Page 40 of What I Like About You

Chapter Fourteen

While the morninghad been pretty uneventful, Dalton couldn’t help the little extra pep in his step as he and Kyle prepped the Brown Eyed Girl for the private excursion they were taking the spa VIPs on. Last night he’d experienced something he’d thought he’d never get to again. Zara Wellington fell asleep in his arms.

It hadn’t been the first time—not even close. He couldn't even begin to count the number of times in high school they’d curled up on the couch and started a movie only for Zara to be asleep within the first thirty minutes. But with everything that had happened, he was sure that he’d never get to feel her drift off snuggled up against him ever again. It was easily one of the best feelings he’d ever experienced. He’d meant what he’d said when he told her that he got what he wanted when she was in his arms.

He'd waited until he was sure the bonfire had died down and most guests had headed back to their rooms before waking her. A groggy smile formed on her lips as she came to, and he couldn’t help but kiss her. Once she’d gotten dressed, they crossed the resort, and he dropped her off in front of her door in Purple Rain before he returned to his dorm. There was a part of him that had hoped to see her this morning before everyone got on the boat, but he didn’t want to put her on the spot in front of the other guests. He had no idea what she would tell Antwan about last night, and the last thing he needed was for her to get all skittish again.

A loud bang reverberated from the bar area, as Drea slammed down the large bottle of rum she’d brought with her from the kitchen. Dalton turned to look at her and noticed she was wearing “the shirt.” “The shirt,” as it had been deemed by the Quinlan/Miller family years ago, was a simple, albeit fading, heather-gray shirt that read “ask me about the bet I lost.”

Every week before the bonfire, Drea, Kyle, and Drea’s uncles met up and took bets on something they thought would happen during the bonfire. On Wednesdays they met up to decide who had lost and therefore was wearing “the shirt” that day. While it might seem innocent enough that losing meant you simply had to wear an old shirt, there were some rules surrounding it, causing the loser even more heartburn. Since the family business was service, and they interacted with guests all day, they inevitably were asked the question that the shirt prompted. This left the wearer to make up all sorts of different answers, since the rule was they couldn’t say the same thing twice, unless it was the truth.

“Hey, sugar,” he said to Drea, as she banged the juice containers for the rum punch.

She threw him a grumpy look, narrowing her eyes and scowling at him, before turning to the guests who were starting to arrive.

“Hi, everyone! Just make yourself comfy, and we’ll get going in a bit!” she called out cheerfully, ignoring Dalton’s greeting.

“Why are you acting like you’re mad at me?” he asked, walking over to her.

“Because I am mad at you,” she answered curtly, turning her attention back to the punch.

“What’d I do? Yesterday you were all kinds of willing to be all up in my business.”

“That was before you took my super-duper, extra-special, VIP guest to the boathouse for…whatever it is you do in the boathouse!”

“How do you know where I took her?” he asked accusingly.

“You left the light on. Kyle found it this morning when he came down.”

“Shit,” Dalton cursed, leaning forward and hunching over the bar.

“Yeah, and now I’m not only stuck wearing ‘the shirt,’” she said, pointing to her torso, “I have to worry about my spa getting a bad review. After you promised not to do anything to fuck it up.”

“Drea, it's not like that.”

“Oh, it’s not? It’s not like the countless others you’ve shown your tool to up against the mechanic's bench? Not like Staci ‘with an i’?” she snarked in response.

Dalton closed his eyes and hung his head. He knew his friends had always been supportive of him being the resort “playboy,” letting him simply live his best life as they liked to put it. But maybe it was time he was truthful with them about all those “hookups.” Starting with how Zara was certainly not one.

However, before he could even open his mouth, the sweetest voice he’d ever heard came from behind him, asking one question he really didn’t want to answer in this moment.

“Who’s Staci ‘with an i’?”

Dalton spun around to see Zara standing there, looking ravishing in a teal T-shirt-dress cover-up. A large tote bag was slung over her shoulder that he knew was filled with at least three different levels of SPF, a floppy hat, sunglasses, and a book. She looked just as amazing as she did last night, and it took his breath away.

“Fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck…” he heard Drea mutter behind him.

“Zara, hi,” he stumbled.

“What’s going on?” Antwan asked, walking up to them, looking quizzically between him and Zara.

“Are you going to answer my question?”

“Antwan, will you take these cups?” Drea asked, handing him a stack of clear plastic cups. “And come with me, and we’ll get the rum punch going!”

“Rum punch? Yes, please!” he said enthusiastically, grabbing the stack from Drea and looping his arm through hers as they made their way to the front of the catamaran where the rest of the group was settling in. Dalton waited until they were out of earshot, or as much as they could be, before answering her.

“Staci was a guest here about six months ago. She was actually part of how Drea and Kyle finally got together.”