Stranded With My Ex Crush Pt 02

Chapter 4

I stand behind the counter at the check-in desk of the resort, passport in hand. The woman has sympathetic eyes, but just like the previous two resorts we walked to, there is no vacancy. The air conditioning is nice in here, but soon we will be thrust by security back into the heat and salty breeze of the island. After three hours of walking and no way to contact anyone back home or on the ship, I am exhausted and angry.

I push my passport back across the desk open to my picture. "Look, do you see who I am?" I raise my eyebrows at her, pointing a finger to my name. "I'm Nixon Walsh. My tech firm is literally a Fortune 500 company. I could buy this resort from you right now. I just need a room for a day so I can figure out how to get to the consulate on Grand Cayman at George Town and fly home."

The woman lets out a deep sigh, her eyes momentarily darting toward the burly man stationed by the door. His dark green polo clings tightly across his imposing frame, hinting at more than just a beer gut beneath--it's solid muscle, the kind that could effortlessly launch me off his foot and into the sand. "I'm truly sorry, sir," she says, her voice tinged with genuine regret. "We are completely booked. There is no vacancy here."

I feel a constriction in my chest, like a vise gripping tighter with each breath. This entire predicament is Lainey's doing. She should never have been drinking alone at that bar, and my only intention was to protect her from harm. I shouldn't have trailed her or even cared, for that matter. I meticulously followed every guideline in that infuriating safety pamphlet tucked in the drawer beside my bed in my stateroom. Don't take all your money ashore during port stops, only what you need. Set your phone to Central time. Keep your passport with you. Watch the clock... blah blah blah. I adhered to every rule, and yet here I am, stranded and helpless.

My mind whirs with insults I'd like to sling at Lainey but she feels bad enough. "Look, can you at least call the other resorts on the island for me? Ask if anyone has vacancy."

The woman sighs again and scowls, but she says, "Yes, I can do that, but you will be responsible for obtaining your own transportation to the other side of the island if someone has room."

She picks up her phone and gets to work and I turn, elbow resting on the counter, and watch Lainey. She sits on one of the dark leather couches near the front door with her shoes in hand. Her hair is windblown, shoulders red from the sun. She looks as tired as I feel, but she is still stunning as hell. Just thinking that makes me realize how much of an asshole I am. This is as much my fault as it is hers. I followed her because I feed off that bickering. I didn't realize it until we butted heads after my sessions each day.

On the final day of the cruise, my only desire was to sit beside her, to maybe have a conversation, to share a moment of connection. However, things didn't unfold as I had envisioned. Now we find ourselves marooned on a picturesque island paradise. For some women, this peculiar twist of fate might be a dream--perhaps not with my company, but certainly the allure of an extended escape on a sun-drenched tropical island. Yet, with her significant revelation awaiting back home, I can sense the weight of stress pressing on her. She looks like forlorn as a lost puppy, her eyes searching for answers.

"Nothing, sir. This is peak season. There are no rooms available at any resort on the island. Now I'm going to have to ask you to leave. If you don't have eighteen hundred dollars for the presidential suite, then we cannot help you."

I turn back around and relax the tension in my shoulders. "I told you. I didn't bring my credit cards off the ship. Please, you have to help us. We are stranded here. We have nothing. We just need place to stay and a ride to the consulate."

"Charter plane is four thousand, leaves at eight a.m." Her tone is curt and I know I'm getting nowhere.

I shake my head and walk away. Maybe an islander will have more compassion than these resort types. This is ridiculous.

Lainey perks up as I return but my grimace draws one from her as well. "Nothing?" she asks and I hear the disappointment in her voice.

"Nothing, and we have to leave the premises."

I continue walking past her and hear her bare feet slapping the marble floors to catch up with me. "Hold up, my feet hurt. I've been walking for hours and I have blisters." Lainey's voice has a whine to it, as if she expects me to baby her now. I wanted to be a gentlemen earlier and watch out for her and that is what got us in this situation.

"Walk faster," I say with a stern tone. She's a grown woman and I'm irritated with her and with this entire situation.

The door slides open, letting a woosh of hot air sweep my breath away. So much for a relaxing last day. I am hot and sweaty, sunburnt and covered with sand. My back hurts; I have a headache, and without my credit cards we may as well be homeless crabs scuttling along the beach.

