and needed in a sister and without her even approving it, I attached myself to her immediately. She wasn’t going anywhere. I claimed her as my person and that was it.
While she went off to earn her master’s degree, I started my business. She’d spend some nights in our apartment in San Francisco helping me stuff envelopes or assisting me as I put together a slideshow of pictures for a rehearsal dinner, but we always kept my business and our friendship separate. Because if there’s one thing that could ruin a friendship, it’s going into business together.
And when her sister passed away from breast cancer, I put everything on hold to be there for her. She’s a person I will move mountains to make time for, even if it means hiring an outside wedding planner, who is my competition, to coordinate a wedding weekend for me while I help my best friend.
Hattie: Don’t you like being surrounded by people in love? You love being near me and Hayes.
Ugh, did I mention she’s dating and lives with the most beautiful voice of our generation? Hayes Farrow.
Uh, yeah.
The man who penned the beautiful lyrics to the world’s number one song, “The Reason.”
Mr. Black Album Tour himself with the V-neck shirts, popping muscles, manly fingers splayed across the strings of his acoustic guitar like he’s plucking the hearts of every person falling at his feet. Bonus points for the hair flip over his handsome forehead.
Yeah, that Hayes Farrow.
Maggie: I like being near you and Hayes because he smells like a warm body on a summer’s night, aroused and rippled, ready for the taking.
Hattie: What have I told you about talking about my boyfriend like that?
Maggie: And what have I told you? It’s inevitable. You are attached to the single most attractive man in the world.
Hattie: I feel bad for whoever’s Speedo you try to peel off in Bora-Bora.
Maggie: There will be no Speedo peeling at this rate. No single men here. From the looks of it, everyone is taken. Spoken for. So deeply in love that no one even noticed the near nip slip I had when I puffed my chest before sitting on my lounger.
Hattie: You went with the pink bikini on your first day?
Maggie: Of course I did. I have to make an entrance on day one. Unfortunately for me, there’s no one here to watch said perfectly planned entrance.
Hattie: Maybe all the single men are still sleeping off last night.
Maggie: Huh…I didn’t think about that.
Hattie: I would just relax for now, enjoy the sun and later on, when the singles creep out of their bungalows, all hungover, you’ll have the chance to present said near nip slip to the masses then.
Maggie: One can only hope. But mark my words, Hattie, if I don’t end up having at least two non-self-induced orgasms this trip, I’ll be tempted to march up to your brother, grab him by the hair, and introduce him to my breasts with a good old-fashioned motorboat. Shake some life back into that man.
Hattie: For the love of God, please do not go near Ryland. He can barely handle Mac, a four-year-old, so there is no way he’d be able to handle you. Plus that would be weird.
Maggie: You’re dating his best friend. Why can’t he date your best friend? And you can’t say age gap, because it’s the same age gap as you and Hayes. Twelve years…I can get on board with that.
Hattie: It would be weird because you two have nothing in common, you work in San Francisco, his life is in Almond Bay, and you even said it last time you were visiting me, that he felt like the older brother you never had. Do you really want to motorboat your older brother?
Maggie: It’s annoying when you make sense.
Hattie: Just relax, stop worrying about “getting some” and just enjoy yourself.
Maggie: Fine. But come tonight…the boobs will be used as a lethal weapon.
Hattie: I shall pray for the people of Bora-Bora.
Maggie: Best that you do.
I set my phone down just as Makani walks up to me with a tray. “I took a chance and brought you some fresh fruit as well. I hope that’s okay.”
“Oh my goodness. I was actually going to ask for some after seeing that couple’s plate over there.”
Makani sets my water and plate of fruit down on the table next to me. “I had an inkling.” He tucks the tray under his arm and says, “Is there anything else I can get you, Miss Mitchell?”
“I don’t think so. This is great.”
“Well, I’ll be right over by the bar if you need anything.”
“Thank you.” I give him a quick wave and then bring my plate of fruit over to my lap.
This has to be the most beautiful display of fruit I’ve ever seen. Every piece is intricately carved to look like flowers or leaves, creating more of a picture for the eye rather than a refreshing delight for the stomach.
Because I’m that girl who likes to take pictures of everything, I snap a quick pic of my fruit plate and send it off to Hattie.
I set my phone down on my lounger and pick up a piece of pineapple that is in the shape of a leaf.
