The Paid Bridesmaid(30)

Whether it was to distract him or me, I wasn’t sure, but I went for one of my patented changes of the subject. “In addition to smelling good, I think you should know that, objectively, you are hot.”

That made him raise both eyebrows in amusement. “Am I?”

“Mm-hmm. Krista said that if she had to repopulate the planet, she’d choose you to do it. That’s like, a really big compliment to your genes.”

“Does that mean you think I’m hot?” He could have asked the question seductively, but instead it was very matter of fact. It was like he’d decided I was off limits and more like his buddy than a potential love interest and I was finding it all highly aggravating.

“You know you’re good-looking.” As if that were somehow in question.

“Seriously, you are going to be furious with me tomorrow. Maybe you should drink some water and then we can play the quiet game.” He handed me the water bottle and while I knew it was in my best interests to drink it, I didn’t feel like it.

Nor did I want to play a game where I had to stay quiet. I had so many things to say to him. “You win the quiet game! You know, I think my inhibitions are very lowered.”

“I know. And you’re not really a lowering-my-inhibitions-is-a-good-thing kind of girl.”

“I can have fun,” I insisted.

“That wasn’t what I meant. I have fun with you already. I just know how I’d feel if I were in your shoes saying things that maybe I didn’t want to actually admit out loud.”

“Everything I’m saying I want to say.” That was right, wasn’t it? “Do you know what the problem is with me? It’s a riddle. I’ll give you a hint. It starts with a D and ends with aiquiri.”

“Despite how intricate and complicated your riddle is, I think I solved it. Would you please drink water?”

“Okay, fine,” I said, dragging out the vowels in my words, like an ornery teenager. “But only because you asked so nicely.”

He reached over to open the bottle for me, which was considerate because I wasn’t sure I could have managed it. My coordination seemed to be a tad bit . . . off. I had thought I wasn’t thirsty, but as soon as the water touched my lips, it was like I couldn’t get enough. I drank half the bottle in one go.

We pulled up to the hotel and Camden paid the driver and said, “Stay put. I’ll come help you.” He got out, then shut his door. I saw him jogging around to my side and I let out a noise of disgust.

I didn’t need his help. I was a grown woman more than capable of getting out of a taxi all by myself. I opened the handle and swung open the door. I went to climb out of the cab and I sprawled forward, falling down on my hands and knees. My purse went flying, emptying its contents on the ground.

Camden was right next to me, helping me back to my feet. “I thought I told you to wait.”

“I was managing fine.”

“Yes, I noticed while you were getting O positive all over the pavement,” he said, leading me over to a bench near the hotel’s entrance. “Please sit here for a second.”

Since my head was still spinning, I sat. He went over to my purse and started gathering things up. I said a quick prayer of gratitude that I did not have any feminine products in my bag. I had the sneaking suspicion that I might not have been able to look him in the eye again if I had a mental image of him picking up my tampons.

“That thing in your hand is called a phone,” I told him when he got my cell phone and put it back in my purse. “You might not recognize it since it’s from this century.”

He ignored my jibe and grabbed my presents. I hoped my salt and pepper shakers were okay. They were still wrapped in tissue paper, so I figured they had probably survived.

“I think your mints spilled everywhere,” he said. “Wait, these aren’t mints. What is this?”

“That’s my happy box,” I told him as he started gathering little rolled-up pieces of paper. He unrolled one and I didn’t even object.

“‘Nice job.’” He opened another. “‘Great work.’ ‘You should be proud of yourself.’” He looked up at me. “I don’t get it.”

Camden put the pieces of paper back into the mint box I kept them in and brought the box and my purse back to me.

“My mom is very demanding,” I told him as I returned the box to my bag. “I know she loves me, but I’m an only child. A child my parents never thought they would have. So it’s like they have all their hopes pinned on me.”

“The grandkids thing?”

“That’s part of it, but I’ve always felt like I had to be the best. The smartest. The most successful. And sometimes my mom is critical. I know she’s trying to help me, but it can be overwhelming and I can get mired in self-doubt. So when someone leaves me a nice note—a teacher, a friend, a client—I tear it off and keep it in my box. They’re reminders that somebody appreciated me and thought I was doing a good job. That I don’t always fall short.”

He seemed to be considering my words, and I saw a flash of sadness on his face. “That’s pretty deep for someone who’s had enough rum to make Captain Jack Sparrow woozy.”

“You’re right.” The night was far too beautiful and warm to be wasting my time talking about things that depressed me. “I’m going to go for a walk on the beach. Do you want to come?”