Chapter 21

Sienna

Joe seems a bit

off

today.

He didn’t at

first

. I’d had a worry there might be a wee bit of awkwardness between us given the last time we’d been together we’d both had no clothes on, but actually, my fears over that were unfounded. I can’t pinpoint the moment that changed. Maybe he really didn’t like me implying he was a secret fan of Fifty Shades?

So now we’re in the car, and I’m trying frantically to think of something to say that isn’t cheese-related, just to break the awkward silence. I can’t think of

anything

.

We pass a church, and I grasp onto the first anecdote that comes into my head in relation to that. “Do you know the first thing my family used to do when we went on holiday to a new place? Look for the nearest Sunday Mass so we didn’t miss a week.” I grin at the memory. “Once we had to travel fifty miles on a Sunday morning, except my dad got lost, and we still missed the service. He was

furious

. “

“Ah, the joys of a Catholic childhood,” Joe says dryly. “I know it well myself; my parents were very religious.” He catches my sidelong surprised glance and interprets it correctly. “Hey, just cos they mostly hated their kids, and each other, doesn’t mean they needed to hate

God

too,” he deadpans. I snort, despite myself.

At least

that

breaks the tension.

He starts to laugh. “What was that?” He asks as I feel my face flush pink. I suppose I should be grateful it was a snort and not a fart. “You sounded like a tiny pig.”

“Sorry.” I find myself giggling. “Sometimes I snort. I have no control over it.”

He glances at me, and there’s that look again. Eyes soft, slightly confused smile. “It was cute,” he says quietly.

I feel like my insides are curling in on themselves. I want him to

always

look at me like that. It’s sweet and intimate and just makes me feel . . .

special

. Like he actually

likes

me, that this isn’t

just

a physical thing.

But it also makes me feel

scared

.

I came on holiday thinking (somewhat overdramatically, I admit) that my life was over and I’d never be happy again. But from pretty much the moment I met Joe, I’ve felt . . .

Alive

.

I’ve never really been a fan of the whole “best way to get over a man is to get under another” adage – I’m more the type of person who has to go through a long mourning period before I would even consider another guy or relationship- but Joe has definitely broken through my defences on this occasion.

The problem is, I don’t think he

wanted

to do that. I know he is not looking for a relationship, even though there’s no doubt our chemistry is off the chart. He’s dropped so many hints about this that I would have to be completely delusional to have missed them. He doesn’t see this going anywhere. Which is a bit of a headfuck, granted, but at least I know it’s nothing personal to

me

.

Unfortunately my heart is already getting involved, even while my head is screaming “don’t do it!”. Was there ever a chance I

wouldn’t

start to develop feelings for Joe? That the lust I felt from that first glance

wouldn’t

grow into something stronger once I started to get to know him?

I’m such a pathetic sap.

And, unfortunately, that sweet look on his handsome face just makes me want him more. Because he looks at me like I’m a secret he wants to keep to himself. And that then makes me wonder if maybe he might actually reciprocate these feelings I’m starting to have.

Thinking like that is edging me into a dangerous territory and I need to back the fuck out of it.

“Hey, do you mind checking Google maps on your phone and making sure I’m going in the right direction for Xi Beach?” Joe brings me back out of my confused brain.

“Sure.” I welcome the distraction, pulling the app up quickly. “Looks like we’re on the correct road so you’re all good.”

“Cool, thanks.” He nods. “Is it just me or do some of these roads remind you of being in the Highlands?”

“Yes!” I’d been thinking this too. “I mean, it would have to be a rare sunny day in Scotland for them to look completely alike obviously but the similarities are uncanny.”

Of course, talk of Scotland reminds me that we only have a couple of days left in Kefalonia and that our time together is finite; and that casts a shadow over my heart again because I’m falling for a guy I can only have on a temporary basis.

It takes less than an hour to reach Xi Beach but by this point I’m more than ready to exit the car; I feel like I need a bit of space to clear my head.

“It’s not as red as the photos implied,” Joe comments as we spread our towels out on the sand.

I agree. “But it’s still pretty.”

“Yep.” He turns around and squints at me as the sun is in his eyes. A smile warms up his chiselled features. “

Really

pretty.”

A warm glow consumes me. It’s clear he’s not talking about the beach.

And there he bloody goes again, making me feel all the things. Putting butterflies in my tummy, riling them up so they won’t stop anxiously fluttering.

“You want a drink?” He asks. I nod. He wanders away to fetch me one.

I heave a sigh and take the book out of my bag. I was so happy to find it in the bookcase as I’d forgotten about its existence; I used to have a copy of it but I let someone borrow it years ago and it was never returned to me. I can’t remember who I gave it to and I suddenly think wouldn’t it be funny if this was the same copy, that had found its way back to me all those years later.

I know it’s a ridiculous thought but I think it’s probably already clear that I am

indeed

ridiculous.

The book is called “Thought Clouds”. Apparently the guy who wrote it actually went to the same university as me. My friend Mel insists we even were in a lecture with him in our second year, although she can’t remember which one. Some of our lectures did have hundreds of folk in them so I guess it’s possible.

There’s something nagging away at me though, as I stare at the book. It’s like a tiny piece of a puzzle is missing in my brain and I can’t quite find the piece needed to slot it all together.

Then I realise what the missing piece is. It’s the author’s name, printed in small type on the bottom right hand side of the front cover.

J.P. Quinn

.

My brain goes into meltdown.

Surely not

? I think back to earlier in the bar, trying to pinpoint the exact moment that Joe’s whole demeanor changed. It was somewhere around the point when I’d pulled this book off the shelf and started raving about it.

With shaking hands, I open the book and find the “about the author” page.

J.P. Quinn was born in Glasgow in 1987.

That’s all I need to read to know.

Joe

is J.P. Quinn?

The guy who kissed me senseless last night, who was naked with me this morning, who I’m trying so bloody hard not to fall for, wrote one of my favourite novels?

Fucking hell.

Chapter 22

Joe

Since I returned to our towels with two cans of Coke, I’m very aware of the fact that Sienna has been looking at me weirdly. I’m not sure why, though. She has also barely spoken, which is really unlike her. She generally seems to see a silence as a challenge that she needs to fill.

I’m really not sure what’s going on, but I’m struggling with the silence myself now.

“I’m going to go for a swim,” I eventually say, standing up and removing my t-shirt. I’m secretly hoping she might join me, that we could recreate that Myrtos Beach moment from yesterday, this time with the missing kiss, but she barely reacts.

