Love the One You're With (21 page)

Baby inhaled deeply on the cigarette. She’d never really liked smoking, and hated the burning sensation in her lungs now.
But even though it didn’t feel good, it sort of felt right, at least for the moment. It wasn’t as if anything could get much
worse.

“Thanks.” Baby exhaled a cloud of smoke. She’d stopped crying and now her insides just felt numb. How could she have gotten
so carried away? “I know we’ve never really talked, but I just wanted to say that I’m sorry about J.P.” Baby pushed her long
tangled brown hair back from her face, then pulled a few strands into her mouth. It was totally disgusting, but when she got
super-nervous or upset, she always sucked on her hair.

“You need to apologize for
that
,” Jack said, pushing Baby’s hand away from her hair. “And why are you apologizing for J.P.
now
?”

“I hooked up with Riley,” Baby confessed in a rush of words. It felt good to say it, even though Jack Laurent was the last
person she’d imagined she’d be confessing to.

“You did?” Jack turned to her in disbelief. Her freckles looked even more prominent after a long day in the sun.

“I didn’t mean to,” Baby added. That didn’t really sound much better. “You know, I’d never… when J.P. and I… we never hooked
up until you guys had broken up.” It felt good to tell Jack the truth. Still, it didn’t change how awful she felt now.

“That’s the past. We’re talking about now. You hooked up with Riley,” Jack replied matter-of-factly. Baby’s hair was falling
down her back, she was hugging her knees to her chest, and she looked like a miserable kindergartner who’d gotten sent to
the corner for stealing someone’s toys without asking. Had Baby
done
it with Riley? Or J.P.? Jack couldn’t help but wonder.

“I know. It just happened. But I thought it meant something. And then I caught him with
Layla
,” Baby said miserably. The last part came out almost as a whisper.

Jack sat up and looked Baby straight in the eye. “Look, I’m going to tell you what I think: You can’t cry over someone else’s
boyfriend. They’re
supposed
to hook up. They’re
a couple
. But you’re making a fool of her, sneaking behind her back. Honestly, I feel worse for her than I do for you.”

“Thanks,” Baby said sarcastically. “That really makes me feel great.”

“You
shouldn’t
feel great,” Jack said seriously. “You need to tell her what happened. She needs to know. I’m telling you this for your own
good.” Jack drained the rest of the champagne glass. Part of her wanted to give Baby even more of a lecture, but she just
couldn’t. Even though it wasn’t right, she could tell how upset Baby was about this. Plus, Baby was Owen’s sister and Jack
didn’t want to alienate her. “You don’t have to tell her
tonight
,” Jack said, a little more softly.

Baby nodded. She couldn’t believe it had to come from Jack, but the advice was completely right. She had to tell Layla. “I
don’t feel good,” Baby said suddenly, this time for real. She could feel the champagne mixing with the caviar-rolled potatoes
in her stomach. Whoever thought that combination was a good idea was a sadomasochistic moron. Baby stood up and ran into the
girls’ villa, straight to the bathroom.

Ew. If there was one thing Jack couldn’t handle, it was puke. She’d had to deal with it at her father’s house, when the stepbrats
had a bout of the flu, and absolutely didn’t want to deal with Baby being a drunken mess. Still, she just couldn’t leave her
heaving and crying in the bathroom.

With a sigh, Jack stood up and followed her inside. Baby, shivering and even more disheveled than normal, huddled over the
toilet.

“Hey.” Jack knelt down, gingerly lifting the hem of her black Vena Cava dress so that it didn’t touch the floor. She cautiously
rubbed Baby’s back until Baby’s heaves subsided.

“There,” Baby said when she finished, leaning away from the toilet. “That was gross, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Jack stood up and ran a washcloth under the faucet, then passed it to Baby. “Are you feeling better?”

Baby nodded, then, surprisingly, her face broke into a smile. “Who knew you were so nice?” she teased.

Jack smiled back. “You owe me.” She arched an eyebrow.

Suddenly, Baby laughed, then hiccupped. Jack laughed too. Maybe Baby Carlyle wasn’t a boyfriend-stealing hippie skank. Or maybe she
was
, but was trying to change. In any case, it just felt good to finally let her guard down. “Come on,” Jack said softly, “Let’s get you to bed.”