“You were pretty, but now I’m going to eat you,” I say to the yellow tropical plant before taking a large bite.
And dear Lord in heaven, is that the juiciest, freshest piece of pineapple my taste buds have ever shaken hands with. If I was alone, I’d be handing out chef’s kisses left and right. Instead, I inwardly groan and take another bite. Makani is going to be annoyed with me by the time his shift comes to an end, because I’ll be requiring more of this pineapple.
“Delicious,” I mutter as I pick up a strawberry only for it to slip out of my hands and onto the pool deck. “Nooo,” I groan.
What a waste of a perfectly good strawberry.
Grumbling, I set the plate to the side again, get out of my lounge chair and reach for the strawberry that has fallen under my lounger.
My nearly bare, thong-clad ass is perched out for everyone to see as I sit on my knees and lean forward, grasping for the strawberry. It takes me a few seconds, and a severe wiggling of my fingers, but I come up with the stubborn fruit and stand, holding it out in triumph.
“Ah ha,” I say just as someone runs into me. I drop the strawberry all over again, fall onto my lounge chair—stomach to cushion, my legs dangling off one side, my arms dangling off the other—just as the heavy frame lands on top of me. “Ooof.” The air is knocked from my lungs.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” I hear a male voice say.
A male.
A man.
Resting on top of me.
Immediately my mind whirls with romantic fantasies.
That deep, apologetic voice.
The large body resting right on top of me.
And from what I can see from the corner of my eyes, a well-toned forearm flailing to the side with mine.
This is it.
This is my meet-cute.
And what a perfect meet-cute it is.
Me all bare-assed, searching for a strawberry—the real MVP of this scenario.
Him, wandering aimlessly, probably hungover from the night before, looking for a place to sit when all of a sudden, a curvy woman with the forethought to wear a barely-there two-piece pops up out of nowhere with strawberry in hand.
Then boom.
Clash.
Tumble.
And…love.
Isn’t that how it always happens in these rom-com meet-cutes that steal your hearts?
A silly scenario and then…the first look.
She gasps, because his jawline is so cut that she could slice up ham on it, make them a sandwich, and share it Lady and the Tramp style.
And he gasps because oops, her tiny bikini has caused her boob to show, and he’s never seen a more perfect, luxurious breast in his entire life. It’s game over for him. That nipple caught his eye in the dreamiest way possible.
She congratulates her breasts for snagging the guy.
He thanks the sweet heavens above for his clumsiness.
And then they live happily ever after.
Insert chef’s kiss.
I can’t believe this is happening. My very own meet-cute.
“Sorry,” he mutters again as he lifts off me.
Quite all right, dreamboat, future husband, and father of my well-mannered children.
I hold back my smile as I lift up from the lounge.
I wet my lips, wanting them to glisten under the sun.
And as I turn around to face my lover, the man who will give me passion and endless orgasms for the next ten days—and a possible future full of feral sex and happily ever after—I puff my chest, flip my hair over my shoulder, and prepare to look into the eyes of my—
“Maggie?”
Maggie? Wait, how does my lover already know my name?
Did Makani tell him?
Confused, I turn the rest of the way, only for the sun to block the features of the tall figure standing in front of me.
Broad shoulders.
Messy hair.
And a fitted shirt that clings to his large biceps and narrow waist.
I don’t know anyone with this type of body, besides Hayes, who would know my name, but he’s in San Francisco.
“Jesus Christ, it is you,” he says.
The hairs on my arms stick up straight, my nipples shrivel up into tiny dehydrated pinto beans, and my skin quivers.
It can’t be.
I lift my hand up to the sun and as I start to eclipse it, his face comes into view. Fuck.
Brody Freaking McFadden.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I ask as my dreams and hopes of a meet-cute come crashing down into a pile of flames and rubble.
Chin lifted, he replies, “I should be asking you the same thing.”
I gesture to my resort-appropriate outfit—well, semi-appropriate. “I’m on vacation.” I now take in his light green joggers, black T-shirt, and athletic footwear. “What are you doing?”
“Same,” he says as his eyes roam my body for a brief second, making me feel like I need to cover up.
“You don’t look like you’re on vacation.”
“Well, I am.” He glances around, his eyes scanning the pool area.
“Then where is your swimsuit?”
“Why do you care?”
“Because you’re interrupting my peace and I’m trying to figure out why.”
