Casanova(9)

I slid my fingers into my hair and ran them through to the ends, sighing out another breath. “Where did you want to go for lunch?”

“Lani,” Camille said softly.

“Where?” I asked again, this time harder.

“Hakuna’s,” she answered. “You look like you need a Pineapple Bite.”

“I don’t know what that is, but it sounds good. Let’s go.”





I knew Hakuna’s like the back of my hand. Well, I knew the old Hakuna’s like it. This new, updated version was unnerving and a little freaky. Mostly because it was really, really cool.

Whatever they’d done with the old Hakuna’s, I liked it. The new restaurant and bar was bouncing with life even though it was barely midday. The owners were Hawaiian and new to town since I’d left. Apparently, they’d come to the Key for a vacation to visit family, saw the restaurant was up for sale, and snapped it up. The name was too good to be true, and according to Camille, the new owners had declared it theirs.

Evidently, they’d done nothing but awesome with it.

I had no idea what was in front of me in this Pineapple Bite Camille ordered for us, but it tasted damn good. It was almost like a frozen pineapple margarita, but there was apparently a secret ingredient that made it...not.

It’d been twenty minutes—not that I was counting—since I’d seen Brett. My heart was still beating quickly. Mostly because I was finding that it was impossible to get his face out of my mind. It was like it was freaking imprinted there. All dark stubble, piercing eyes, square jaw, plump lips...

I couldn’t keep thinking about him. Fuck a duck. This wasn’t okay.

I didn’t care about Brett Walker. Not one bit.

Except I did. Too much. And seeing him just now had brought back all the hurt from the day we graduated high school and he broke my heart without knowing it.

We were different people back in high school. Even though we were best friends, we were at opposite ends of the oh-so-important social totem pole.

He was at the top, the reigning king. Untouchable. Perfection in the eyes of so many. The guy everyone wanted to be.

I may as well have been shit trodden into the grass at the bottom of the pole.

I was that girl—the one who was subjected to attempted bribes to do other people’s homework. I know—what a freaking cliché, right?

The only thing that ever protected me was the unlikely friendship I had with the Walkers. Camille’s devotion to me stopped the bitchy ridicule of the geeky girl with her nose in a book. Brett’s influence stopped the bullying of the quiet, studious chick who might have forgotten to brush her hair because she, well, had her nose stuck in a book.

I was lucky. Many others like me...weren’t so much.

They stopped me being the girl who was under constant attack...until Brett spearheaded the attack without thinking I’d ever hear him.

The frozen, yellow drink gave me brain-freeze when I sucked hard on it, but I didn’t wince or shudder. I wanted it. I wanted to stop thinking. I didn’t want to walk further down that particular memory lane.

“Are you okay?” Camille asked me softly. Her eyes swam with concern. “Sorry. If I knew he was there—”

“It’s okay. I’m okay.” I pulled my drink closer to me. “I just...I don’t know, but I’m okay.”

“You’re as bad at lying as you always were.”

I shoved the glass to the side and dropped forward onto the tablet with a groan. “Why can’t he look like he’s been scraped out of the inside of a cat’s asshole?”

“Um,” Camille sputtered. “Because then I would too and that wouldn’t be fair?”

Despite myself, I laughed. Looking up, I ran my fingers through my hair. “Seriously, right now, I’d be okay with that.”

She pulled the lemon slice off the rim of her glass and threw it at me.

I sat up in time to dodge it. “Not like, in an asshole way. In a totally honest way.”

“Ah, there’s the journalist in you. You’re confusing honest with not being an asshole now.”

I grabbed her lemon and threw it back at her. “I can freelance everywhere, you know. Including here.”

She mimed zipping her lips. “Got it. Have you thought about how long you’re going to stay?”

“Er...” I paused and brought my drink back in front of me. Sipping it allowed me to delay my answer for a few seconds.

It did not, however, save me from Camille Walker’s wrath.

“No. You are not drinking to avoid the question.” She leaned forward and reached for my glass.

I moved it out of her way. “I don’t know, okay? I haven’t thought about it. Connie is begging me to stay, but my livelihood depends on me getting stories and posting them to make money. I can’t see that happening here in Whiskey Key.”

Camille tapped her finger against her lips. “Actually...no. I’m not even going to say it.”

“Say what?”

“No. You’ll kick me for it.”

“Spit it out, lady.”

“Last night at dinner,” she started, sitting back as far away from me as she could. “My folks, like usual, got onto the top of Brett and his assholery.”

“I don’t like where this is going.”