Twenty minutes later, Jack had taken off Baby’s Havaiana flip-flops, force-fed her three glasses of water, and tucked her into bed. Now she was sitting on the wraparound deck, smoking a Merit and looking up at the stars. She could hear the waves crash against the shore. Even though the island was only a few hours’ flight from New York, she felt very far away from her old life.

Jack still couldn’t wrap her mind around the fact that Avery had lashed out at her like that at dinner—not that it wasn’t warranted. Avery was right. Coming here, she had lied to just about everyone: to J.P., to Avery, even to herself. She didn’t need a vacation. She didn’t need to run away. She needed to take a long, hard look at her life and figure out exactly what it was she wanted.

One thing she definitely wanted was Owen. But she knew that he was out of the picture now. She hadn’t seen his face when Avery announced that Jack was basically a scheming, lying ho-bag, but she knew he’d probably never look at her the same way again.

But, she realized, just because she couldn’t have the guy she
did
want didn’t mean she should keep around the guy she didn’t. She had just told Baby to tell the truth, and face facts. Now, she had to do the same.

She pulled out her phone. Three missed calls. All from J.P. Not to mention eight texts.

Miss you, gorgeous.

Thinking of you.

You’re my world—and I want you back in my city!

Jack used to be the type of girl who loved that kind of attention from a boyfriend. Now it just made her feel trapped and claustrophobic. She knew what she had to do.

She dialed 1, her speed dial for J.P., and held her breath as the phone rang and finally went to voice mail. She took a breath.

“We need to talk when I get back to New York.” Jack choked back a sob, suddenly fully aware that this was it, there was no
turning back, that maybe this was the
it
, the big moment she’d been preparing for all along. “Things… aren’t working.”

Avery sat on the white sand, gazing out into the ocean and wishing she could cry. She could cry at the dumbest things: a paper
towel commercial on TV, getting a B on a chem assignment. But the trick was, she’d always feel the tears before they came
and let them loose when she was by herself. It was one of the things she prided herself on: to never,
ever
cry in front of people. Now she was alone. But even though she just wanted to let everything out, she couldn’t summon a tear.
Instead, her heart just felt like lead.

“Ave?” She heard her brother’s voice above the waves. It sounded like he was coming from the direction of the villas.

“Here,” she said numbly, just so he wouldn’t think she’d drowned or something.

“Oh, good.” Owen jogged over. In the moonlight, she could just make out his blond curls flopping over his blue eyes. “Can
I sit down?”

“If you want.” Avery shrugged. She didn’t really have any energy to argue.

Owen settled next to Avery, drawing a spiral in the white sand with his finger. The two siblings sat in silence for a while.
Avery sort of wished she could tell him how she felt, but so much had changed since Nantucket. Even though they’d only lived
in New York for three months, it felt like they’d become totally different people. They were still navigating how to relate
to each other. “Why didn’t you tell me you liked Rhys?”

“I was going to.” Avery shrugged. “But it doesn’t matter because all he wants to do is have sex.” She spat out the last word.

“That’s not true,” Owen shook his head vehemently. He’d been pissed at Rhys when he’d first found out about him and Avery.
His protective instincts had kicked into gear. But as he walked around the resort, looking for Avery, he’d had some time to
think. Yeah, Rhys shouldn’t have lied to him. But really, Rhys was only doing it for Owen’s sake, because he didn’t want him
to get overprotective and mad. It was going to take a little time to get used to the idea of his buddy hooking up with his
sister, but at the end of the day, Rhys was a good guy, and Owen knew that he shouldn’t stand in the way.

“How
would
you know? It’s all everyone wants,” Avery squeaked. Finally, real tears started to flow. She was so sick of always having
to think about who was hooking up with whom, who’d dated whom, who was planning to hook up with whom… why did it all come
back to the same thing?

Darwin says: Because as a species we’re hardwired to procreate.

“Avery, listen to me,” Owen said gently. His sister looked up. Her black eye makeup was streaked around her eyes and her hair
was wild around her shoulders. The last time Owen had seen Avery cry was probably when they were five and he’d accidentally
hit her with a swing and knocked out her front tooth. Usually, Avery looked so put together. Now, she just looked like his
sister who needed comforting.

Some lessons about the workings of the male mind wouldn’t hurt, either.

