As a pro athlete, I have punished my body plenty of times. I’ve pushed it to the brink of physical failure—including playing a game hours after a stomach flu. But I’m not sure I’ve ever felt as beat as I do now after waking up massively hungover, married to my ex, and then having to spend hours frantically shopping around Vegas because we didn’t pack enough clothes for a spontaneous honeymoon to Cancún, Mexico.
Nicole’s friends at Spark were very excited about this scoop, and they said it would pair perfectly with a promotion they were already set to run with a ritzy resort.
The plan is for me and Nora to love each other all over this resort and Spark will photograph it. Damn. That didn’t sound right. Essentially my and Nora’s honeymoon will be sponsored by Nirvana—a new luxury resort in Cancún. We’ll eat at their restaurant, lounge on their beach, swim in their pools, and do a few resort activities—basically, say cheese for ten days while wearing a bathing suit and then make it home a few days before training camp begins.
We landed around nine p.m. in Cancún after five hours of the worst turbulence I’ve ever experienced where neither one of us slept a wink and barely said two words to each other. And then there was gridlock traffic leaving the airport (because of course there would be traffic at nine p.m. on a Sunday night because that’s the way things go when you randomly wake up married one day to the person you were trying to never see again).
And to top it all off, Nora is being strange. Well, stranger than normal. She’s dancing around me like I’m a human grenade. However, to be fair, I can’t decide how to act around her either. What the hell are we now? And how are we going to survive for ten days like this?
We’re finally in the hotel lobby now and I feel like I’ve made it to the promised land. Not because the place is incredible (though it is) but because I know a bed is only minutes away. I need food. And then sleep. And after those things, I’ll be ready to address whatever this is between me and Nora.
Even though it’s late, the resort is brimming with wealthy energy and people in white linen clothing. Nora keeps getting distracted by the opulence as we walk.
“Now that is a lion sculpture! We’ve got to get you one of those. It could be a daddy lion to your baby lion.” She gasps. “Mufasa for your Simba!”
“I don’t need any more lions.”
She laughs one sardonic laugh. “As if anyone can own too many lions. Come on, Pender, use your head.”
“Would you just keep walking?” I put my hand to the small of her back, ignoring the way it fits like a lock and key. How I never want to remove it.
The deeper we get into the resort, the more attention we gain because unfortunately my size doesn’t allow me to fly under the radar all that easily. Even if they don’t know exactly who I am, people generally assume I’m an athlete of some sort and start googling. Doesn’t take long after that.
The elopement post going viral hasn’t helped either. I opened my social media for ten seconds, and that was all I could take. Most people were supportive, and then a lot of ignorant assholes called Nora terrible names I’d like to jam down their own throats. I guess that’s why I’m feeling protective of her now.
As we walk over the marble floors, we both notice two couples milling around the hotel bar staring at us. They have the look of intoxicated fans about to swoop in and ask for autographs and pictures.
Nora notices them too and steps in front of me—her small hand splayed out behind her in the air like she’s projecting an invisible shield.
“What the hell are you doing?” I ask the back of her head.
She cuts a look at me like I’ve lost my mind and pulls herself up to as tall as her five-foot-seven stature will allow. “Um—protecting you. What does it look like?”
She’s…oh my god. This woman. “Why are you protecting me?”
“Because I’m your agent. That’s what we do.”
“That is not what you do. Bill never once acted as my bodyguard.”
She shrugs a single shoulder. “Not my fault Bill wasn’t as great an agent as me. Why? You don’t think I can do it? There are female bodyguards, you know.”
I snag her hand, intertwining our fingers and tucking her against my side. The lock-and-key sensation flares all over again. “Yes—but they’re trained. You have arms like spaghetti noodles. And besides, this”—I gesture to our clasped hands—“will keep people from approaching better than your bodyguard scowl. People don’t usually talk to me while I’m on a date, for some reason.”
“Interesting logic. You should have made Bill hold your hand.”
I grin down at her. “Who says I didn’t?”