“Enjoy,” she says faintly. I can still feel her gaze on me as I walk towards the water, though, burning into my back, hotter than the sun.

A few minutes later, she materialises next to me in the sea, and she seems to be back to normal. Actually, no, I take that back. She has what can only be described as her horny face on, that expression she wore on her face last night when she was telling me how hot she found my glasses. She looks downright predatory. She’s like a different person when she goes into this mode, and I can’t deny it’s unbelievably hot.

She winds her arms around my neck. And then her legs wrap around my waist. She stares at me, her eyes blazing, and then leans forward and lightly tugs on my bottom lip with her teeth.

Everything springs to attention at that. And I mean

everything

.

“

Hey

,” she giggles, the one syllable word elongating into something longer and far more suggestive, leaving me in no doubt that she can feel how aroused I am. Not that I could have doubted it given that there’s only two bits of flimsy material separating us. We may as well be naked. I

wish

we were.

She runs one hand down through the stubble on my jaw, gazing intently into my eyes, and that’s when I snap, grasping the back of her neck to pull her closer and angling my lips onto hers. I breathe a sharp surprised gasp against her mouth, though, as she starts to subtly rub herself against me.

35 years old, and I’m getting dry-humped in the Ionian Sea like a horny teenager. To be fair, that would probably have been teenage me’s fantasy. And a girl who looked like Sienna would likely have featured in that fantasy, too.

“We’d better cool it,” I pull back and whisper in her ear after a couple of minutes of this. “I know we’re in the sea, but we aren’t exactly wearing invisibility cloaks.”

“Fair enough,” Sienna concedes. She’s about to untangle her body from mine, but I find I don’t want her to go just yet. And so I grab her to pull her closer again and slip a finger into her bikini briefs

She stills, taking in a sharp breath, and I watch her pupils dilating further as I move the finger against her. “Oh. My. God,” she murmurs, pressing her mouth to mine again. She clings onto me, adjusting her position slightly to give me more access. “What are you doing to me?” she hisses a moment later, bending her head and nipping at my shoulder. “That feels incredible. “

“Good,” I say quietly. “Just enjoy it.” I want to watch her let go. I’m desperate to give her a second orgasm, one wasn’t enough. Her reaction earlier was addictive. She’s like a drug.

And we haven’t actually even had sex yet.

I can feel her shaking, feel everything building up inside her. And then she’s clenching around my finger, moaning “holy fuck, Joe” into my neck to try and smother too much tell-tale noise before she goes limp around me.

I can feel her panting against my skin for a moment or two, trying to control her breathing. Then she unwinds her limbs from around me and a shy smile lights up her flushed face. She’s absolutely glorious.

“That,” she says slowly. “Was

amazing

.” And with that she flops back so she’s floating on her back in the sea. She nudges me with one of her tiny feet. “Float with me. We can hold hands and pretend to be otters.”

This girl is off her head.

And I’d be lying to myself if I said I’m not already nuts about her.

Chapter 23

Sienna

Well,

that

went a bit awry.

My plan, if you could even

call

it that, when I followed Joe into the water, was to confront him about the book. But I took one look at his face, into those wide green eyes, his wet dark lashes spiking together, and I suddenly couldn’t even formulate words anymore. I longed to touch him, wrap myself around him, be wrapped in him. I couldn’t think. I just wanted to

feel

.

And then I’d ended up having my first public orgasm.

Now

that

I was definitely not expecting. You know that episode of “Friends” where Rachel says the most interesting place she’s ever had sex is the foot of the bed? I have never even been

that

adventurous before. Shagging with the lights on has probably been me at my most outrageous.

Somehow I have a feeling Joe has probably had sex in many more daring places. I bet he’s done it on a beach before, for example. He’s probably a fully paid up member of the Mile High Club too, whereas I can’t understand how you can possibly fit more than one person in an aeroplane toilet, let alone do anything else.

Now the high I experienced in the sea is starting to wear off, I’m beginning to retreat back into my head, and my brain is rapidly filling to the brim with self-doubt now. And it’s because of the memories of Joe – sorry,

J.P

. – that are starting to come back to me from all those years ago.

J.P. Quinn was actually a bit of a celebrity for a couple of months after the book was released; I hadn’t been able to place Joe before now but that’s clearly why he’d felt so familiar to me right at the beginning. I recall seeing photos of him in gossip mags such as Heat 13 or 14 years ago, and sure enough, the pictures were from events like premieres and after parties. Obviously, my memory has clung onto this somewhere in its depths when I’d felt like those were the sort of events he belonged at. Because he actually

had

.

He wasn’t

quite

as good-looking back then. More cute than handsome, a bit gangly and awkward. Turns out when I’d described my version of a younger him last night, I’d actually pretty much hit the nail on the head – I’d just been a few years out due to his apparent transformation from self-proclaimed angry nerd.

J.P. had made a good celebrity. He’d been charming, I remember. Had an easy answer to any question thrown at him. Popular with the ladies as well. Those aforementioned magazine photos occasionally featured at least one stunning girl at his side.

It may already be obvious to you all, but turns out I actually

did

have a crush on the younger Joe, just like I imagined I would. It’s just that he was J.P. back then, and I hadn’t made the connection.

I think back all those years to that crush and remember at the time I was in (shocker!) a crappy relationship with a guy who was pretty much permanently stoned and had no energy or inclination to even leave his flat most of the time. J.P. seemed to be my boyfriend’s polar opposite and I had wondered what it would be like to date him. Not that he would have been interested in me back then.

And now I’m already wondering why someone like Joe, who has just got better over time, would be slumming it with

me

, a recently dumped desperado, even just as a holiday fling. I feel like he could do so much better than me.

At the same time, I can’t doubt the sincerity on his face when he confessed he’d been attracted to me since he saw me stepping on that bus. Or the lust that often seems to turn his eyes dusky when he looks at me. And let’s not forget that sweet expression that seems to just say “I really really like you” and warms my insides like I’ve just downed a shot of tequila.

I’m struggling to process all of this. I know that Joe and J.P. are one and the same. But my brain is not quite able yet to sync up the former celebrity crush I’d practically forgotten about (I had a lot of celebrity crushes and his fame was fleeting) from 14 years ago with my current gorgeous holiday buddy who is very much present in my mind all of the time at the moment.