"Look, this is your fault," she snaps, finally catching up with me. "You shouldn't have tried to parent me back there. I didn't need a babysitter and if you had left me alone, we'd have both been at the bar when they called for us to return to the ship."

Lainey stomps along in the sand as we walk out onto the beach. I glance back at her. Her hair wraps around her face in the stiff breeze, her sarong nearly tripping her as it tangles around her legs. Sand kicks up with each step, blowing away in an instant. It appears we may be in for a storm tonight which only makes matters worse--homeless on a beach in a storm. Not my idea of a good vacation.

I control my tongue, though I want to let her have it. "We're in this together and we need to keep our heads. Which is more than I can say for you the past few hours. Exactly how much did you have to drink? You may have been stranded on this island alone if I hadn't been watching you."

"Oh god, here we go again." She grits her teeth and kicks sand on the backs of my calves. "You are god's gift to women everywhere, aren't you? You think a woman needs a man to watch out for her? That's why you followed me? You are some patriarchal ass who can't stand an independent woman."

I whip around and stare her in the face and she looks shocked that I stopped to address her directly. "I can't believe you'd say that." A sheepish look of remorse flashes across her eyes but then her nostrils flare again. "What have I ever done to make you think those things about me? I was merely stating that if you hadn't been drinking, neither one of us would have been distracted and we'd be on a ship on the way to Port Everglades right now."

"Get out of my way," she snarls, pushing past me. I watch her storm down the beach for a moment and feel defeated. I knew she was fiercely independent; I just didn't realize it is this bad. I want to calm the situation because it's us against this problem and if we don't figure out how to handle things we'll be sleeping in the rain. I know neither of us wants that tonight.

"Look, Lainey," I call, jogging to catch up, "can we call a truce? Let's not place blame for why we're here. We just need to find a place to sleep tonight and a boat to Grand Cayman that isn't a couple grand. Alright?"

"Fine," she hisses but she doesn't slow her pace. I follow her as she moves toward the fading sunlight. A backdrop of small lights and dissipating crowds along the horizon is our destination. If there is no resort vacancy, then perhaps there is a local who would be kind enough to allow us to sleep in their car or something.

I'm not holding out much hope, but hunger gnaws at me relentlessly. My stomach lets out a loud, insistent growl, catching Lainey's attention. She glances over, her expression softening as her earlier irritation seems to fade. As we continue down the road, a sign for a small, rustic seafood dive comes into view, its paint chipped and weathered by the salty air. Lainey points at it, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

"Look, we can eat there."

I nod, not even caring what I put in my gut at this point. We had that direction, climbing over a sand dune with saw grass that scratches at my legs. The lights in the small little restaurant beckon us as the last traces of daylight give way to darkness over the sand. Lainey drops her shoes on the rocky pavement and slides her feet into them. I notice her wince as she does so, remembering her saying she had blisters. It makes me conscious that my suffering is her suffering too, and I feel my heart soften toward her.

"Let's find a spot to sit. I'll pay for dinner," I tell her as I open the door.

As we step into the quaint building, an older woman with a warm smile that lights up her eyes greets us from the hostess stand on our right. Though ceiling fans spin above, the air remains oppressively hot. I had hoped for air conditioning, but, like every other small place along this beach, the heat and humidity persist. She taps two menus on the counter and gathers two sets of silverware.

"Right this way," she says and her eyes sparkle.

Lainey groans with each step she takes, her face twisted in discomfort. Her limp is pronounced, and it tugs at my conscience, making me feel even more guilty. I could have managed all this walking alone, allowing her to rest in the cool shade, but my frustration with both her and myself clouded my judgment throughout the day. As soon as she lowers herself onto the blue vinyl booth seat, she exhales a long, relieved sigh, her body visibly relaxing into the welcoming support.

"Water?" the woman asks, placing our menus down. "Our bar is closed for the night."

"That's fine. I don't need any more to drink today." Lainey picks up the menu and starts poring over it like it's fine art.

"Water is fine, yes," I tell the woman and I don't even need to look at the menu. I'm having fish tacos. I let Lainey look a the menu in peace as I watch out the window the lightning flashing over the ocean. "Looks like a big storm."

Lainey glances out and pouts, then looks back at her menu. "Just what we need."

