Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
He glances at them in his rearview mirror. “Worse.”
“These are massage seats!” Annika exclaims.
“Oh my god, it’s pummeling my butt!” Simone says with chattering teeth. “Turn it off!”
Laughing, I try to explain, “I’d apologize, but you’re the one who insisted they come.”
“How do I turn up the air con?” Simone asks, poking her head up between the front seats.
Cristiano presses a button on the wide-screen display panel and the cool air immediately starts blasting. A moment later, he slows the car to a stop outside our apartment complex.
“No! Bugger, are we already here?” Simone moans.
“Yes, now thank the nice man and go!” Annika prods.
They slip out of the back seat, and I wait until they close the door before I work up the courage to look at Cristiano. He doesn’t seem like he’s in a hurry to kick me out even though it’s late and we’re both tired. Though I was a bit annoyed with him back in the club, I can’t help but want to linger in his presence just a little bit longer. It’s nice now in the quiet with no audience. Finally there’s no one listening in on our conversation.
“Just so you know, Simone and Annika aren’t going to buy the work visa excuse I gave them about why you’re taking a special interest in me. They barely bought it the first time.”
He turns toward me, and I catch a whiff of his cologne, spiced and strong—I love it.
“What do they suspect is going on?”
I swallow and look away from his mouth. I hadn’t even realized that was where I was staring.
“Usual boy-girl stuff.”
“Elaborate.”
I clear my throat and narrow my gaze on the sidewalk. “Just that maybe you’re interested or making a move or something.” I hate that my cheeks flush as I hurry to add, “It’s silly. They’re just trying to annoy me. But this feels inappropriate.”
“Giving you a ride home is inappropriate?”
I shake my head. “No. It’s…”
My thoughts—they’re the inappropriate thing. The fact that I find Cristiano so freaking attractive I have a hard time looking him in the eye—that’s inappropriate. The ride is fine. The ride is over.
I reach for my door handle.
“Tell them whatever you want. Say we’re friends.”
I smirk. “Friends?”
His dark eyes hold mine captive until my smirk drops and I nod, suddenly very aware of the privacy we have in here. Clearly I need to get out more. I need to date. I need a man who will take my mind off Cristiano. Maybe it was a mistake to not let that rude DJ cart me off to parts unknown.
“Thank you for the ride,” I say quickly before I dash out of his car and slam the door behind me. And thank you for saving me.
Chapter Ten
Isabel
It’s Monday and my first day off from Aura since I started working there. I have a lot of ground to cover with Winnie’s list, so even though sleep calls, when my alarm goes off at nine AM, I throw my blanket off and get up.
The apartment I share with Simone is extremely modest. There’s a kitchen and small living space, one bedroom, and one bathroom. Furniture is bare necessities only, but the space is clean and the water pressure in the shower makes up for the lumpy mattress. I dress carefully and quietly so I don’t wake Simone. Once I’m wearing my bikini and a sundress, I grab a granola bar on my way out the door.
In general, Ibiza isn’t known for its swells, but there are several beaches around the island that are considered decent surfing spots. Playa Jondal is the beach Thalia recommended to me yesterday when we were bonding over our mutual love of surfing.
It’s a short taxi ride from my apartment, and once we park, the driver points me in the direction of a surf stand set up right on the beach. I make sure to tip the driver well, relieved that I’ve lucked out concerning my cash problem on the island. Aura’s given me my first paycheck (minus my room and board), but I haven’t deposited it; I pretend that money doesn’t exist. I’ve found it completely possible to live off the cash tip-outs I earn at the end of every shift. Tips far outweigh my paycheck anyway, and I don’t need much to live well on Ibiza. It’s slightly overkill to still avoid using my credit cards at all while I’m here. I’m not convinced my parents would ever have our security team check that sort of thing, but I’d rather not chance it.
A young, tanned Spanish guy is behind the counter at the stand, his shaggy brown hair brushing his shoulders. Behind him, there are rows of surfboards available to rent. My lack of Spanish poses no problem. He knows enough English from dealing with tourists like me to get me set up.