Nora halts and doesn’t laugh like I expect. She studies me as her mouth curves into an intrigued smile before those eyes drop to my lips and stay there for one long moment.
“Nora. You’re staring at my mouth.” It comes out unplanned and maybe a tad too hopeful.
She doesn’t look away. “Because you finally smiled. I don’t want to miss it if it happens again.”
I roll my eyes and tug her with me toward the check-in counter. She talks with the receptionist, but I don’t hear a word of it. My mind is stuck back there where Nora stared at my mouth like it was something wonderful that belonged to her.
After checking in, we decline help from the bellhop (because honestly, I’m just sick of people) and step into the elevator with our two suitcases. Unfortunately, a random guy follows us in, and I don’t miss the way his gaze rakes over Nora from head to toe. It’s been happening all day today actually. She’s wearing a pair of tight black leggings, white Nikes, and a boxy purple crop top (all items we acquired this morning on our shopping spree).
Nora is all beautiful curves, strong-looking legs, and soft pale skin that I’m trying with all my respect not to notice but failing miserably. Especially when I’m able to remember—hazy as it is—what all that soft skin felt like under my fingertips.
And it doesn’t help that when she reaches up and adjusts the ponytail sitting high on her head, her shirt hikes up, showing a few extra inches of her stomach. At the sight of her navel, a memory rockets back to the front of my mind. Us playing on the couch while watching a movie (using the term watch loosely) and her shirt riding up just like this. I smiled and then lightly sank my teeth right there in the soft side of her stomach—just enough to make her gasp and then laugh from her own reaction.
A little white horizontal scar that wasn’t there when we dated lives on the side of her abdomen. My nails bite into my palms to keep from reaching out and touching that thin mark.
Nora has lived a whole life I know nothing about, and I hate it.
She catches me staring at her stomach, and I wonder how transparent my desires are. Pretty damn transparent given the way she raises her eyebrows.
I cover my ass by meeting her gaze. “I was just thinking about how I’m really going to have to wear sunglasses on the beach, or I’ll be blinded by the light of your stomach.” It’s delivered in deadpan perfection.
“Hey!” She points up at me. “Not nice. Some of us can’t lay our bodies out to crisp up like a brown biscuit in the sunshine. Some of us have to lather up with SPF 70 or we turn into a shade of red that can be seen from outer space. Last time I tanned”—she puts bunny ears around the word tanned—“the lower part of my butt cheeks were so fried I couldn’t sit down for five days. But as a plus, my standing goal was met at two hundred percent that week.”
Sometimes I wonder, if I stay quiet, will she continue to talk the whole night? I’d happily let her.
Suddenly, gawking guy peeks around my shoulder to look at Nora, and the scent of alcohol oozing off him speaks for his boldness when he says, “I’m happy to volunteer as tribute to lather you up so you’re protected from the sun, princess.”
My eye twitches with the sudden urge to shove his body back against the wall.
Nora, however, laughs just as the elevator doors open. “Really kind of you, random dude. Sort of batting a hundred on the creepy chauvinistic vibes, but thanks for the offer.” She exits the elevator and I turn and face him, backing him into the corner but not laying a hand on him.
“Speak to her like that again and find out what happens.”
I leave him wide-eyed and speechless. The elevator doors close behind me and, finally, Nora and I are alone walking down the hallway. I am officially done with people today. Except for her.
We both stop just outside our suite, and she grins up at me. “What did you say to Mr. Princess back there?”
My eyes slit and I fight the smile trying to break. “What do you mean?”
“I know you hung back and talked to him. What’d you say, Dere-Bear?”
I breathe deeply and shrug. “It was so long ago. Who can remember?”
“Try your best,” she says, a taunting grin curling her lips. And now I know I’m no better than the dude in the elevator because I want to take Nora’s hips in my hands and pin her back against this hotel door, and kiss her until our mouths are bruised. But of course I won’t unless she asks me to. Even then, I’m not sure that I would do it because my heart still feels battered from how she left me in college. I’m scared to want her this much again.