"Look, we'll find a place," I tell her, just as the woman walks back up to us.

"You need a place?" she asks, setting our waters down.

Her eyes flicker between me and Lainey, then settle back on me with a scrutinizing gaze. I notice her eyes linger on my hand, her attention focused as if searching for the glint of a wedding ring. It's a familiar gesture, one I've observed countless times, yet it's unexpected from someone of her advanced age. Typically, this subtle curiosity is the domain of younger women, those curious to determine if I'm spoken for.

"Yeah, we need a place to sleep and a ride to the connsulate. We were supposed to leave port on that ship and we didn't make it to the dock in time." I pick up my water and sip it but Lainey gulps hers down as if it was the last drop of water in a desert. After drinking so much and being in the sun all day, I imagine she's quite dehydrated.

"Oh I see..." The woman eyes me suspiciously, then clicks her tongue. "Is a shame. I only have the one room, one bed. Not for you two."

She slips her hand into the deep pocket of her apron, retrieving a small, spiral-bound notepad and a pen with a click of the cap. Her eyes flick between us with a knowing smile, as if she's stumbled upon a secret. The realization dawns on me like a slow sunrise--I can almost hear the unspoken words in her mind. She believes we're more than just acquaintances; she thinks we're a couple.

"Oh, it's nothing like that." I sip my water again and wonder if she thinks we are just looking for a place to hook up.

"I hear there are two tourist stranded. Need ride to connsulate. Is you?" she asks, pointing her pen at me and Lainey. Lainey nods at her and slides her glass closer to the woman. It's horrible timing and I kick her gently under the table. She grimaces at me.

"Yeah that's us." I don't know why Lainey is acting childish; maybe it's her hunger. I smile at the woman. "You said you have a room? How much to rent it?" I reach for my wallet and pull it out. I have a few hundred dollars but not much.

"Oh I can't rent out. Not to you. Only if married. You can stay." She looks at Lainey and raises her eyebrows. "But not you."

"Oh, we're engaged." The words fly out of my mouth without warning. Lainey's eyes grow wide. "We were supposed to be on a trip to celebrate the engagement but it went a little awry." I am lying through my teeth but all I want is a bed to sleep in out of the storm. "Our wedding is set for a few weeks from now. I swear this is not a normal thing for us."

She doesn't look convinced, so I decide to step up my game. After all, every woman harbors a bit of a hopeless romantic inside her heart. I weave in some sentimental details, hoping to captivate her attention. Crafting a compelling story and winning people over is something I excel at. I know I can sell this idea.

"Lainey here loves the ocean, and when I proposed to her, she wanted to come check it out to see if it would be a good honeymoon destination. We had this work trip, so we booked our rooms on the cruise and we decided to check it out. We were taking a romantic walk to decide where to host the ceremony when the ship left. You understand, I can't let my fiancé sleep in the rain."

I hold my breath as her facial expression changes. She shakes her head and smiles again. "Oh, you so sweet." She cups my cheek and pinches my jawline. "Of course you stay. Young love take hard work." She nods and clings to her notepad. "But you--"

"Uh, yeah." Lainey cuts in, eyes wide. "I promise, no hanky-panky. I sleep under the covers; he sleeps on top."

The woman smiles and nods, and we seal the deal. Though I'm sure I'm going to pay for that white lie. At least Lainey can't be mad that I failed to get her a bed to sleep in. Now if we can get a ride to Barbados tomorrow, we will be home and she can get away from me as fast as she wants. I'm not sure that's what I want, but Lainey does what Lainey wants, and it appears that she wants nothing to do with me.

Chapter 5

Dinner was average, but the aesthetics of this place are incredible. I follow Millie--who introduced herself after offering us this place--into her home after a short jaunt across the island in her beat-up pickup truck. If I had to live on the island this is where I'd plant myself. The small cottage has the beauty of palm trees surrounding it while being tucked away from the hustle and bustle of the tourist life. It squats in the woods with Spanish moss dangling from low-hanging branches of live oak trees and palms, and I can hear chickens squawking as the front door squeaks open and shut.

"Wow, I can't believe you live here."

