“But you loved it so much you decided to stay?”
“No. After work one day, I returned to our little shithole apartment to find that he’d moved out, taken our savings, and flown to Denver.”
“Bastard.”
She shrugs. “It wasn’t going to last. He liked smoking pot more than working, which explains why he headed to Colorado, not home. Besides, the sex was really average.”
Keeley doesn’t look like she’s brokenhearted over this jerk, but I know how crazy someone hung up on the wrong person can behave. Griff was such a dumb ass about Tiffanii.
As I pull up to the front of my building in resident parking, I kill the engine. “How long ago was that?”
“Almost three years go.”
She surprises the hell out of me with that answer. “You’ve stayed here all this time? You must like it. Maui is paradise, right?” I toss over my shoulder as I step out of the car and jog around to her side, then open her door.
“I could never afford the roof over my head and a plane ticket off the island at the same time. In the ages-old tradition of saying ‘I told you so,’ my mom won’t lend me the money to leave. So…here I am.” She stands. “Can we talk about something else?”
“Sure.” I shut the car door and lock it as I lead her toward my unit.
I want to keep things light between us. If I’m going to ask her tomorrow to tempt my brother into losing his mind, I don’t need to get too involved in her life. We’re here to have a good time. Yet all these questions run through my head. How long had she and dirtbag been together? Keeley seems to have a soft heart, so how devastated had she been by his betrayal? Has she found it hard to forget this guy? Already I know the sex between the two of us won’t be anything but amazing, but I wonder if she still misses the ex. Will she think of him—even accidentally—while I’m inside her?
Okay, I need to stop that train of thought. What the hell is wrong with me? I never ask questions, much less want to know a one-night stand’s personal shit. We have a few drinks, a few laughs, a few orgasms, then it’s over. I give her a fond memory, and we move on. I don’t remember anything more than her name—if that.
Already, I’m pretty sure Keeley will be different.
Worry less about closing the deal and open yourself to someone who can share your life.
Damn it, Britta needs to get out of my head.
Keeley follows me up the stairs with a grateful nod and stands quietly while I unlock the door at the end of the breezeway. It’s a pretty standard layout: short hall, closet on the right, kitchen with a bar top overlooking the living room on the left. Hardwoods, granite. It’s neutral. I wonder what she thinks.
Keeley barely looks at it. She heads straight for my balcony, which overlooks a portion of the pools and a nice slice of the ocean. It tends to be quieter on this side of the complex. All that will totally help with resale someday.
“Wow, this is amazing.” She sinks down into a patio chair, looking mesmerized, and stares at the moonlight beading over the quiet grounds and the waves crashing with a dull thud in the distance. “You must spend all your time out here.”
“No.” I can’t remember the last time I even opened the lanai door. Sure, I look at the view through my window, but to just sit out there? “I’m not home that much.”
“Seriously? I’d find reasons to be home. I’d live out here. I could clear a spot for meditation. Studying with this view would be fantastic. The sound of waves helps me concentrate. I’d eat out here…” She turns to me. “And you never use it?”
Her words feel like an indictment, and my knee-jerk reaction is to defend myself. “I don’t really have time. Drink?”
“Sure. I’ll take a glass of wine.” She turns to me as I head back to the kitchen. “But when you’re home, you don’t come out here just to enjoy it?”
“No.” I’m getting a little irritated, mostly because I know she’s right. Why don’t I look at the natural beauty I paid a fortune for? “I don’t. Inside is nice, too. All my creature comforts are here. Honestly, I just don’t think of it much.”
I pour her a glass of red and myself a brandy before heading back outside and sinking into the chair opposite Keeley. As she sips her vino, I watch her. Every move has a quiet female sexuality I don’t think I’ve seen—or noticed before. It’s fascinating, her fingers holding the glass with unconscious elegance, the delicate pursing of her lips as she imbibes. Her chest rises and falls, and a pink curl tumbles over one shoulder, then dives between her breasts. They’re a nice handful—just right for her body—and obviously natural. I like that she’s real. Grabbing fake boobs can be like caressing rocks.
She sets her glass down. “Why would you spend your time inside when the place was clearly the hotel decorating staff’s attempt to appeal to the unimaginative? It’s not you at all.”
I sit back and sip. I’ve never really thought of all the browns, tans, and creams as being dull, but to Keeley, they would be. “I have some blue throw pillows on the couch.”
“They’re aqua,” she corrects. “And I didn’t see a single personal knickknack or photo anywhere in the living room.”
“You hardly looked at it.”
“There wasn’t much to see after the sectional, coffee table, and big-ass TV. Sorry. I’m not criticizing. I’m just surprised. Your car is so…you. This place isn’t.”
“You think you know me?”
She shrugs. “You have a certain vibe. It’s way more bold and masculine than this Tommy Bahama pad. Why haven’t you made it your own? Or do you have that male inability-to-decorate gene?”
I don’t know how to answer her. I’ve never tried to decorate. “Probably.”
“Describe your first place.”
I picture it in my head. Early macho dorm room. Two monster truck tires and a sheet of glass made my first coffee table. Posters of hot chicks straddling hot cars… I frown. Come to think of it, that was all Griff’s doing. But I didn’t object.
“Okay, you win,” I concede with a self-deprecating smile. “I can’t decorate.”
She laughs. “Take me down to the beach?”
I start to balk. I haven’t even kissed her. The conversation has been nice. Okay, it’s actually been enjoyable. She’s got an interesting perspective. Strange that she’s making me look at myself with a critical eye…but not terrible. According to Britta, I need it. I was hoping we’d finish our drinks, then get naked for some mattress tango. But she’s looking at me with big blue eyes, and there’s a little pout to her lower lip. On anyone else, it would seem childish or petulant, but she looks damn sexy begging.