Three

Charlottte

The resort was absolutely ridiculous. There was no other way to describe it. We pulled through the tall wrought iron gates at midnight, and everything inside the stucco perimeter fence was hopping.

“I thought this was a quiet seaside vacation spot,” Mom said nervously as she peered out the window of the giant SUV that had picked us up.

A deep bass throb vibrated the air around the car as we pulled up to the reception building. When an attendant opened our door, the distorted voice of an overly enthusiastic DJ was shouting, “If you’re having a good time, get those hands up!” to a cascade of cheers.

“What the hell is that?” Mom asked the man who’d opened her door.

The guy was probably around my age, but he didn’t waver when confronted by Mom’s I’d-like-to-speak-a-manager tone. Instead, he smiled broadly and said, “Wild Side Wednesday, ma’am. Trust me, you can’t hear it from the residence side of the resort.”

Mom’s “hmm” made it clear she was not convinced.

“So, this is Scott’s buddy’s place?” Dad was already impressed. “I was imagining something else. Maybe a seaside Holiday Inn–type thing with a tiki bar.”

“No tiki bar, I’m afraid,” the attendant said, leading us toward the doors to reception. “Don’t worry about your bags, they’re going to take them straight to your villa.”

“Villa?” I mouthed to Dad, who looked even more impressed than before.

We were greeted with glasses of chilled champagne while we checked in—there was a whole process for wedding guests, which included goody bags—and someone arrived on an electric golf cart to whisk us off to our villa.

“I can still hear it,” Mom muttered, though the sound of the party was now far, far away.

“I bet Scott’s down there,” Dad said. “Sowing the last of his wild oats.”

“I think that phrase refers to creating illegitimate children, so I hope not,” I mused, wandering around the enormous great room of our villa.

The woman who’d driven us to our accommodations informed us that our luggage was already in our rooms. Mom and Dad were in the master suite on one end of the villa, I was in the bedroom on the other side, and in between were a full-sized kitchen, an enormous dining area, luxurious seating, and a television large enough to show frickin’ IMAX movies on.

“Not exactly rent-by-the-hour, huh?” Mom teased Dad.

“There’s a firepit on the patio,” the woman informed us. “All you need to do is call me and I can get someone here building you a fire and making s’mores in no time. And there are soaking tubs on the private verandas off the bedrooms—”

“Okay, I gotta see this.” I headed into my bedroom, which was roughly the size of an entire hotel room on its own and flung open the arch-topped French doors. The private veranda faced the gently rolling sea, which would give me a great view from the generously sized, free-standing tub.

I was going to spend so much time drinking in that tub.

Perhaps the best part of the private veranda situation was the path that wound toward the water and intersected with a larger sidewalk that disappeared behind a hedge. We were tucked away with as much privacy as one could get at a resort, and I could easily get away from the villa without my parents noticing and asking questions.

I was going to spend so much time smoking weed in that tub.

I just had to get my hands on some. In Cali, I had no trouble finding it, but this was South Carolina. At a resort, it shouldn’t be that hard. I’d have to find my way to where employees hung out on breaks; having bounced between plenty of restaurant jobs, I knew there would be at least one person in the kitchen who was permanently baked and not in the culinary sense. Many times, that person had been me.

I went back inside and leaned out the bedroom door. “I think I’m going to go for a walk. Just to stretch my legs after the flight.”

“Be careful around the ponds and things,” Mom advised. “I hear alligators are like cockroaches down here.”

Dad, having given me the green light for mischief, now appeared to regret it. He opened his mouth, then closed it in a tight-lipped smile. “Be safe.”

“Absolutely. If an alligator invites me back to his pond, we’ll definitely use a condom,” I said, giving him a salute.

Mom made a noise of disgust at the juvenile sense of humor I’d inherited from my dad, and I closed the door so I could change out of my sweat-sodden travel clothes. Though I’m no stranger to heat, the humidity was unreal. Walking outside was like being slapped in the face with a hot, wet wool blanket. I needed far fewer clothes on.

