Crazy For Love. Victoria Dahl

imagination.”

      “Yes, he was nice, but—”

      “So there’s another issue I’m trying to figure out. If he’d really been so nice, he would’ve at least called me after he faked his own death and humiliated me in front of the entire world, right? He’s never even called. Though his mom left me a couple of messages this week. Maybe he talked her into calling for him.”

      Jenn cringed and swallowed hard, so Chloe forced a smile. “There’s no hope for me, Jenn. I can’t handle a pair of hot twins right now. You go on without me. Save yourself.”

      Jenn opened her mouth as if to argue, but after a moment, she took a deep breath and shook her head. “So I can have them both?”

      “You’re such a faker. You’ve only had sex with two guys in your whole life. Individually. I don’t think you’re ready for a threesome.”

      “Shut up. You’re ruining my fantasy. And as you pointed out, fantasy is all I have most of the time.”

      That was true. Jenn, who was willowy and beautiful and outgoing with her girlfriends, became a nervous wreck around men. A threesome was definitely not in her future. In fact, she was blushing already, just from talking about it.

      Chloe rolled her shoulders and stood up, amazed that her neck had lost the ache that had resided there for the past month. “We’re both pitiful and hopeless, so we may as well have those cheeseburgers. The seagulls won’t give a damn what we look like in our bikinis.”

      Jenn slipped on her flip-flops while Chloe grabbed her wallet, and they headed off across the sand, not bothering to pretend they weren’t trying to look into the men’s cabin as they passed. “They’re probably a couple,” Chloe murmured.

      “I was serious about you going for it,” Jenn said. “Not with both of them, but at least one.”

      “It’s not going to happen.”

      “You need some fun, Chloe. I can’t stand seeing you this way. Screw Thomas. Live it up. Be Island Chloe!”

      “Island Chloe, huh?” She shook her head in resolute denial. Her life was crazy enough as it was. “It’s not in me. Not right now.”

      “Just…keep an open mind.”

      Two minutes later they were standing in front of the rough gray walls of the bar, brushing sand off their feet.

      “This place is great,” Jenn assured her. “It’s packed during tourist season. We used to swipe beers off tables and hang around on the deck.”

      Nobody was on the seaside deck today, but the locals probably got tired of ocean views and sun.

      When they finally walked in, the first thing Chloe noticed was the arctic air-conditioning. She was about to suggest that they sit outside when she noticed something else. A lot must have changed since Jenn had worked on the island ten years before. There were plasma-screen TVs in all four corners of the bar, and there was nothing static-y about the baseball games playing on any of them.

      “Oh, no,” Jenn breathed.

      Fields glowed in vivid green contrast to the bright white uniforms on the closest screen. “The wonders of satellite,” Chloe muttered, trying not to feel bitter, even as a familiar sense of panic boiled up in her chest.

      “Chloe, I’m so sorry! I had no idea!”

      “It’s not your fault, and it’s no big deal anyway. It’s just a sports bar. Nobody here cares about me.” And it was true, at least at the moment. There were only six customers in the place, and though heads turned in their direction, the games drew their attention again quickly enough.

      Chloe let out a deep breath. Slowly. “Will you order while I grab a table on the deck?”

      Jenn nodded and shooed her out as if there were a scrum of people at the door, all jostling for a seat outside.

      Chloe spun and reached for the handle, but she froze with her hand wrapped around the cold metal. She didn’t like the fear creeping along her spine, didn’t like the panic making her fingers shake. Over the past month, she’d turned into a coward who jumped at every shadow and couldn’t even trust people enough to eat dinner near them. The mere sight of a working television squeezed her stomach into knots.

      She didn’t want to run outside. She hadn’t been in a bar with a girlfriend in…forever.

      Fear turned to rage for a brief, shining moment, and Chloe spun back to face the bar, determined not to run…just this one time.

      No one was watching her. Not even Jenn.

      She let go of her death grip on the door handle and took a deep breath. Thomas’s stupidity and cowardice had turned her into a paranoid freak. Or, if she were feeling fair, the twenty-four-hour media culture had turned her into that freak, but Chloe wasn’t feeling the least bit fair.

      But she was feeling wonderfully anonymous, so she put her chin up, ignored the icy air-conditioning and took a seat at the nearest table. One baby step at a time, she’d find a way to start a new life for herself. After this was over, she’d dye her hair and get a new apartment and walk through life as if her name hadn’t become synonymous with psycho-bitch. But for now, she’d have a drink in the bar and not look over her shoulder while she was doing it. Baby steps.

      TRYING HIS BEST to ignore the incessant sound of rumbling waves, Max prodded the hot coals in the grill he’d set up on the sand.

      “Hey!” Elliott called from the porch. “You sure you don’t want me to do that?”

      “I got it,” he shouted back. Elliott lived in a high-rise condo in D.C. He likely didn’t understand the dangers of wind-whipped fire. If Max didn’t man the grill himself, he’d just stand on the porch, arms crossed, watching Elliott to be sure he didn’t let the flames get too high. It was more relaxing to simply take control of the situation.

      “All right,” said Elliott from right behind him. “I’ve got beer duty covered, though.” He handed Max an ice-cold Corona and stood a little too close to the grill for Max’s comfort. Max shifted toward his brother to edge him farther away.

      Jaw set as he stared out at the waves, Elliott moved a few inches to the side. Jesus, he looked even more miserable than Max felt. Max rolled his shoulders and put on his smile.

      “Say,” he said, slapping his brother on the back, “there are women on this island.”

      The creases in Elliott’s forehead deepened. “I think wild vacation flings are more your kind of thing.”

      “Mm,” Max grunted, aware, as he always was, that the persona he’d crafted for himself fit him about as well as an extrasmall wet suit. Fun-loving, carefree adventurer. It couldn’t be further from the truth. But the wild woman part? That struck a little closer to home. “Yeah, well, I thought you were trying to add some spark to your life.”

      “That last girl you dated sure threw off sparks,” Elliott offered, his mouth finally curving up in a smile.

      “Don’t remind me,” Max groaned.

      The smile twisted into a full-on grin. “What was her name?”

      “Genevieve.”

      “Right, the infamous Genevieve Bianca. She…”

      “Hey,” Max cut in, “weren’t we talking about you?”

      “What’s the point? Your life is a hell of a lot more interesting. It always has been.”

      “The fucking plague is interesting, too.” Max deserved the laughter he got in response. Interesting was a mild word to describe his love life.

      His woman problems had started out innocently enough. He liked to take care of things. To make sure the details of life were addressed. To make sure that people were taken care of.

      There was no