The early afternoon sun beats down on us. I shoot a glance at Joe, who is lying on his towel next to me, his eyes closed. He seems completely relaxed and at-ease, while I’m abuzz with nervous energy and questions.

So many

questions

. Some of which I don’t feel I can ask.

I’m going to have to tell him that I know though. If I don’t, I think I’ll go mad.

But maybe

, my twisted mind thinks,

maybe I’ll have a bit of fun with the secret first . . .

Chapter 24

Joe

“Joe,” Sienna whispers. “Are you awake?”

Of

course

I am. My brain won’t switch off to allow me to relax enough to sleep. It keeps flipping between two thoughts: what I hope Sienna and I can do later now I’ve acquired some condoms (I didn’t think to bring any with me given I had no plans for a holiday romance; thankfully my brother had

loads

), and the fact I noticed my book lying on her beach towel once I returned to the sand.

And the fear that if she makes the connection to me writing that book and realises the sort of dick I was back then, that the first thought may no longer be an option.

I’m not that guy anymore. Haven’t been for a long time. I wasn’t even that guy

then

, really. I just got caught up in all that hype.

Now I think about it, are these fears proving I

am

that guy? I don’t actually need the

sex

; I just don’t want her to look at me differently, think of me as a different person.

I really hope I look more relaxed than I’m feeling inside because my stomach is churning with nervous energy right now.

“Joe?” she hisses again.

I suppose I’ve already proven I’m no good at faking sleep after the nip-slip incident, so I open my eyes to find her face close to mine, navy blue eyes sparkling with a strange energy. “You okay?” I ask.

She holds up a tube of suncream. “Was just wondering if you could do my back?” She says, her voice deliberately innocent. “I don’t want to burn.”

“Of course.” I sit up. Any excuse to touch her.

She rolls onto her front and releases the tie at the back of her bikini. “I don’t want a tan line,” she explains. Then she props herself up on her elbows and, as I start to rub the cream into her shoulders, she opens her book.

My

book.

“I’m so glad I found this book,” she says happily. My hands falter. “Do you know one of the things I liked most about it? I felt like the heroine looked a lot like me. I know that sounds crazy.”

“Really?” I ask faintly. Also, I’m a bit confused. The main female character in my book has brown hair and brown eyes. So yes, it

does

sound a wee bit crazy.

“Yeah.” She giggles. “I’m not a natural blonde. Believe it or not, I’m brunette, I dyed my hair after I left uni and realised that blondes do have more fun. Or at least

I

did as a blonde.” She flips a page over. ‘The main girl in this book, Amy, has brown hair and freckles like mine. She also seemed to think a bit like me, too. She didn’t have the same colour of eyes obviously but I really identified with her. I really wanted to be her friend. You know, if she was

real

.” She laughs again, self-deprecatingly.

“I understand that,” I say quietly, squeezing cream out of the tube onto her back. God, her skin is so bloody smooth. I move my hands over her, working the sun cream in. I could do this all day, although I’d really prefer the conversation to be about something else. She falls silent for a few minutes, and I’m hoping that’s the subject dropped.

“I’ve been trying to remember what the author was like,” she says suddenly. Oh great, so we’re

still

on the subject, and now the territory is even

more

dangerous. “You said you read it, right? Do you remember? I’m sure he ended up pretty famous for a bit.”

“Hmmm,” I pretend to think. “Nah, can’t say I do,” I reply eventually.

“He went to my uni,” she volunteers. “At the same time as me.”

I

did

?

“I’ll maybe just Google him later,” she says airily. “I don’t seem to have a signal here.” She sighs. “That feels so good. Are you sure you’re not a secret masseuse?”

Nope. My secret is

not

that.

“There, I think that’s you done,” I announce, recapping the tube and moving back onto my own towel.

“Thanks, Joe.” She smiles at me, but there’s an odd look on her face. She turns back to the book and seems intent on reading now. I feel myself starting to relax.

“What’s your middle name?” She asks suddenly.

You’d think I’d be used to Sienna’s random questions by now, but she still always takes me by surprise. “Why?” I ask nervously. There’s a weird edge to her voice.

She rolls onto her side, and her smile widens. “I’m just wondering what the P in your name stands for,” she replies. She closes the book and pointedly indicates the author name.

Fuck

.

It appears Sienna is

already

on to me.

Chapter 25

Sienna

The moment of truth.

At first, I think Joe’s going to deny it, pretend he doesn’t know what I’m talking about as he freezes at my words. Then he clears his throat and looks away. “Patrick,” he mutters eventually, defeatedly. “My middle name is Patrick.”

He drags a hand across his face and chances a glance back in my direction. “How long have you known?” he asks.

“I only just worked it out before I came to join you in the water,” I say. “Why the big secret?”

He ducks his head, winces. Surprisingly, bashful is a good look on him. “I – um – don’t know. I was . . . embarrassed.”

“You’re a freaking bestselling author, Joe! That’s something to be so proud of. If I was in your shoes, I’d be singing it from the rooftops.”

He sighs, sounding a bit frustrated, lying down on the towel again and throwing a hand over his face. “That’s not really the reason I didn’t tell you,” he bites out. “If you remembered who I was . . . I didn’t want you to see me like that.”

“I

do

remember you though,” I’m so puzzled at his reaction. “As soon as I realised you were J.P. Quinn, I remembered exactly who you were from back then. It’s funny, though. I always assumed your name was John Paul.”

“It’s a logical assumption,” Joe shrugs, sitting up again. “And a common misconception I never corrected. It ended up being a kind of . . .

personna

for me, I guess.” He frowns broodily. “When I was J.P. I could do what I wanted, or so I thought.”

I need to know more. But I feel like maybe we need a bit of truth serum here. Because right now, I’m still failing to see why this was such a big secret for him. “Will we go get a drink? An alcoholic one?” I ask.

He doesn’t hesitate. “Yes. But can we take the car back first? And put this conversation on hold for now?” He looks at me, sea green eyes clear and honest. “I will tell you everything, I promise. Even though you’re going to probably think I’m a giant arsehole.”

I nod. “Deal. About putting the conversation on hold, not about the arsehole thing. I’ll reserve judgement on that for now,” I hasten to add, and he can’t help but grin.

I paper over what otherwise would probably have been silence on the journey back to Lassi, filling it with my inane chatter while Joe mainly wears a forced smile and engages when required. After we’ve dropped the car off at the apartments, we head down to one of the beach bars, and I order the biggest carafe of wine I can. “Right, spill,” I demand after I’ve poured us both massive glasses of white.

