Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 74882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
“It is not. We are in a foreign place and alone. You could have been hurt or frightened. I failed you as a friend.” She frowns, her face growing troubled. “If we were in Costa Rica, and I were to slip away by myself, it could have turned badly. Could have been the same for you here. I am sorry.”
“It’s fine,” I breathe, suddenly overcome with emotion. “I promise. I’m okay. And when we finally make it to Costa Rica and anyone tries to hurt you, I’ll kick their ass.”
She hugs me abruptly, making me squeal in surprise. We both laugh. It’s then I realize I like having a friend. A lot. And in un-Sheridan fashion, I begin asking her about her. Because I care. In this alternate universe, maybe it’s okay to be Sherrie-dan sometimes.
We walk into Eddie’s, following the scent of eggs and hot sauce. Once I got over feeling sick, now I’m just hungry. After a nice long shower, I was able to ground myself again. I pulled on some skinny jeans, my black Valentino Garavani leather booties, and borrowed an off-the-shoulder gray cashmere sweater upon Estefania’s insistence. Best friends share clothes, I guess. I cringed when she rifled through my bag to borrow something of mine, but I have to admit my Kay Unger New York floral jacquard dress looks better on her than me.
“Kyle!”
Estefania waves to her make out buddy, who sits at a table wedged between Damian and Lawton, but she loops her arm with mine, showing me she’s not abandoning me again. Considering Carson and Camilo are sitting at the table too, I’m thankful to have her support.
“Come join the Funky Flyers,” Damian calls out, waving wildly with his rainbow fingernails and bright yellow bangle bracelets.
Camilo is wearing clothes, much to my relief. He’s put on jeans and a red, fitted shirt that showcases his muscular back all too well. Everyone is talking loudly, but it all blurs out as I stare at him.
Why am I so infatuated with this man?
He’s like the most incompatible person I could even dream of hooking up with. Besides, I’m spoken for. Sorta. Almost. Ugh.
“…everyone should plan to spend the night here—”
A portion of Camilo’s words rise above the rest, sending me into a panic. I rush over to him and take the empty seat beside him.
“Why? What did the news say?” I demand, my fingers digging into his ridiculously hard bicep. He flies planes. How in the hell does he get arms like this from jiggling a joystick all day?
He turns to regard me. Up close, I can see speckles of gold in his dark brown eyes that are surrounded by thick black lashes. His lips quirk up on one side.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” he purrs, his eyes sliding to my lips and then to my exposed shoulder.
“Eyes up here, buddy. Focus.” I swat at his arm, earning a chuckle. “What did they say?”
His playfulness fades when he senses my worry. I hate that I acted like a baby last night, but the truth is, the hurricane scares me.
“No new news, just that it’s imminent. By nightfall, it’ll land. Eddie’s is the safest place here at the hotel, which is why we encourage everyone to stay together.” His features harden. “Don’t fight me on this.”
I recoil as embarrassment floods through me. Am I really this difficult that he would assume I’d want to stay anywhere but the safest place? Feeling hurt, I turn in my seat and pick up a flimsy menu that’s grease stained. Tears prickle my eyes.
Breathe, Sheridan.
You’re a Reid girl.
Tough. Resilient. Brave.
A muscular arm wraps around me and I freeze. I’m invaded by Camilo’s masculine scent that somehow overpowers the delicious smells coming from the kitchen. His lips graze along the shell of my ear, making me shiver.
“I just want to keep you safe, little bee.” His fingers brush down my arm. “I’m sorry if I sounded gruff.”
I relax a little and nod, still unable to look at him for fear of crying. I’m so out of my element. I keep grasping for the real Sheridan and I can’t find her.
“After breakfast, can you help gather supplies?” He pulls away slightly. “We could use someone to boss us around. We’re lazy delinquents otherwise.”
I peek over at him. He’s smiling at me and his brown eyes are soft. I’m thankful he’s helping coast me through my weird mood.
“You do not want me to boss you around,” I warn, smirking.
“Sugar tits,” Damian chimes in, “I would pay good damn money to watch you boss beautiful buns around. As long as you both do it naked. I’m rich. I’m good for it. Name your price.”
We all laugh and it feels good.
Is this how normal people behave?
Laughs and silliness and playfulness with friends?
A yearning settles in the pit of my stomach that I try to blame on hunger or my hangover. I know better, though. I want more than what I’ve strived so hard in life for. The more has always been elusive and murky.