Folding my arms over my chest, I raise awkwardly to standing. “I’m fine.”
“Were you … crying?” Cade asks, rising with me, still watching me closely. “It looked like you were in pain.”
Inspiration strikes and I grasp it. “I … I had a cramp.”
The confusion in his face turns to pure concern. “Those are the worst. Was it a leg cramp? Want me to massage it?”
I take a big step backward. Cade touching me is the absolute last thing I need right now. Who knows how my traitorous body might respond. “I’m fine now. It’s gone.”
Ryder puts a hand on my arm. “You sure you’re okay, Bianca?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I should get going, though. It’s getting late.” Thankfully, the foot race brought us back closer to their property. “I need to meet Olivia. You know, for the wild night of partying.” I try to add some humor to my tone, though I’m feeling anything but amused.
“Right,” Ryder says, not sounding very amused himself. “Did you want these?” He holds out his hand to show me the shells he’s collected. Among the half dozen items are two perfect scotch bonnet shells; maybe he remembered that I collect them.
My family’s store gets shells delivered by the boxful to sell to tourists, but that’s not the same as finding them yourself, or having friends find them for you. “Thank you. These are great.” I pluck the shells from his hand, still keeping an arm wrapped around my chest.
We make our way back to their house, where I slip my clothes on over my suit and refuse to take the remaining three cupcakes they offer, knowing the guys will enjoy them, probably after fighting over them.
I thank them again for having me over, before making the quickest exit I can manage without looking like I’m running away. In my head, I’m running hard and far, not sure if I’ll ever be able to show my face at their house again.
5
Make things happen
Olivia’s already at the bar when I arrive. Actually, bar isn’t the right word. It’s a trendy little place off the island that, according to its website, seems to care as much about the food as it does about its creative cocktails. Olivia’s been here on dates, but it’s my first time.
She’s at a high table for two, and there’s a small pink gift bag sitting on the side with the open chair.
“Happy Birthday, B!”
“Thank you, O.” Our initials have been our nicknames for each other for years, but today hers makes me cringe. O. The Big O. The big freaking orgasm I had right out in public, in the company of my male friends.
My face burns at the memory of it. Actually, I’ve thought of little else in the couple of hours since it happened. I took a long, cold shower and cried. I got dressed for this night out, cursing my body for its cruel betrayal, even though I know the fault is mine for leaving my body so desperate for pleasure and release.
For the hundredth time, I try to shove these mortifying thoughts aside and bury my feelings, but Olivia can see that something’s wrong.
“You okay?” she asks as I slip onto the chair across from her.
I stare at my friend. I’ve always told Olivia everything, but being that I’m still a virgin, there’s never been much to tell. Part of me wants to share my misery, but I’m honestly not sure I’ll be able to get the words out.
Before I can say anything, our waiter arrives, a dark-haired guy who looks to be a few years older than us. His attention is focused on me since Olivia already has a drink in front of her. “Good evening. I’m Tom. You must be the birthday girl.”
I give a small smile and nod.
“Happy birthday.” His eyes flicker down to my red dress before returning to my face. “What can I bring you to drink? The first one’s on me for your birthday.”
“I haven’t had time to look at your menu yet,” I say, vaguely recalling the large list of specialty drinks I saw online.
Olivia lifts her glass, which has strawberries and mint floating in a peach-colored liquid. “This one is really good.”
“I’ll have one of those, please,” I tell the waiter.
“Perfect.” His eyes linger on me for a few extra seconds before he walks off.
“So what’s going on?” Olivia asks.
“Ugh.” I let out a big sigh, my shoulders slumping. “I’m probably going to need that drink before I’m ready to talk.”
My friend pouts sympathetically. “That bad?”
“Yes … and, well, also it’s just everything today. I’m so frustrated with my life. Another year gone by, and what do I have to show for it? No money, no boyfriend. Nothing’s going the way it’s supposed to.”
“Aww, sweetie, you’re putting too much pressure on yourself. Birthdays can be hard.”