Joe throws half the glass of liquid down his throat and leans forward, pinching the bridge of his nose, clearly wondering where to start. “Okay, so I already told you I didn’t exactly have the easiest of childhoods. I didn’t have many friends, it’s not that I was shy, I was just quite awkward back then. I think because my folks weren’t really interested in me, I thought I didn’t really have anything to offer anyone, that no one would really care what I had to say.” My heart breaks a bit at that. “Even now, old habits die hard. I tend to get information out of other people but withhold a lot of my own.”

He sighs. “You may have guessed I don’t talk about this very often, so this is a bit difficult for me. I suppose I’ve kind of compartmentalised my life into the pre-book file, then the famous author file, and then everything that happened since, and I try not to dwell on the first two files.”

I nod supportively. “That makes sense,” I agree. Although it doesn’t really. Not

yet

anyway.

“I started writing ‘Thought Clouds’ when I was close to finishing school. I always felt I was better at expressing my thoughts in writing, and I didn’t have to worry about boring anyone because it was just for me. I’d been writing stories for years; I’ve even got a whole Lord of the Rings type story I spent most of my teenage years on.” He blushes, which is adorable. “I think I really thought I was going to be the next Tolkien for a bit. It’s got maps and appendices and everything.”

I smile. “I’d like to see that.” I genuinely would. I really like it when he opens up. I’m also a massive Lord of The Rings fan, but that’s unrelated.

“You’re literally the only other person who even knows of its existence. I’ve never told anyone else,” he admits. His eyes meet mine for a long moment before they slip away, and I feel those butterflies inside me resurrect themselves. “So I used to wonder whether my life would be different if I could read minds, if my own reactions and personality would be different. And that’s how ‘Thought Clouds’ came about.

“I worked on it for a good few years. My own experiences would inspire a lot of the events of the book, and they’d sometimes change the course of the storyline, too. And my female main character Amy changed too; originally she’d started off based on a girl I fancied in high school who I knew would never be interested in me, but then she ended up turning into another girl I’d often spot from afar and was intrigued by. I eventually finished writing and editing it while I was still at uni, but I had no intention of actually doing anything with it.”

“So what changed?” I ask.

His lips curl upwards, but it’s a sad smile. “Tale as old as time,” he says quietly. “I fell in love.”

Ah

.

Chapter 26

Joe

I met Sam when I was 20. She ended up sitting next to me in a lecture one day. I can’t remember how exactly we started talking, but we immediately just hit it off.

I plucked up the courage to ask her out, and she accepted. As far as I’m aware, she was the first girl who had ever been interested in me. I quickly fell head over heels, and I was delighted to offload my virginity on her.

For some reason, Sam seemed fascinated by me, which I definitely wasn’t used to, especially as it felt to me like she was way out of my league. So I found myself doing my best to entertain her, impress her. I was so unused to having attention, and although I wasn’t comfortable with it at first, I found I started to crave it; finally, someone thought I was interesting. I eventually told her about the story I wrote, and unsurprisingly, she asked if she could read it.

She loved it and encouraged me to submit it to agents . . . And I found one. There was a bit of a bidding war, and just after I finished uni, the book was released.

And Sam was there for me the whole time, supporting me, reassuring me when I had regular bouts of imposter syndrome. Helping me deal with that initial onset of fame once it became clear my book was heading into bestseller territory. She was a great girlfriend.

“I didn’t deserve her,” I tell Sienna now. “And I quickly proved that.”

“What did you do?” she asks, her eyes wide. She tops up our wine glasses.

I grimace. “I let fame go to my head. There was this model at the time, Leesa Meadows?” She nods in recognition. “She’d approached me at a couple of events, and she was definitely keen. And, I was 22, and she was hot… I can’t even defend my actions. I ended up cheating on Sam with her. Sam would see photos of me at events and ask about Leesa, but I would lie and say our PR folk just wanted us to present a united front, etc etc. All bullshit, of course.

“At this point, I wasn’t even

sorry

. I just . . . It was like I thought I

deserved

this now, I’d had a crappy childhood, so now

this

was my reward. In my head, I almost put the blame on

Sam

for getting me into this situation, for encouraging me. Like I said, I was a dick.”

“Did Leesa know you had a girlfriend?” Sienna’s face is hosting a mix of emotions right now. It’s difficult to tell which one is prevailing. I know my story won’t be endearing me to her, though, especially with her recent history.

That

was precisely what I wanted to avoid in all of this.

I nod in answer to her question. “She did. I don’t think she really cared at first. But then I was spending more time down in London by that point, and she was there too, and Sam was back in Glasgow, so we got a lot closer . . . And at some point, I told her Sam and I were over. But we weren’t. I was planning to end it because we were going in two different directions, but I just hadn’t been able to bring myself to do it yet.” A sharp, bitter laugh I wasn’t expecting bursts out of my mouth. “The irony of it all was that I didn’t want to hurt her.”

“Wow,” Sienna whispers, almost to herself. She looks up. “Oh, sorry, go on!” She waves to me to continue.

“So I’m juggling these two girls, feeling simultaneously smug and disgusted with myself, with smug mostly winning out admittedly, when I’m approached to go on a reality TV show.”

Her eyes brighten with recollection at this. “Oh yes, so you did. It was like a version of Celeb Big Brother but on a satellite channel, right? I didn’t have the channel, but I saw some coverage of it in magazines at the time.”

“Yeah. It was a crock of shit, frankly. But my agent thought it would be good for a bit of extra publicity for the book, and my ego was so big by that point that it practically needed its own hotel room. I was more than happy to do the show at the time. This was my chance to finally prove to all the folk who had ignored me growing up that I was actually worth something.” I glance over at Sienna. “Do you remember what happened?”

She shakes her head slowly, clearly thinking. “There’s a vague memory of some sort of scandal involving you; I can’t remember what it was, though.”

I sigh. “Dickhead here struck again. There was a young pretty soap actress also on the show, Cecilia, and of course I couldn’t resist getting to know her a bit better. Despite the fact I was still seeing Sam and Leesa. And despite the fact I was on camera the whole fucking time. It’s true what they say, you know: you

do

forget you’re being filmed.”

“Did you . . .

You know

?” Sienna asks, wide-eyed. I shake my head.

