The Do-Over (The Miles High Club #4)(50)

The walk back to the hostel is made in silence. Hayden’s arm is linked through mine, and we are walking along like we always do . . . except I’m not in comfortable silence like normal with her. There are a million questions running through my head at the speed of light.

You just don’t have the emotional intelligence that I’m looking for.

Everyone keeps telling me that I don’t have emotional intelligence, but why?

What is the point that I’m clearly missing?

What the fuck does an emotionally intelligent man do? Because I literally have no idea what I’m doing wrong here.

We get to the hostel, and as she goes to walk up the stairs, I pull her back and turn her toward me. “Hayden . . . wait.”

“What?”

I swallow a nervous lump in my throat. “I know I’m not the romantic kind of guy you want.”

Her eyes hold mine.

“But can you do something for me?”

“What?”

“Kiss me goodbye.”

“Chris . . .”

“Just once.”

I need to know.

“That’s all I’m asking, and then we’ll just be friends, and everything will return to normal.”

She goes to say something, and I cut her off as I kiss her softly. She tastes sweet and . . .

Delicious.

I slide my arms around her and kiss her properly this time, my tongue sliding between her parted lips. She kisses me back, and unexpected goose bumps scatter up my arms.

My cock begins to thump.

Oh . . .

Her body fits perfectly up against mine, and we kiss again. She’s measured, slow, and seductive . . . not at all what I was expecting. My eyes flutter closed.

What the fuck is this?

She jerks out of the kiss and steps back from me. Her eyes hold mine. “Goodbye, Christopher.”

She turns and bounces up the stairs and disappears into the building. I watch her, shocked, aroused, and confused.

Hmm . . . interesting.

I look down at the erection tenting my pants. “What are you fucking looking at?” I whisper angrily at him. I drag my hands through my hair in disgust. “Forget it. You can’t have her.”



I lie propped on my elbow and stare over at the seductress in her pure little pink pajamas, and under the covers she looks comfortable and relaxed.

Completely fuckable.

Hayden Whitmore.

Has there ever been a more annoying, infuriating temptation in the history of life?

I don’t think so.

It’s been a week since she casually kissed me, a week of imagining bending her over, a week of wanking in the shower until I nearly draw blood. And a very long week of following her around like a fucking puppy.

Not that she’d notice. She’s completely self-absorbed and most definitely not into me.

I think if I was on fire, she wouldn’t even notice, which is ironic because it feels like my dick actually is.

Everyone is out at the beach, and we are alone in our room.

She glances over. “How’s the book going?”

I curl my lip in disdain. I glance at the title: EMOTIONAL INTELLIGENCE

“It’s okay, I guess.”

This book is a load of fucking baloney. The person who wrote this is not emotionally intelligent; they’re just plain fucking stupid.

“What made you buy that book?” she asks.

I fake a smile. I wonder.

She smirks knowingly and goes back to her book. “I like that you’re reading that.”

Shut. Up.

“I’m going to go out tonight,” I say to her.

“Okay.” She turns the page in her book, her eyes glued to the text.

“You going to come?” I ask.

“Hmm.” She scrunches up her nose. “Probably not.”

I frown. “Why? What are you doing?”

“I met some people downstairs last night. They’ve asked me to go to dinner with them.”

I narrow my eyes. “What people?”

I’m on high alert. Some romantic fucker is going to swoop in and steal her off me with pretty words and promises . . . wedding rings.

Not that I have her . . . but still.

“Some guys,” she mutters, uninterested.

“What guys?”

“The ones from Holland.”

Blond fuckers . . . ugh, my blood boils. She likes blonds.

“Suit yourself,” I snap.

She nods as she keeps reading, totally unaffected.

“Why don’t you come over here? I’ll cuddle your back while you read.”

“I’m good.” She rolls over and puts her back to me.

I know you’re fucking good. Good at being a prick-teasing asshole.

With no shame at all, I get up and climb into her bed. I’m allowed to spoon in bed with her; it’s something we’ve always done.

Only now I know how it ends.

I lie with her in my arms and imagine a million ways I could fuck her; I get turned on; she keeps reading her book—god only knows what’s so interesting in it—then I go to the shower and pull my dick alone.

I put my arm around her from behind and pull her close. I inhale her scent and smile into her hair as the world disappears.

She has this calming effect on me. As soon as she’s in my arms, all is well in the world.