The Trade(33)

He props his arm on the back of the couch and relaxes into the fabric. “I’ve known these guys for a while, so I haven’t thought much of it. Plus, we all went to Brentwood, not together granted, but we have that in common. But I can see where you’re coming from. They’re a lot to handle. Lots of strong personalities, but you should be used to handling that, given you’re Jason’s sister.”

“I’m used to handling Jason.” I pop a fry in my mouth. “Not everyone else. Thankfully Dottie has been very sweet and has taken me under her wing. I’m going to make an effort to get to know Milly and Emory better.”

“Both good people.”

“Especially your sister, right?” I lightly smile.

He nods, his eyes focused on something on the wall. “She’s amazing. I wouldn’t be where I am today without her.”

“I’m guessing you’re super close like Jason and I are?”

“She’s my best friend,” he answers unapologetically, and the answer stirs my mind with emotion. What a simple but impactful answer—one you don’t hear very often about a brother-sister relationship, but one I can easily relate to. “Growing up, our two brothers, Sean and Rian, always hung out because they’re Irish twins, so they bonded over a lot of things. That gave me the opportunity to hang out with Milly. We soon became inseparable and even though we’re eight years apart in age, she’s still my best friend, and I rely on her for everything.”

“I feel you,” I reply, trying not to swoon over his answer. “I don’t know what I would do without Jason, or Joseph for that matter. They both bring a sense of joy to my life, and I know I should create my own joy, but they’re largely why I was able to get through my divorce and not be in a puddle in the corner, contemplating where I went wrong in life.”

The mention of my divorce makes the atmosphere somber, and I watch Cory’s mood shift from casual to serious. He moves on the couch, and his shirt pulls at his chest in a different way, clinging to his left pec, defining it as if the fabric is morphing into his skin.

Why do I have to be rooming with the hottest guy I’ve ever seen in person?

This really isn’t fair; nor is this a vacation. More like a torture chamber.

“Are you doing okay since the divorce?” he asks with hesitation, as if he isn’t quite sure if I’m ready to talk about it. And to be honest, it’s not that I’m not ready, it’s that I’m in St. Croix. The last thing I want to dwell on is what went wrong in my life. But I’m not rude, so I keep my answer short.

“I’m doing just fine.” I briefly smile and then bite another piece of chicken.

He senses my brush-off and nods, only to turn back to his book.

And just like that, the conversation is over.





“Are you going to bed?” Cory asks, popping his head into the covered balcony.

I glance over my shoulder and shake my head. “That nap killed my bedtime.”

He chuckles and steps a foot onto the tiled floor of the balcony. “Care if I join you?”

“I don’t want to keep you up if you want to go to bed. I can hang out with earphones on and watch something.”

“Why would you do that? You’ll drown out the sound of the ocean waves.” he says, taking a seat on the bench across from me.

True.

After he’s comfortable, he pulls out a deck of cards from his back pocket and holds it up with a smile. “Care for some war?”

I eye him. “You want to play cards with me?”

“Why not? It’s not like we’re doing anything else.”

Very true. It’s not like we’re currently stripping each other down naked and rolling around on the bed. I can’t even imagine what that might be like with Cory. He’s a big guy. Really big. I want to say at least six four, which makes him the perfect height for a professional first baseman with his long limbs and broad chest. But being handled by such power in the bedroom? What would that even feel like? And then there’s the question of his penis and the size of that. Monica keeps saying I deserve a bigger penis in my life. I don’t know what a bigger penis would be like since I’ve only been with one my entire life. It seems like Cory might blow my mind if he pulled his pants down. I’m guessing from the size of his hands he’s big, because it looks like he’s holding up baby cards right now instead of a standard-sized deck.

“Okay,” I say, scooting closer and moving some pillows to the side so we have a flat surface in front of us to play. “But I should warn you, I’m very competitive.”

“Then it should be a good game, because so am I.” He winks and shuffles the cards, as if he didn’t just cause my heart to faint in my chest. Come on, buddy, look alive.

Cory is not the guy for me. He’s not interested. He’s out of my league.

I keep saying that on repeat in my head as he deals the cards between us.

He’s nice and sweet. Don’t misconstrue that as he’s interested.

When he’s done shuffling, we both scoop up our pile and hold it in our hands. We look up at each other and with a smile, Cory says, “Good luck. I’m excellent at war.”

That makes me laugh out loud. “It’s a game of chance.”

He shakes his head. “It’s all about the shuffle, just watch.”