“Who’s to say you’re not interrupting my peace?” He crosses his arms over his chest, and this right here is one of the main reasons why this man is infuriating. He always has a comeback for everything.
“You’re the one who ran into me, knocking me over.”
“Is that so?” he asks. “It seems like I was innocently strolling by when you bounced up off the floor and nearly smacked me in the face with your hand, making me lose my balance and topple over you.” He presses his hand to his chest. “If anything, you startled me and now I might you need you to pay for one of my drinks to calm my nerves.”
“God, you’re an idiot.” I shake my head at my brother’s best friend.
“Idiot, or smart businessman?”
“Idiot,” I say as I take a seat on my lounge chair, immediately descending into a terrible mood. “How long are you here so I know how long I need to deal with the stench of you?”
“Ten days,” he answers. “And that stench you’re smelling is your feet.”
“Will you grow up, please?” Also…ten days? NO! Unless…“When did your ten days start?”
“Today.” He smiles.
I hide my disappointment. Of course it started today. Of course he’s at the same resort. And of course he’s undoubtedly the only single guy here. I would bet my business on it because that’s the kind of luck I’ve been blessed with in this life.
Here I thought I was about to get laid several times in Bora-Bora by a naked stranger hung like a freaking horse. And instead, I’m going to have to awkwardly dodge my brother’s best friend around the pools, beaches, and resort activities.
“From the sneer in your lip, I’m going to guess that’s not the news you wanted to hear,” he mocks.
“The only thing I want to hear right now is the sound of your footsteps moving away from me.”
“Is that how you should really greet an old friend, Maggie?”
I glare up at him. “You’re not an old friend, you’re my brother’s idiot friend who thinks mayonnaise is part of the food pyramid. And I’m not greeting you, I’m excusing you.” I motion to the side. “So, move along.”
Hands in his pockets, he smirks down at me. I avoid direct eye contact with the smirk because even though he’s the most irritating man I’ve ever met, he’s insanely attractive—remember the moan?—and I don’t need to get caught up in…well…him.
“Good to see you too, Maggie. Maybe we can grab a drink later, catch up.”
I pick up my phone, which chimes in my hand with a text. “I can guarantee you that won’t happen. Goodbye.”
And with that, I tune him out and thank the heavens above as he walks away.
I stare down at my phone, unable to process the text in front of me as my mind whirls with annoyance. Seriously, universe…why?
Why did you bring Brody McFadden to my place of solitude?
For all I know, he’s going to make this vacation unbearable. He’ll probably see me talking to some single guy at the bar and start regaling him with all the embarrassing stories Gary’s told him.
This vacation has disaster written all over it.
Groaning in frustration, I sink down into my lounge chair and pull up my text messages.
Ready to see a text from Hattie, I instead see a notification from my Google alerts. I have them set for certain searches, which includes anything wedding-related within San Francisco.
I glance at the alert and see Hopper wedding set for Bora-Bora.
Excuse me?
Before I can open it, I receive a text from my assistant, Everly. Thoughts of Brody are quickly pushed to the side as I read.
Everly: Sorry to bother you, but did you say you were staying at the Saint Hopper?
Maggie: Yes, why? Know someone who’s here too?
Everly: Do I know them personally? No. But my hunch is YOU’RE going to want to know them personally.
Maggie: Please tell me it’s a single Chris Evans with a beard.
Everly: It’s Reginald Hopper and family. Did you get the Google alert?
Maggie: Just got it but haven’t read it yet. What does it say?
Everly: The wedding is going to be at the Saint Hopper…this week. How cool is that? You’re going to be at the same resort as the wedding of the century.
I sit up straight in my chair, a gasp falling quietly past my lips.
Reginald Hopper is going to be here? At this resort? For his daughter’s wedding?
Oh my God!
Reginald Hopper is the owner of Hopper Industries and, word on the street is, he’s retiring soon, leaving the business to one of his three children: Hudson, Hardy, or Haisley. From what I’ve heard, Reginald is very old-school when it comes to his business. He’s been making some modern changes recently thanks to his children’s suggestions, and largely because Hopper Industries is starting to be upstaged by Cane Enterprises—yes, I follow billionaire gossip. And since Hopper Industries owns a large share of the hotel industries market, which in return offers up a wide range of wedding venues, I’d basically trade my best friend for a chance to make a connection with this man. I’m a businesswoman after all, and being a recommended wedding planner for Hopper Hotel weddings would be very good for business.