“I might have said something like…‘Talk to her like that again and find out what happens.’ ”
Nora chokes out a laugh. “Derek, you didn’t. And with that macho voice too?”
“I didn’t like the way he was talking to you. It was disrespectful. And ‘princess’? Was he serious with that shit?”
Nora shakes her head at me while fighting a smile. “For the record, I’d prefer to fight my own battles. But also—” she looks down, presses her tongue into her cheek, and then glances up again—“Thank you. It’s…kind of nice to have someone looking out for me.”
“Always,” I say, because I mean it. Even when I was at my angriest with her, I still would have stepped in front of a bus for her.
We stare at each other now, both seemingly at a loss for what to say, but clearly feeling an old intimacy curl around us like smoke. It’s so thick I can barely breathe. Nora’s expression mirrors mine. Pinched brows. Thoughtful eyes. Parted lips. How do we acknowledge this thing between us?
We’re saved when my phone rings. I answer it immediately—pathetically looking for a way to fill the silence while also delaying having to enter that suite with Nora.
“What the actual hell! Are you married?” Nathan practically shouts into the phone. I’ve made Dad angry.
“Well—”
“Give me that!” It’s Bree. I imagine her jumping for the phone and, when Nathan won’t give it to her, jabbing her fingers into his ribs until he involuntarily pitches forward, and it slides into her hand. Because a second later, she sounds as if she’s running away as she says, “Derek Pender, you’re in so much trouble! You can’t just post something like that and then go dark for an entire twenty-four hours with nothing more than a text that says it’s fake—I’ll explain later. Keep it to yourself.” She says that last part in an overly deep voice that honestly gives my ego a boost. “That’s a bad friend!”
“She’s right, very un-classy of you, Pender,” Nora says with a smug eyebrow lift that I don’t need from her right now. “Even I found a minute to call my mom.”
It’s true, she called and told her the news pretty much the second we hung up with Nicole and Joseph yesterday. I asked how she took it and Nora only smiled and said, Pam lives for stuff like this. She told me to keep her in the loop.
“Wait, is Nora there right now?” Bree asks, sounding too excited for my comfort. “Put her on the phone! Better yet…”
Oh great. Bree is trying to FaceTime me now.
I let the call connect and Nora tilts her head against my shoulder so we can both watch Bree actively sprint through their house to keep Nathan (who’s in the view behind her) from getting the phone. She feints right in the kitchen and slides over the counter. “You’re a sucker, Nathan Donelson! You’re never getting this phone back.”
“She seems sweet,” Nora says in a whisper to me.
“We call her Bree Cheese. If you’re not careful she’ll try to become your best friend.”
“There’s no trying, only succeeding!” Bree says with one of her huge smiles into the phone. “So you’re Nora?” Now she’s hurdling the back of the couch.
“No, I’m his other fake wife.”
“Oh my god, she has a sense of humor too! I love you already,” Bree shouts just before she runs into something and the phone clatters to the ground.
I hold the key card in front of the lock and the light turns green. That feels metaphorical in an intimidating way.
All I hear over the line is Bree yelping and then a grumbled argument before Nathan’s face fills the screen. “How did this happen? You said you were never going to get married. And why is it fake? And how long is it fake for? Also—hi, Nora,” Nathan says with a grin that he doesn’t even mean to be sexy but probably is. Fine, it absolutely is. “Nice to see you again.”
Bree hops like a squirrel on a caffeine high behind Nathan’s shoulder. “Answer the questions, Derek!”
I would, except Nora and I finally step inside our incredible suite and our eyes track to the same spot in the room.
“Wait—what are y’all looking at?” Bree asks, smashing her face closer to the screen.
“I don’t know,” Nathan responds more to his wife. “They both look like they’ve just seen a monster, though.”
I swallow. “We’ll call you back later.”
“Derek Pender, don’t you dare hang—”
I end the call, unable to tear my eyes from the unfortunate object in the room.
There’s only one bed.