“Oh god, no! We didn’t progress beyond kissing really. There was a bit of a steamy hot tub session but that was it.” I cringe at the memory. “Anyway, ratings weren’t that great so the producers decided to shake things up a bit, they’d schedule in some visits from our loved ones.

“To be honest, I assumed they meant family and I knew they wouldn’t show up. Not even Jack – I knew he had no interest in being on TV. So I wasn’t actually expecting anyone. But . . .,”

“Fuck, yes, I remember what happened now!” Sienna almost shouts in excitement. “Oops, sorry.” She calms herself down. “They brought both your girlfriends in at the same time to confront you while you sat there with your arm around the actress, right?”

“It was literally one of the worst moments of my life,” I say wearily. “At that moment I was just confronted with what an absolute arsehole I’d become. Sam was devastated, Leesa was spitting feathers, Cecilia was just mortified as she hadn’t realised she was stepping on anyone’s toes . . . And I couldn’t even defend my actions. Unsurprisingly, I was the first so-called celebrity to be voted out of the show by the public after that. And funnily enough, none of the girls wanted anything to do with me.”

“Goodness.” Sienna’s voice is faint.

I nod grimly. “So yeah, when you ask why I didn’t want to tell you who I really was? It’s because I didn’t want you to remember any of that.”

Now I just have to hope she doesn’t judge me too harshly.

Chapter 27

Sienna

Joe looks wrecked by the time he’s finished telling his tale. And I have to admit

I

feel a bit knackered too from listening.

I’d completely forgotten about that terrible reality TV show, about all the publicity J.P. Quinn and his three-timing ways had generated at the time. Half the UK, mostly male, thought he was a hero. The other half, mostly female, thought he was a twat.

“What did you do after the scandal?” I ask Joe. “You pretty much disappeared after that.”

“I went travelling,” he replies. “I needed to get away, clear my head. Be where people didn’t know who I was and what a massive tit I’d made of myself. Luckily it was only really in Britain that I was recognised. I had made a decent amount from my book and other things I’d done – like that show, for example – and in an amazing feat I hadn’t twatted it away so I was okay for money. And I started getting a lot of freelance gigs doing travel articles so I was able to stay away for a long time. I didn’t go back to London for five or six years and by that time, thankfully, everything had blown over.”

“And the relationship thing, the fact you don’t do them?” I prompt. “This is because of that?”

He nods. “Pretty much. I know I really hurt those girls. And although I know I’m not that same guy now, it’s always played on my mind that maybe, presented with that same scenario, I’d do it again. So it’s been easier for me to just not get attached.” I can’t help but notice his eyes seem sad though.

I can’t help reaching out to touch his hand. “For the record, Joe,” I say softly, “I definitely don’t think you’re that guy anymore.”

He glances up at me, his forehead wrinkling adorably. “It means a lot that you think that. I thought you’d hate me, especially after what happened with your ex.”

I shake my head. “Look, it clearly wasn’t your finest hour. But I’m not going to compare something you did 13 years ago when you were practically still a kid to a 37 year old man’s actions. And you’re clearly still punishing yourself for what you did, whereas Greg probably doesn’t even give me a second thought.”

“I think you’re wrong about that.” Joe puts his other hand on top of mine, green eyes searing intensely into me. “He probably regrets losing you every single day. And if he doesn’t, he’s even more of a fucking idiot than I thought.”

My breath catches in my throat at his words. The way he’s looking at me right now makes me want to throw myself on him. Despite everything that he’s told me. Or maybe

because

of? Once again, I feel like he’s letting me in, possibly in a way he never has with anyone before.

And, forgive me for being crude, but it makes me want to let

him

in. To

me

. *wink wink*

Let the holiday buddies become the holiday fuck buddies.

“Thanks.” My voice comes out in a rasp. I clear my throat, embarrassed. “That means a lot to me too.” I stand up. “Oh and by the way, we only have two more days here so you’re not going to have much opportunity to cheat on me anyway.” I resort to a joke, feeling awkward. “Will we go get something to eat?”

He’s looking at me a bit strangely now but nods after a brief hesitation. “Sure,” he murmurs. “Let’s go.”

By the time we’ve both hungrily devoured burgers, we’re definitely feeling the after effects of the sun, the wine and Joe’s confession. “How about we grab another bottle of wine from the shop and head back to my apartment?” I ask. Kate has already text to tell me she’ll once again be staying with Jack. “We can watch the sunset from the balcony.”

And then… who knows!? I know what I want to happen though!

“Sounds like a plan.”

On the balcony I pour our wine into tumblers and break open a big bar of Milka chocolate. In companionable silence, we watch the sky turning various shades of pink and red as the sun dips beyond the horizon, Joe’s arm draped around me, pulling me close. I’m suddenly aware of just how happy I am in this moment, with my beautiful surroundings and this incredible guy at my side.

I don’t want it to end.

“I like you so much,” Joe breathes suddenly, into my ear. Goosebumps erupt onto my skin. I turn to face him and his face is as serious as it was last night, just before that first glorious kiss. I cup his face in my hands and brush his lips with my own before I can stop myself. We haven’t kissed since Xi Beach and it’s as if I’ve forgotten how addictive it is.

“I like you so much too,” I echo, feeling his stubble prickling against my palms as I lean in for another kiss. Smiling, he tugs me to my feet and leads me back inside, to the bed.

We do nothing but kiss for a long time. It might be hours, it might be minutes, I have no idea. Time has ceased to exist, nothing matters but us. Gradually, eventually, we start to pull at clothes, and his lips move down to my neck. “I want you so badly,” he whispers between kisses. “You have no idea, Sienna.”

I know how wet I am before he even touches me there, how ready I am for him. “I stole some condoms from Jack’s stash,” he chuckles as I hear him tear a wrapper open. “Don’t tell him.”

And then he’s inside me fully and we’re moving together and oh my god it feels like we fit together perfectly. His eyes widen as he looks into mine, as if in shock, as if he realises this too.

“Fuck,” he bites out, lowering his face to mine to kiss me again, one hand slipping back between my legs so he can tease me at the same time. Oooh, so we’re going for at least three orgasms for me today then?

I can live with that.

In the end I give in slightly before he does, still contracting around him as he succumbs too, hissing my name into my neck. We lie together, gathering ourselves for a moment before we lock eyes again. I can hear both of our hearts pounding.