In my thinnest tank top and shortest jean cutoffs, I made my way across the grass and down the sidewalk, past the hedge. All I had to do was find wherever the staff took their breaks, and I would find what I was looking for.

The path wound around a pond and over a bridge, and that’s where I hit my first challenge. There was a guy standing there, alone. Like he was waiting.

I wasn’t a scaredy-cat. But I did watch Dateline. I didn’t feel like being the star of an episode. I scanned the area to gauge how close other people might be.

Then the guy noticed me there and lifted his hand to wave me over. “Wanna see an alligator?”

I did, absolutely, want to see an alligator. But I didn’t want to get murdered. I weighed my options carefully. Curiosity won out.

I moved onto the bridge, but not too close to the guy. I could see him better now, in the light of the faux gas lamps. It only took me a second to place him. “You’re Matthew Ashe.”

We may never have met before, but I’d seen him in my brother’s photos on F******k. And the pictures had not done Matthew Ashe justice. He was so good-looking, I took personal offense. His chestnut-brown hair was a tiny bit too long, curling under the edge of his Detroit Tigers baseball cap. His broad shoulders filled out his T-shirt like it was an expensive suit, and he had a serious case of Superman jaw.

The water beneath the wooden bridge lashed. I jumped back with a yelp and Matthew reflexively grabbed my arm. “It’s the gator,” he said with a deep, warm laugh.

“Yeah, the gator.” I peered over the edge of the bridge, partially because I was curious, partially because I needed a second to look away from the handsomeness happening. He wasn’t just physically hot. His presence was heart-stopping.

“And you are?” he asked.

It took me a second to remember that I’d called him by name. “Oh. Charlotte. I’m Scott’s sister.”

Matthew’s eyes widened. “It’s so nice to finally meet you! Your brother talks about you all the time.”

The gator hiding beneath the bridge hissed.

“I don’t think he’ll come up here,” Matthew reassured me confidently. “What brings you out in the middle of the night?”

Since it was Scott’s best friend, I figured I could be honest. Also, if he owned the place, he probably knew where to find what I needed.

“In the interest of transparency, I’m looking for weed,” I said with a shrug. “I was here to meet my plug.” I gestured to the gator.

Matthew grimaced and sucked in a breath. “This is awkward.” His slight pause worried me, until he added, “I called the alligator police on him.”

“I thought you were going to tell me it was against resort policy.”

“It is, but I know the owner.”

“And he makes you babysit alligators?” I raised an eyebrow.

“He has a vested interest in guests not being eaten by alligators.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “But if you stick around until this situation is resolved, I know where you can get what you’re looking for.”

My earlier conversation with Sarrah flashed through my mind. From the way his gaze kept slipping down, I had zero doubt I could get exactly what I was looking for from Matthew Ashe. But he was my brother’s best friend. Maybe there was some kind of code of honor between dudes that makes little sisters off-limits.

Whatever. I could still get high, since he’d invited me.

“Sure. I think I have some free time this evening.” I peered over the bridge. “Are we actually waiting for someone to deal with the alligator, though?”

“Oh, yeah, absolutely,” he responded, all seriousness. “There’s a nuisance alligator team on premises to deal with them, but it’ll take them a minute. And that big party over there is about to get out—”

“And you don’t need drunk people and wild animals raising your liability insurance.” I understood. And I was kind of impressed. “Somehow, I don’t see other CEOs taking on this type of job.”

“It’s good to have a hands-on interest,” he quipped. The dimple in his cheek when he smiled made me want to take a hands-on interest in him.

I hoped he’d take a hands-on interest in me too.

One of those electric golf carts pulled up, bearing four guys, some orange safety cones, and what could only be described as gator-wrangling equipment. Matthew grabbed the stack of cones, thanking the men piling out of the cart before he asked, “Over there?”

