CHAPTER FIVE

The Greek god, or a man who looked exactly like him, was standing to the side of the crowd, leaning against a pillar. I glanced behind him, and even in my shocked state the sheer ridiculousness did not escape me. There, wrapped around the top of the very pillar he was leaning on, was the ad. The azure-blue sea, the sand, the have sex with me now eyes, and the not-so-subtly suggestive spear.

I glanced from him, to the ad, and back again. Was that really the same guy? It seemed too much of a coincidence, but then logically, medically, genetically the probability of two such good-looking people existing on the same planet seemed highly unlikely—if not impossible. It had to be the guy from the ad!

This was one of those moments that seemed orchestrated and rehearsed. The ad was perfectly placed above him. He was perfect. In fact, he was so damn freakishly perfect that he looked like he’d been Photoshopped and professionally lit and everything around him—the people and the airport—was just the backdrop for a Ralph Lauren shoot he was currently starring in. There must be photographers hiding somewhere.

I could see that all the women in the general vicinity thought the same thing. Several of them were gaping, and one husband hurried his wife away when she ran her tongue over her lips and looked as if she was about start licking him like a giant lollipop.

Oh. My. God. Suddenly he was moving in my direction. Quickly. Smiling. This was exactly like my dream, and I couldn’t stop my cheeks from turning crimson. Thank God humans aren’t capable of telepathy, because the only thing going through my mind right then was…

“Sex! Have sex with me. Airport sex… now! Sex!”

I turned around to ascertain who he was walking toward, but there was no one standing behind me. Is he walking toward me? Strange waves of panicky embarrassment almost knocked me off my big feet. He held his hand up and gave a tiny wave. I turned around again to see if I’d missed someone lurking behind a potted plant or something… but there was no one.

He didn’t walk, either, no; he sort of strode. Prowled. Stalked. He looked like a man who was about to hunt something large, wrestle it to the ground with his bare hands, and then make a key ring out of its paw. And he was prowling in my direction. But with each approaching step, I was becoming more and more nervous. This was what the awkward morning after must feel like, only it was imaginary sex and he didn’t even know that we’d had it. And I’d seen his penis! Well, an imagined version of it. And with that thought, my eyes automatically drifted down to his crotch. When I realized what I was doing, I flicked them up again.

I quickly picked my ten-ton bag off the floor and rummaged through it for my trusty sunglasses. I put them on; this was something I did regularly when I wanted to disappear, and it also saved me having the inevitable Wow, what happened to your eyes? conversation. I glanced back at him again… still walking toward me!

He was way too hot to be walking in my direction. I turned around and glanced off into the distance meaningfully, as you do when trying to avoid a person you know but don’t want to talk to.

“Jane Smith?” The words were coated in a delicious accent and wafted toward me seductively. His voice was even hotter in real life. I froze in panic. Why is he looking for me?

“Jane Smith? I’m here to fetch you. Sorry I lost my sign but I recognized you from your passport photo.”

Act normal, Jane. Act natural. Act…

I plastered on a smile and turned to face him, trying my best impersonation of a cool-casual person. Only it didn’t work. Because in that moment something terribly unfortunate happened.

I’d misjudged his closeness, the size of my bag, the wildness of my overcompensating swing; I’d misjudged everything. I was neither cool nor casual… I was crazed. My bag collided with his arm, it popped open, it fell to the floor, and it vomited its contents everywhere. Things bounced and slid and skidded in various directions. A hair straightener hit the floor and cracked (luckily I had the other one); a can of deodorant rolled off at breakneck speed. Everything dispersed violently and quickly, like the mushroom cloud of an atom bomb. And it was just as disastrous. I glanced down and to my absolute horror, horrendous horror of horrors, I saw it. And then another.

Two boxes of condoms. Boxes I’d never seen before in my life.

I feel like this is an appropriate time for some more backstory about my mother.

When I say my mother is a meddler, I really mean that. While other mothers are telling their daughters not to be dating, flirting, or having sex, my mother is encouraging it. So adamant is she that I am incapable of finding myself a man and doing my own dating that she has taken over my love life. She’s even created an online dating profile for me. Just the other day—she told me with great excitement—LonelyGuy28 sent me a smile and a photo request.