“Well,” Joe says finally, his voice soft and husky. “I don’t know about you, but I’m definitely going to want to do

that

again.”

I agree wholeheartedly.

Chapter 28

Joe

We first met on Friday evening, and now it’s Monday morning. I can’t believe how much has happened in that time. How easily Sienna has worked her way under my skin.

Those first two days I spent with Sienna went by unbelievably slowly in relation to the next two days.

Our last two days together.

From Monday, though, things jump into high gear. We leave on Wednesday morning, and everyone knows the last couple of days of a holiday always fly in. You want to hold onto them, make them last, but you sadly have no control over them.

On Monday morning, we’re both a little hungover, sunburned, and exhausted from spending a lot of the night awake. Although it doesn’t stop us from repeating the antics of the previous night, obviously.

I have the car until Tuesday morning, so once we have recovered from our sore heads, I suggest we go to Argostoli. “We can drive over and leave the car there. I can run and get it in the morning.”

“Oh, so you’re a runner?” Sienna asks, raising her eyebrows admiringly as she blatantly perves on my body. “That explains a lot.”

“Stop it.” I can’t help but smile, though. I like her ogling me. “Just to warn you, the walk back from Argostoli is pretty steep.”

“I’m sure I can manage,” Sienna says airily. “I’ve been to the gym at least three times in the last six months.”

We head to Argostoli via the coast road as I have a feeling Sienna will like the lighthouse on the way.

I was right. “Oh, this is seriously cool,” she says, after we’ve parked nearby and wandered up the man-made peninsula to where the white structure lies at the water’s edge. It’s like no lighthouse I’ve ever seen, with its round structure and numerous columns, but it’s awesome.

“Look, I match!” Sienna poses in front of the building in her white strappy dress. She runs over with her phone. “Take a photo of me? I need to Instagram this shit.”

“Of course.” I snap one of her with her phone, and then I can’t resist taking one of her with my own phone. I need that memory of her leaning against one of the columns and smiling at me coyly to be real.

“That for the spank bank once you get home?” She asks me, grinning. “Oh Joe, if you need a photo, I’m sure I could do

so

much better than that.” She winks as she grabs her phone back off me and wanders around the lighthouse to grab another picture of it from a different angle.

While I try desperately to control my libido.

Sienna has grabbed a couple of cans of Fanta Limon from her fridge before we headed out, and we sit by the lighthouse in the bright sunshine and drink them, relaxing for a few minutes. Sienna lays her head on my shoulder contentedly, and I find myself playing with her hair. “That’s nice,” she sighs. I press a kiss on her head too before I release her, and we head back to the car. I’m very aware of the fact that I’m acting like a boyfriend, but I can’t stop myself somehow.

I don’t think I

want

to.

In Argostoli, we wander over the De Bosset Bridge and back before Sienna spots pedalos. “Oh, we should hire one of those!” she exclaims excitedly. “I read somewhere that you might see a giant sea turtle.”

“Let’s do it.”

We head to the kiosk to hire one and set off through the water. “God, I’m tired of pedalling already,” Sienna groans after about ten minutes. “And now I’m worrying that a sea turtle is going to appear right next to me and give me the fright of my life.”

We drift along for a few moments, making sure we’re not close to any land or other boats.

“So why did you move back to Glasgow?” Sienna asks suddenly, taking a sip from her bottle of water.

“I’m not sure, really,” I admit. “I just missed it. London was exhausting me; and it’s always reminded me too much of . . . Well, you know, what happened.”

“Ah,” she nods. “How long ago did you come back?”

“Actually, just before the pandemic.”

“Did you manage to find freelance work easily during that?” she asks. Now I’ve unloaded my secrets on her, I don’t mind all the questions as much.

“I found it pretty scarce unless I wanted to write about covid. And I didn’t. But I was lucky that I had money and I own my flat outright. So I didn’t have to actually find work.”

“So what did you do instead?” She’s flopped back against the seat and closed her eyes.

“I . . .” Why is this so difficult to say? “I actually ended up writing a sequel to ‘Thought Clouds’.”

“What?” She shoots upright. “You’re kidding!”

I shake my head. “No joke. I was stuck in the flat, didn’t have anything better to do. And suddenly, after not wanting to think of that book for so long, I found myself wanting to continue the story.”

“That’s amazing! And is it . . . Is it getting

published

?” Sienna gasps then laughs at herself. “Sorry Joe, I think I’m fangirling a bit over here right now!”

“Actually, yes. There’s a press release going out about it. On Thursday.” I swallow. “After we’re back home.”

I’ve been dreading this for weeks now. Months, even. Ever since I started writing that sequel, unable to stop myself. Knowing there was a chance my slightly murky past could come back to haunt me. Almost hoping it wouldn’t be any good so that my agent, who had been bugging me for years to write another book, would laugh in my face after reading it. So that there would be no chance of it getting published.

“Are you okay about that?” Sienna asks astutely. I shake my head.

“Not really.”

We start pedalling again, and quietly, I tell Sienna all my worries about potentially being in the spotlight again. She strokes my arm lightly and calms me down, talking me off my metaphorical ledge.

I feel ridiculously close to her at this point. Like I could tell her anything. She knows all the bad stuff already, though, and seems to accept me for it.

We leave the pedalo and wander to a nearby restaurant, sitting next to the water with plates of feta baked in pastry and drizzled with honey, and of course a carafe of wine. Sienna picks up her glass and looks over the sea to the mountains with a contented sigh.

“I can’t believe we didn’t spot any giant sea turtles the whole time we were in the boat . . . and then saw one immediately on the other side of the bridge the second we walked away,” she gripes a moment later.

I laugh. “You basically said you’d piss your pants if one appeared next to you on the boat. You should be relieved.”

“That’s true,” she concedes. “They’re cute, but they also kind of scare me. A bit like E.T.”

I nearly choke on my wine. “You’re scared of

E.T

?”

She shrugs. “I mean, he’s adorable, but if he just appeared beside you when you weren’t really expecting him, you’d probably get a bit of a fright, right?”

I suppose she makes a good point.

After we’ve finished the feta and polished off the wine, we make a start on the aforementioned steep climb over the hill. “Shit, this is terrible!” Sienna cries, stopping for at least the third or fourth time in as many minutes. “This is not the sort of exercise one should have to do on a relaxing holiday.”

“I did warn you,” I remind her.