While I didn’t have any experience with billionaire CEOs in person, I’d had plenty of bosses at fast-food places who wouldn’t have dashed into action during a lunch rush, let alone a gatormergency. And he’d asked his workers what to do, rather than assuming he knew best by default. My expectations for rich people were astonishingly low, but I was impressed.

He jogged back in my direction. “Okay. Let’s get the fuck out of here before it gets dangerous.” He waved and thanked the men again, then motioned in the direction I’d come from. As we started off, his arm slipped around my waist to guide me off the bridge. Then he pulled quickly back with an embarrassed “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Just don’t push me into an alligator-infested pond.”

“Ever?” he asked, as if baffled by the request.

I could understand why Scott liked him. Matthew had an easy sense of humor.

“You’re one of those people who feels like they know someone like two seconds after meeting them, aren’t you?”

“Oh, not at all,” he said with a laugh. “I feel like I know you. Your brother talks about you all the time.”

“That’s unsettling.” I couldn’t imagine that there were any good things to say about me. Hey, this is my sister, she’s never held a job for more than six months.

“He… kind of warned me not to…”

I smirked. “That’s a shame.”

“Well, I never explicitly agreed to honor his wishes.”

Jackpot.

He winced. “That’s gross, isn’t it? I promise, I’m not planning some weird, ‘ha ha, I banged your sister’ prank or something like that.”

“I don’t think my brother would be friends with someone like that.”

“I don’t either,” Matthew agreed. “We don’t let assholes into our group.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re not going to murder me either,” I added.

“You’d be missed. Everybody knows you’re here.” He motioned down a path that thankfully wouldn’t lead us past my parents’ villa. “This way.”

It wasn’t a surprise that we headed toward the large main building. “Let me guess. You’ve got a connection in the kitchen?”

He shook his head.

“Then you know a bellhop who knows somebody?” I guessed again.

“No, we’re going to my room,” he said. “If that’s okay with you?”

That was a surprise. “You’re not staying in some luxury owner’s quarters? I’m in a private residence.”

With my parents, my brain added to rub it in.

“Then I guess you’re a little bit better than me.” His smile hit me like three margaritas and I almost swooned. He went on, “All the private accommodations were reserved for the wedding party and family guests.”

“Hmm.” I pretended to doubt him.

“Hey, I’m staying in the largest luxury suite on the property,” he played along. “You should still be impressed.”

I squinched up my face. “We’ll see.”

“Oh, you’ll see,” he teased me back. “You’ll be eating those words.”

“I’ll be eating everything out of the snack bar after I smoke up your weed.” I paused. “I mean… if we’re hanging out. That was presumptuous of me. I can get a j to go—”

“I could use a smoke buddy,” he said. “You are very welcome to hang out in my supercool and much better than your private villa presidential suite.”

“Presidential?” I had to laugh at that. “Did Woodrow Wilson stay here recently?”

He tilted his head in question. And then I felt hopelessly nerdy, but I had to explain myself. When I had a good bit of trivia, I couldn’t help but pass it on. “Hotels began using the term ‘presidential suite’ because Woodrow Wilson had specific rules for suites he stayed in.” 

“Ah.” Matthew nodded in understanding. “Scott said your Trivial Pursuit skills are legendary.”

“They are.” Probably not my sexiest quality, but there I was, talking about Woodrow Wilson to the hottest guy I’d ever seen in person.

“There’s bar trivia tomorrow night. Maybe you and Scott can get a team together,” he suggested.

I laughed at the absurdity of that particular idea. “Maybe you and Scott can get a team together. I’m not letting him hold me back.”

We reached the doors of the hotel and he waved away the man who stepped forward to open them for us. Matthew opened the door and held it for me.

“What a gentleman,” I said as I passed him.

“No, I’m blocking your appearance from the security camera. For when I murder you.” He put his arm around my shoulders as we crossed the lobby. “Now, let’s go break some resort policies.”

I got a whiff of his cologne. I didn’t even like cologne. But I wanted my hair to smell like it in the morning.

What was wrong with me? And what wrong choices were I about to make?