Please don’t tell Hattie I’d trade her.
Instead of texting back, I call Everly and slink in my chair, looking around to see if anyone can hear me. From the looks of it, because I’ve landed in the valley of couples, no one seems to be disturbed by me.
“Please tell me you just saw them,” Everly says into the phone. Wouldn’t that be amazing? Instead of bumping into Brody, it could have been one of the Hoppers. Once again, just my luck.
“No, but I need the details. Are they really going to be here?”
“Yes. I read that it’s been Haisley’s dream to get married in front of the Lagoonarium in the middle of the resort.”
“It’s weird that they wouldn’t close off the whole hotel for the wedding. I mean, that would be the first thing I’d do if I was planning it.” With the millions at my disposal if I was a Hopper.
“I thought the same thing, but Haisley was adamant about not ruining people’s pre-planned vacations for her wedding. Remember, she’s the down-to-earth one.”
“Right and she’s marrying the contractor, right? Rags-to-riches type situation?”
“Yes,” Everly says. “It’s such a sweet story.”
I glance around the pool, my mind spinning with possibilities. “Hmm…I wonder if some of the people around me are attending the event.”
“Maggie…what are you planning in that head of yours?”
“Nothing,” I say even though the wheels are turning.
“Maggie, you’re on vacation. The only reason I even mentioned it was so you weren’t caught off guard should you accidentally run into one of them.”
“Which would be absolutely ideal,” I say. “What I wouldn’t give for at least five minutes with Reginald.”
“Why does that sound dirty?”
Ignoring her, I say, “You know, it wouldn’t hurt to at least introduce myself, don’t you think?”
“It wouldn’t hurt, but what are you going to do? Stalk the resort looking for him? Doubt he’s going to be out and about for the public to approach him.”
“They’re regular people,” I say. But this feels anything but regular.
I’d do pretty much anything at this point to get on Reginald’s good side. Forming a partnership with him would be life-changing for me. It would skyrocket my business, I’d be able to hire more people, and create a name for Magical Moments by Maggie. I could start a business that runs from coast to coast…the possibilities are endless.
“Why are you quiet right now?” Everly asks.
“Just thinking,” I say.
“Maggie, seriously, don’t go out of your way to do anything. Remember…you need to relax.”
“I know and I will. Don’t worry about me,” I say just as Makani positions an older couple two lounges over from me. I would guess mid-forties, but they still have that young glow about them. The lady is wearing a one-piece bathing suit with cutouts on the side, and the man, who I’m assuming is her husband, given the rings on their fingers, is in a lime green pair of booty shorts. Daring, but I like it. I offer them a friendly smile.
“I am worried,” Everly says. “Remember, the reason you’re on vacation is because you’ve been far too stressed, and you need a breather. Relax and Speedo. Relax and Speedo. Repeat that to yourself over and over again.”
“Yes, I know,” I say with a heavy sigh. This is what happens when you hire a proficient assistant, she cares about your well-being. But…we’re talking Reginald Hopper here. Soooo…what Everly doesn’t know, won’t hurt her, right? “I’m already relaxing with a plate of fruit. Vacation mode has been activated.”
“Her dad won’t let it happen,” I hear the wife next to me say, almost loud enough for the entire pool to be involved in the conversation. “He likes everything even, everything to look right. They’re going to have to find someone to fill in.”
“The circumstances are different though,” the husband says. “This is a wedding.”
“Hello, you there?” Everly asks.
I don’t reply as I lean in closer to the couple, eavesdropping.
“But it’s a Hopper wedding. There are standards. Honestly, I feel bad for H. Not having your best friend at your wedding sucks. I guess we’ll find out at the welcome party tonight what they’re going to do.”
“What time is that again?” the husband asks.
“Six at the Lanai Bar.”
“Maggie?”
“Hold on,” I mutter.
“Do I have to dress up?” the guy asks. Such a guy question. I’m not even part of the event and I can smell the fanciness from here. Of course you’re going to have to dress up, man.
“This entire week is going to require you to dress up, and that’s why I packed for you.” Yup, the woman holding up the man like always.
“What’s going on, Maggie?”
Turning away from the couple, I say, “I think I just found out my way in.”
“Your way into what?” Everly asks.
I smile. “Into Reginald Hopper’s good graces.”