“It just feels like this must be my punishment for having such a good time with you,” she rues, and I find myself stopping as her words sink in. I realise, not for the first time, that it’s been a long time since I’ve had so much fun. The last few days have been a revelation.

Sienna stops and turns, glancing at me impatiently before her eyes turn pleading. “Can you push me up the hill for a bit?” She asks. “Just shove my back for a minute or two.”

I place one hand on the small of her back and start directing her up the rest of the hill while struggling not to overthink things.

When we finally reach the top of the hill between Argostoli and Lassi, she pretends she’s about to faint, then launches into some sort of victory dance. “I survived! You’re my hero!” She declares dramatically before flinging her arms around me and smiling into my eyes. She is such an eejit.

I can’t believe we only have one day left together.

Chapter 29

Sienna

Tuesday morning.

It’s my last full day with Joe, and I’m not sure my brain is ready to accept it.

When he leaves to get the car from Argostoli, I find myself

already

missing him, which doesn’t bode well. Maybe I should have ran with him? Wrung out every bit of time I possibly could with him?

Who am I kidding though; my whole body is sore just from walking up that hill yesterday. Even if I

could

run, there’s no way I’d be able to do so today.

We’ve agreed a lazy day by the pool would be good after our adventures of the last few days, so I pack up my beach bag and head down to the pool while he’s away, laying out his towel on the lounger next to mine and closing my eyes. I’m trying not to think of the time limit on our fling, but I feel like there’s a countdown flashing on the top right-hand side of my vision, even when I close my eyes.

I must drift off to sleep, though, because when I wake up, he’s sitting on his lounger, gazing into space. I can’t help but smile that he’s back. “You okay?” I ask curiously. He snaps out of his trance and nods vigorously.

“Absolutely.’

He grins at me, but the smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes. I reach out and squeeze his hand tightly.

Kate and Jack appear not long after and join us. Is this officially about to be the longest my best friend and I have spent together all holiday? On the last day? God, I’m so

glad

I found Joe!

Joe and Jack head up to the pool bar for some booze (it’s only 11am, but it’s our last day, give me peace!), and Kate turns to me. “So what’s happening with you guys?” She asks nosily.

I screw up my face in response. “Holiday fling, that’s all.”

“You don’t seem sure,” Kate says keenly.

“In a perfect world, maybe it would be different.” I try my best to be nonchalant. “But I’m barely over Greg, and Joe isn’t looking for a relationship, so it’s not going to work out.”

“You just said you’re ‘barely over Greg,'” Kate points out eagerly. “So you

are

over him?”

“Huh.” I’m taken aback. I replay my own words in my head. “I guess I

am

.”

The problem is that I’ve just swapped one hopeless infatuation with another. And, much like I did with Greg, I’ve pretty much clung onto Joe like a life jacket. With Greg, it was loneliness after initial lockdown that made me clasp on too tight; and now Joe has filled a similar type of metaphorical hole when Kate abandoned me here.

Anyway, I’m still on holiday and I don’t want to overthink things. Let me just psycho-analyse myself tomorrow once I’m back home with only a blanket, rhubarb gin, and my tears to keep me company on the couch.

The brothers have returned from the bar. It’s nice to see them laughing and joking with one another when I know their relationship hasn’t always been easy. It must be hard to both go through the same experience with such different outlooks. Joe places a bottle of Kopparberg in my hand with a wink.

“Good choice, it’s practically fruit juice,” I praise him, taking a nice big gulp of it.

“Listen,” he says quietly, presumably so Kate and Jack don’t overhear. “I know this is going to sound a bit crazy as we’ve kinda been doing this anyway, but since it’s our last night together tonight . . . Can I take you on a date?”

“So what makes it different from what we’ve been doing already?” I ask blankly.

His green gaze focuses intently on me. “I’ll actually

plan

something rather than us just saying ‘let’s meet in the pool bar at seven and we’ll go from there’,” he replies, dimples popping as a cheeky smile spreads across his face. “And maybe I’ll even come and pick you up.”

“How romantic,” I tease. His smile slips momentarily, then comes back somehow brighter.

“So what do you think?”

“Sure.” I nod. I take another sip of my cider before placing it down on the ground next to my lounger and closing my eyes again.

Later, I’m back in my apartment, make-up and hair already done, trying to decide what to wear, while also trying to re-pack my suitcase. Turns out living out of your suitcase is all fun and games until it’s just a big tangled mass of wrinkled clothing. I finally locate the dress I’ve been hunting for, a violet lacy skater dress, and slip it on.

I’m feeling a sweaty, stressed mess as I hear a knock at the door, and I march over to open it, holding my sandals in my hand.

“Hey…” The words die on my lips, and I drop my shoes as I look up at him. It’s like I forget how handsome Joe is every time I’m away from him.

He’s wearing jeans and a slim fitting black shirt, sleeves rolled up, of course. (Mmmm, arms.) He’s also already wearing his glasses. As my eyes linger lustfully, he pushes them up and says, “My eyes are tired,” in explanation. But he smirks as he says it and I know, just

know

, he’s wearing them because he knows how much I like them.

Well played.

He holds out a bar of Milka and a bottle of prosecco. “I thought about bringing flowers, but I somehow had a feeling you’d appreciate these more.”

“You were right.” I’m not a massive fan of flowers as a gift. I hold both items close to me and inhale deeply. “Oh Joe, they smell amazing,” I joke, winking at him, and he laughs. “Let me see if I can find a vase.” I slide them into the fridge and straighten up.

“You look gorgeous.” He’s studying me from head to toe as I turn back around. There’s a new look in his eyes this time . . . The heat is there, but so is the softness. “I want to fuck you senseless” combined with “but I really fucking like you too.”

I’m melting and it’s not just because of the excessively warm weather. “Thanks,” I mumble, feeling myself blush under his appraisal. I sit down on the bed to fiddle about with my sandals. Why are the straps and buckles always so awkward? My hands suddenly feel like mittens and won’t do what I want them to do.

“Let me help.” He sinks to his knees in front of me and, before I can protest, grasps one of my ankles, easily slipping the strap through and securing it. His fingers lightly run along my foot for a moment and my breath catches at the touch.

He moves onto my other foot and quietly I observe him as he concentrates on his task, notice how long his lashes are behind the lenses of his glasses, that he’s biting his full bottom lip. I inhale his cologne, which smells so fresh and just so him.

