Free Just My Type by Erin Nicholas

looking like the undead.
    She never saw anyone without being put together. She wasn’t high maintenance— She stopped. Okay, she was. But she didn’t spend hours getting ready— Again, she paused. Okay, it took her over an hour on even the most casual day.
    The thing was, it wasn’t vanity. She just liked that stuff. It was fun. It was her hobby. She loved messing with her hair. She kept it long because of all the style options it gave her. It wasn’t unusual for her to try two or three completely different hairstyles in one morning before deciding on how to leave the house. She also loved makeup and nail polish and stick-ons and body lotions and sprays and gels. She loved the colors, the textures, the smells. She liked clothes and shoes too, finding it fun to have a variety of styles and needs from casual sweatpants to fun jeans to fancy dresses. Bit it was the before-the-clothes-go-on stuff she liked best.
    “I read there are some historic shipwreck sites and…”
    “So go,” she said, suddenly irritable. She tossed the brush down. She was going to have to find a salon. She was going to have to dazzle Mac later to make up for this disaster. “I came down here to vacation alone anyway.”
    Mac didn’t say anything for a moment.
    She avoided looking at him. He was either looking at her like she was nuts, or like she’d hurt his feelings. Either one would make her feel bad.
    “Fine. I’d love to snorkel.”
    “Great. I’ll find plenty to do.”
    “Like?” he said

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    45

    Erin Nicholas
    “I have a long to-do list,” she informed him. Which was a lie. She’d come down here to do three things—go far away from home by herself, get drunk for the first time ever and figure out what was so damned great about sex anyway. In that order, for the most part.
    She only had one thing left to do.
    And now that Mac was here, the chances of her doing it were looking pretty slim. She couldn’t do it with someone else. Not when the man she was madly in love with was right here. And that man was certainly not cooperating. Yet.
    “Give me an example,” he said, stretching to his feet.
    She finally faced him, horribly self-conscious about her streaked mascara. “Shopping.” He’d clearly been expecting something more risqué because it took him a moment to repeat,
    “Shopping?”
    “Yes.” She flipped her terribly tangled hair over her shoulder. “There is some amazing local jewelry and there’s this shop that makes handmade soaps and lotions I want to check out.” Mac sighed as if very put-upon. “Fine, let’s go.”
    He wasn’t invited. In addition to lotions and jewelry, she had to find a salon to help her do something great to surprise him with later. “You snorkel, I’ll shop. We can meet later.”
    “I can shop.” He said it like he was saying, I can push that heavy boulder up that steep mountain over and over again .
    “Why would you shop?” she asked, annoyed. Why couldn’t he just leave something alone for a change? “I don’t want to snorkel, so I shouldn’t have to snorkel. You don’t want to shop, so you shouldn’t have to shop.”
    “I don’t have to shop. I choose to shop.”
    Sara looked at him, then pointed to the front door of the condo. “Snorkel. I mean it. If you come shopping with me, I swear all I’m going to look at—and try on—is unbelievably skimpy swimming suits and lingerie and I’m going to show you every single one and ask your opinion.” He opened him mouth. Then shut it. Then spun on his heel and left the condo without looking back.
    “Four o’clock. Right here,” he said simply, before the door shut behind him.
    Sara quickly showered and then dressed in a simple white sundress and sandals. With her hair still wet, she grabbed a taxi—or more accurately, had the concierge call a taxi for her—to take her into Christiansted to what he promised was the best spa on the island.
    When Sara emerged two hours later, having been wrapped,