Inside, the atmosphere feels much cozier than the bleakness outside. The space is warm and inviting, with soft lighting casting a gentle glow over the room. The woman's kind smile makes me feel at ease as she gestures warmly for us to follow her deeper into the sanctuary. Although irritation simmers beneath the surface at Nix for his fib about us being engaged, I decide to overlook it for now. After all, securing a dry place to stay was crucial. A loud crack of thunder rumbles through the air, serving as a stark reminder to choose gratitude over anger in this moment.

"You sleep here," she says, pushing a door open. I expect her to flick on a light switch, but in a flicker of light across the sky illuminating the room, I see her reach for a lantern on the dresser. Light swells up inside the glass globe and shines on her features. "This light. You take when you use toilet--outside. Like shower. Is in the barn behind the goats." She points, but I have no intention of finding that toilet on my own in the middle of the night. I'll hold it.

"Thank you," Nix says, moving past me. He looks around the room at the same time I do. It's tiny--small enough for a young child, and the bed takes up most of the room. It's a double bed, but barely. I hide my wince as I realize I have to share that with him, and I force a smile.

"You welcome," she says, nodding. "I sleep now. Up at sunrise." She shuffles to the door and turns over her shoulder. "My husband return from fishing trip soon. When he do that, he take you to island. You go to connsulate." When she smiles her eyes twinkle. I like that. It reminds me of my Grandmother Lucy before she passed.

I can't help but feel overwhelmed by her hospitality and I offer her a hug. "Thank you, Millie."

"Is okay," she says, patting my arm. "I sleep now."

She nods and shuts the door after herself as she leaves and suddenly I'm acutely aware I'm alone with Nix in a tiny room without a change of clothing or a way to clean up. The shower is apparently outdoors and my feet are covered in sand. My legs have scratches from saw grass and they itch like crazy. I'm sunburnt and my feet have blisters. I want to be home now.

"Alright, so how do we do this?" he asks, peeling his shirt off. The loose blue linen has covered his shoulders all day, unlike my bare skin that got baked to a crisp by the sun.

His skin is a warm, sun-kissed bronze, each movement revealing the intricate play of corded muscles beneath the surface as he casually drops his shirt at the foot of the bed. I quickly avert my gaze, feeling a flush of heat creeping up my cheeks, as I realize that his presence is stirring something inside me.

"Well, I am not sleeping on the floor, and since you lied about us being engaged, I think I should get the bed." I tug at the sarong tied tightly over my hips. I was stupid to wear my bikini on shore. I slip my sandals off and the cool wood floors kiss my feet, easing the ache.

"Well, if I hadn't lied to her, you would be out there," he says, throwing a thumb over his shoulder at the bamboo-framed window.

As he speaks, a deep rumble of thunder echoes in the distance, and raindrops begin to gently tap against the windowpane. Each drop creates a soft, rhythmic pattern that resonates through the room. Despite my overwhelming desire to harbor resentment towards him in this moment, I can't deny that he's right.

"Alright, well then we do what I said at the diner. You sleep on top; I'll sleep under." I squirm again, tugging at my bathing suit top this time. The strap digs into my shoulders and makes me want to cry.

Nix's gaze lingers on me before his eyes sweep across the room, taking in every detail. On the dresser sits a small bottle of lotion, surrounded by an assortment of perfumes and decorative trinkets that catch the soft light of the room. With a graceful, fluid motion, he picks up the bottle, its smooth surface glinting momentarily, and gestures toward the bed with a subtle nod of his head, his intentions clear.

"Sit down," he says, moving toward me. I feel an irresistible urge to move, as though his voice weaves an enchanting spell around me, a mysterious force I am unable to comprehend.

I sit on the foot of the bed as it jostles with Nix's movement. "What are you doing?" I ask him. Aloe vera is what you're supposed to use on a sunburn, not any old lotion, but I feel the coolness of the cream on my skin and I don't doubt his expert hands for one second.

"An old trick my mother taught me when we were kids. A little too much sun calls for a coat of lotion and a loose shirt."

Just another way we're different. Nix came from money and probably had nannies and maids to mother him. I never learned what sunburn was until I was a teen and went on a trip with kids my senior year in high school for spring break. Growing up in a lower-class family we never took vacations, and the sun in Upstate New York wasn't exactly scalding even in summer. His fingers, though, feel like magic.

"Not like I have a shirt to wear anyway," I mumble. I'm still salty toward him despite his best efforts to be kind.