I’m so busy watching him that I don’t even realise he’s buckled me successfully into the other sandal too until he looks up and meets my gaze. “That’s you sorted,” he says softly, after a long moment. He rises gracefully to his feet. “Ready to go?”

“Definitely.”

Because if we don’t leave now I’m going to jump on you.

Chapter 30

Joe

For some reason, it was really important to me that I take Sienna on a proper date.

I don’t really know why.

That’s a lie. I know

exactly

why. Because despite myself, I’ve caught feelings. Feelings I am struggling to shake or even quite

understand

yet. Ten plus years of “monk life” with only an occasional one night stand or short-lived fling thrown in will do that to a person.

But I’m pretty sure, if I really dig under the surface – the way I’ve been trying so hard not to since that first moment I saw Sienna – that I’m starting to fall for her. That I don’t actually want this to end.

That, for the first time in forever, since

Sam

, I’ve found someone I’ve allowed myself to get close enough to and actually bond with in order to even consider a relationship. Of course, that thought terrifies me

too

because the last thing I want to do is hurt Sienna the way I hurt Sam, and I don’t even know how to be in a relationship anymore. I’ve only really been in one with Sam, and look how

that

turned out.

But Sienna makes me want to

try

. She challenges me, and I just really like being around her. And I don’t think I’ve developed feelings because of the scenario we’ve found ourselves in . . . I don’t actually think I would have offered to keep her company all the time like this if I didn’t already have that want for her festering. I’m a nice guy, but I’m not

that

nice.

It sounds cheesy as baked feta, but it does feel a bit like fate threw us together, that it knew this was meant to happen.

As pretty much a lifelong cynic, it has taken me a lot to even admit this.

And as for the date itself? I wanted to put an official label on it to test myself. To see if it immediately put me into some sort of panicked tailspin.

It didn’t. It

hasn’t

.

Obviously, I don’t know if Sienna even thinks there’s any sort of future for us outside of this beautiful little Greek island we’ve both happened to find ourselves on at the same time. But if she does? Then maybe, just

maybe

, we can somehow make it work.

I take her to a cocktail bar on the main strip before dinner. “Why don’t we choose each other a cocktail we think the other will like?” I suggest as we scan the menus. It seems like a little game that will be right up Sienna’s street.

She looks nervous, though. “What if I get it wrong and it’s a waste of money?” she frets. I smile reassuringly, reaching out and stroking her arm.

“I have every faith in you.”

We take turns to go up to the bar. I choose a strawberry daiquiri, which, according to her, is exactly what she would have chosen. After a bit of deliberation, she opts for a mojito for me.

“I assumed you like these because they’re mentioned in the book,” she says bashfully. She’s spot on. At the time I started writing “Thought Clouds,” a mojito was the only cocktail I’d ever tasted. I thought it was the ultimate in sophistication at the time. I drank them a lot in my wanky, famous author days back then. I actually only recently re-started appreciating them.

It’s only started occurring to me how much of my life I’ve put on hold thanks to my mistakes of years ago. And this realisation has also been because of the beautiful girl sitting opposite me, smiling anxiously as she waits for my verdict on her choice. She’s forced me to face a lot of my demons.

“Good decision?” Sienna asks finally and I notice that I’ve just been staring at the drink without saying anything.

“Absolutely.” I nod, take an emboldened sip (god, it’s refreshing) and end up, of course, telling her about my self-imposed break from most things that reminded me of my past. It’s actually so nice to be able to just be this honest with someone. I hadn’t realised how much I’ve been holding back from anyone all of these years.

After cocktails we head to a restaurant that, according to several TripAdvisor reviews, has the best baked feta starter out of all the restaurants in the area. When I tell Sienna this she laughs and says “My expectations are probably too high now . . . but I’m excited.”

It turns out it is pretty damn good – now I’ve been converted to the baked feta cause I of course have to try it too – and after white wine and mains we make our way back to our apartments.

But what to do next? I didn’t get further in planning beyond drinks and dinner, not sure how long those would actually take. “I’d suggest the pool bar for a couple of drinks but the music they play is appalling,” Sienna laughs as if reading my mind. “It’s all weird covers of classic songs. Earlier they were playing a dance cover version of ‘Creep’ by Radiohead.” She shakes her head.

We are nearly at the bar and the music starts to filter into our senses. “Wait, is that what I think it is?” I pause.

She also stops to listen. “If you’re thinking it’s a dance cover version of ‘In the End” by Linkin Park, you’d be right. And I

cannot

listen to them butcher another classic like that.” She clasps my hand tighter and pulls me past the bar. “Thank goodness you brought me that prosecco earlier. YouTube Roulette in the apartment it is!”

Time for

another

Sienna game.

She explains herself as she loads up YouTube on her phone and I open up the prosecco. “I’ll randomly choose a song and after we’ve listened to it, you need to choose a song that comes up in the videos below that one, and so on. You can’t just put a new song suggestion into the search box, it has to be on the screen for you to choose it. Make sense?”

I nod, removing the cork from the prosecco as she continues to fiddle about with her phone. “Okay, I’ve put it into incognito mode otherwise it’ll probably just come up with suggestions of all the ridiculous songs I was listening to while I festered in heartbreak and that would be fucking mortifying.”

She sits on her bed, leaning against the wall, and pats the space next to her, so I slip down beside her as the first song starts to play.

It’s “Respectable” by Mel & Kim.

Sienna’s blue eyes twinkle with mischief as she gives me a sidelong glance. “I hate you,” I tell her.

“Oh come on, it’s a great song,” she smiles, nudging me and grabbing the bottle from my hand.

We sit in half-darkness, taking turns to swig prosecco directly from the bottle as we listen to different songs as part of Sienna’s little game. I hear tunes I haven’t heard in years like “Waiting For A Star to Fall” by Boy Meets Girl and Jermaine Stewart’s “We Don’t Have To Take Our Clothes Off.”

I question the roulette element to the name of Sienna’s game as I don’t believe there is one but she just says “shut up, it’s a fun name.”

And to be fair, it’s a fun

game

too. I’m having a blast.

It’s my turn to pick another song and I’m scrolling through the options when a WhatsApp notification slides onto the screen. I don’t have to open it to see who it’s from or what it says, and my heart sinks into my stomach at the words appearing on the screen. Luckily, Sienna currently has her head in the fridge to retrieve the chocolate and doesn’t hear my stifled groan.

Can we talk when you get back from your holiday? I miss you. X

The message, of

course

, is from her ex.