Situationship [Complete]

32 | Messy

A/N: Please don't behave this way in real life, thank you. 

The flight was chaotic, but it helps that Valencia is sunny and amazing. We arrived in the morning, but it was the middle of the night for us. We should have slept on the jet, but instead, the group decided we would stay up all night at the hotel bar, have a little siesta, and get our proper sleep on the boat. Not a great idea, but no one listens to me when I'm outnumbered twenty to one.

Everyone is suppressing their jet lag with wine, leaving the bridesmaids subjected to a temporarily single Ritchie and seemingly irresistible Heath. Two of them have been trying to paw at him since the jet.

Part of me wishes he would just sleep with one of them to remind me of how big of a douche he can be, but all he has done is be nice to me. I know why, but it's difficult to get out of your feelings when the person who put you in your feelings is being very feelable.

Luckily, I've been busy. With day one out of the way, we're in the final push. Only two days until the wedding, and I'm about to be without cell service.

I bump into Brett, nearly knocking my phone out of my hands. "There she is," he says with a beaming smile. I look up and see a yacht the size of a house. The sun glares off the white sides. "Isn't she beautiful?" he says dreamily. Yikes.

Felicity hugs his arm tighter with a smile as big as his. She loves a shiny new toy just as much as he does. They kiss and I suppress a gag.

"That thing is fucking huge, Brett," I say with a lack of enthusiasm. "A sentence you've never heard before."

He bats at me. I laugh when Felicity's expression doesn't disagree. Back to my distraction.

I tag along, going through the motions of climbing on and handing over my bags while I put together the last of the day-of schedule. I lean against the railing beneath the shade and sigh. With the hairdresser showing up later and now needing to style the mother-in-law, I have to shift the start time and photo window for the guys to avoid—

"Teags."

I look up and see Heath staring at me. He looks in his element. Bronze skin popping, dark hair in perfect sea salt waves, his tattoo peeking out from beneath his short sleeve. You can take the boy off the island, but . . . "Hi. What?"

"I grabbed you this." He holds out a little paper takeaway box. "It's an egg souffle. Balanced macros. Perfect fuel for whatever marathon your thumbs are running right now," he adds with a smirk.

He hands it to me without further explanation and I realize I forgot to have breakfast. It's comforting the way he doesn't ask me whether I've eaten, or grill me with other questions. He separates it from my stress and anxiety and makes it easy.

He's doing that nice boy thing again and I wish he would stop. "Thank you. I won't have cell service in a hot five, so I'll be better, I swear."

"The wedding is still going to happen whether things are in fifteen-minute increments or not," he teases me. "You're on a yacht in the Mediterranean. Can you let yourself enjoy it a little?"