in the process.
I would talk to someone, and I would try to stop being the person I had become. Because keeping secrets only hurt people. I had hurt Brenna. I knew it. Brenna, the one everyone thought loved me when that wasn’t the case. She had only been hurt because I had been keeping secrets from her—something I had promised myself I would never do. And here I was, doing it anyway.
I finished my workout, drank an entire glass of cucumber water, and headed back to my room.
On the way, I nearly tripped over my feet and ran into Eliza in the hallway. She looked up at me, her wet hair piled on the top of her head, a towel wrapped around her chest. She was wet and wearing only a bathing suit, that towel, and flip-flops. She grimaced. “I forgot my wrap. I was just doing a few laps in the pool.” she muttered as her gaze raked over me. “Anyway, um,” she said quickly.
“I just finished working out,” I said and then looked down at my sweaty body. “As is evident.”
“Yes. Um. Anyway, I was actually going to call later and see if, well, if you wanted to go get breakfast. Or is it too late for that?”
I swallowed hard and did my best not to look at her directly. My cock pressed against my gym shorts, and I swore I’d just end it right here if she noticed. I would jump off my balcony as soon as I walked inside.
Why the hell was my cock doing this? I couldn’t want Eliza. That was wrong. Oh so fucking wrong. I fucking wanted her. And that made me the worst person in the world.
“Breakfast sounds great,” I said quickly, trying to think of anything but how she must look under that towel. I’d seen part of her swimsuit the day before, the way it clung to those delicious curves of hers. Her breasts were full and high, her hips flaring out just wide enough that they would be perfect for my hands to grip.
And that was enough of that.
I was seriously going to hell. This weekend wasn’t about this. Wasn’t about me having dirty thoughts about her.
This weekend was about healing.
Not sex.
Jesus Christ, not sex.
“I need to blow out my hair again because if I don’t, it’ll end up a frizzy mess, and no one needs to see that.”
I snorted. “I’m pretty sure it doesn’t matter; you’ll look beautiful, no matter what.” Her eyes widened, and her cheeks pinked. “Sorry, that was too much. I was telling the truth.”
She shook her head. “That was nice to hear. No one says that anymore.”
My brows rose. “Seriously? You’re fucking hot, Eliza.” I pressed my lips together. “And I’m never going to speak again.”
She laughed. “And on that note, I am going to shower and get ready for breakfast. I’ll be as quick as possible. I brought my favorite blow-dryer that blows me out pretty quickly.”
I did not know why that comment made me think of sex, and I did my best not to think about it. Seriously, going to hell.
“Anyway, before I keep rambling and dripping all over the carpet, I’m headed in.” She turned, smacked into the door, cursed, and then made her way inside before I could see if she was okay.
What the hell was wrong with us?
I quickly got inside and showered, did my best not to touch my dick too much because…dear God it would not go down. What the hell was wrong with me?
This was Eliza. She was a widow. She was Annabelle’s best friend. She was Brenna’s fucking best friend.
She might be my friend too, and that was why I wasn’t supposed to be thinking about her this way. I wasn’t supposed to blurt out things like the fact that she was fucking sexy. What the hell was wrong with me?
And I sure as hell didn’t need to get a hard-on when she was around.
Friends didn’t let friends get hard-ons.
Not that that was actually a saying, but it should be, damn it.
We were going to breakfast, so I put on a pair of nice pants and a button-down shirt, something similar to what I’d seen others wearing in the dining room. The place was nice, not too casual, and the fact that either of us had walked around in our swimsuits earlier just meant that we were in the exclusive part of the resort, meaning we could wear whatever the hell we wanted.
This place was