“Listen, Rhys is great. It’s not what you think,” Owen explained. “The texts were sort of my fault. We had this dumb swim
team idea that the only way Rhys would get over Kelsey was to hook up with a random girl. So I found these crazy, drunk British
girls and was pushing them on Rhys. But it was just because I didn’t know about you two.”

Avery paused for a moment. “That’s the lamest thing I’ve heard,” she finally blurted. Owen saw the corners of her mouth twitch,
like she was trying really hard not to smile.

“Lame? Don’t overestimate us. It was idiotic. But, seriously, could I make that shit up?” Owen shook his head in bemusement.

Darwin says: Males are also hardwired to be idiots.

“I guess not.” Avery sighed as she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Still, maybe he’s just not ready for a relationship.”

“And maybe he is. You guys will have to work that out together.”

“Have you ever been in love?” Avery asked curiously.

Owen thought again about Kelsey. He’d really thought he’d loved her at the time. He’d even stolen Avery’s Frédéric Fekkai
apple-scented misting spray from her shower because the smell had reminded him of Kelsey. But now he couldn’t even really
remember what it smelled like. Then he thought of Remington and their conversation on the boat. Remington had waited for years
to find true love because he’d made the easy choices, dating women who didn’t inspire or challenge him. Owen didn’t want to
be like that. Not now, and definitely not when he was Remington’s age. Maybe he did need to calm down and stop playing the
field or hauling up dogfish or whatever the right metaphor was.

“No,” Owen finally confessed. “But if you fall in love with Rhys, you can tell me what it’s like.” He draped his arm around
his sister’s shoulder.

“Thanks.” Avery sighed deeply. “But the whole thing just made me think—maybe we just got together because we were on vacation,
you know?” She stood up and brushed off the back of her dress. “I don’t want to think anymore tonight. Walk me back?”

“Of course,” Owen said, taking his sister’s arm.

Somebody’s going to get the brother of the year award.

Rhys perched miserably on one of the tall bar stools surrounding the horseshoe-shaped bar in the center of the hotel lobby,
oblivious to the couples enjoying drinks around him. He slid his empty glass toward the elderly bartender.

The bartender poured him another Scotch on the rocks. His third. “Be careful, buddy,” the bartender warned, pushing it back
toward him.

“Thanks,” Rhys grunted. He picked up the drink and chugged the amber liquid, liking the way it burned his throat. Right now
he could use the distraction. Nothing in his life made sense. Owen wanted to cut off his balls. Avery thought he was an asshole.
But he wasn’t an asshole—he was just a pussy. Why couldn’t he have told Hugh to fuck off? Why couldn’t he have told Owen the
truth? He sighed angrily.

“Oi, Rhys!” Issy was eagerly making her way down the four steps that led into the sunken bar. She waved her arms wildly, her
silver sequined dress riding up on her thighs. The other patrons looked over in amusement.

“Miss?” a hostess standing near the bottom of the staircase asked skeptically.

“Me mate’s over there. That fizzin’-lookin’ bloke with the brown ’air,” Issy exclaimed indignantly.

“That your girlfriend? No wonder you’re drinking!” the bartender whispered to Rhys as he moved down to the other end of the
bar.

“You look buggered,” Issy said, settling onto the stool next to Rhys and shaking her platinum blond hair out of her eyes.

“Er, hi,” he mumbled.

“So, Elsie’s off lookin’ for your man. Where is he? You ’idin’ ’im?” she asked as she gestured to the bartender. “Vodka with
Diet Coke, please!”

Rhys cringed. Diet Coke and vodka? She totally
was
his cousin’s wife Nicola. “So, I thought we’d all ’ave a bit of a laugh yesterday—then you all skivved off, like. Did you
find some other bird?” She sat on the very edge of her stool so that their knees were touching.

“What?” Rhys hissed. She was talking too fast, her accent too strong for him to understand.

Issy sighed, then turned toward him and locked eyes with his. “Did. You. Shag. A. Girl?” she asked slowly, as if Rhys were
a three-year-old.

“Oh, er, no,” he said, turning back to his drink. No, he most definitely did not.

“’Ere now,” Issy said, putting her hand on Rhys’s thigh. “You seem pretty cut up about something. You all right, love? You
can talk to me.”