“Don’t worry, though, I put your photo into that editor program and shaved off at least a pound around your jawline. I also told him that you weren’t into the kinky spanking stuff, but you weren’t entirely vanilla, either. Winky face.”

I didn’t even know what that meant!

She’s always forwarding me interesting articles about “How to Marry a Man in 60 Days,” “Flirting Your Way into His Heart,” and the current—and most inappropriate to date—“How to Break Your Sexual Dry Spell.” So these condoms were definitely her doing!

I watched in jaw-dropping horror as the ribbed for extra pleasure variety skidded all the way across the floor and disappeared, but the scented ones, well… let’s just say those were the ones that caused all the issues. The little box skidded across the shiny polished floor until bang, it finally came to a complete stop next to his sexy sandaled foot.

I bit my lip. It was all I could do to stop myself from throwing up in the agony of sheer humiliation. I glanced down at the offending box that was touching his sandal. I stared at it, willing it to reverse across the floor and back into the bag. It did not.

I looked up at Mr. Greek God to see if he’d noticed it yet, and just as I did, his eyes began to drift down, down, down. There was only one thing to do really. So as fast as the limitations of the human body would allow, I flung myself down onto the floor and grabbed the box by his foot. I then dove and darted back and forth with manic energy as I retrieved all my belongings. By the time I was done, I was out of breath and sweaty.

“Whew!” I exclaimed loudly and started fanning myself with my hand. “You know, it can often feel at least two to five degrees hotter inside than outside.” I continued to fan myself and babble. “I’m thirsty. You know, the human body can lose about a liter and a half of water during a three-hour-long flight.” My eyes were flicking around for something to focus on, and my brain was searching for something else to say. “You should really consider not wearing sandals, they can expose your feet to all kinds of bacteria and fungi, especially staphylococcus… not that I’m saying you have a fungal infection or anything.”

Mr. Greek God smiled. It was a slow, curious smile. “I’ll remember that.” He sounded strangely amused, and although he spoke in a thick accent, his English was perfect.

“Sorry,” I said in a defeated manner.

“No worries, no stress! Welcome to beautiful Santorini.” His smile grew, revealing the cutest little dimples in his cheeks. God, he was hot. And he totally terrified me. “You’re going to fall in love with it.”

“Huh? With what?”

“This is the island of love and romance. It’s where anything and everything is possible. You’re never going to want to leave.” He flashed me another killer smile. The kind of smile that made you think you should be holding on to your panties. We were close enough now that I could finally see his eyes. And they were breathtaking. His irises were a pale-green color—not your standard green, either, but one that looked like it had been mixed with a dollop of gold. The mesmerizing green-gold got darker as it radiated outward until it turned almost black at the edge. They were smoldering bedroom eyes that oozed sex.

“Have sex with me now. Sex, sex, sex.”

I was staring. I could feel my jaw starting to slack. I had to snap out of this, but clearly he gave off some kind of invisible scent or pheromone that was intoxicating. Like a silent whistle that only dogs were drawn to. Perhaps he was well versed in the dark arts, able to cast a spell over all the three and a half billion women on the planet.

“Shall we?” he suddenly said, breaking my stare.

“Shall we what?” The words came flying out of my mouth, but as soon as they did I realized how off the mark I was. My filthy, gutter-swimming thoughts were influencing me badly.

“Go. Shall we go, Jane?”

“Go where?” I asked, feeling very confused. Why was this hot model—or hot model look-alike—picking me up from the airport?

“To your hotel.”

“Are you really here to fetch me, I mean… you? Are you really a tour guide?” I pointed at him. “How do you know I’m the person you’re supposed to be fetching?”

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and opened it. “Jane Smith, Flight South African Airways A-One-Oh-Seven from Johannesburg, arriving at eighteen forty-five, booked through Flight and Travel Center, Rosebank Mall.” He lowered the paper and looked at me.

I nodded. “Sounds right. Fine.” I started walking after him but we managed to get only a few feet before a man intercepted us. He stretched his hand out, and my heart plummeted.

“I think you dropped this.” The other box of condoms beamed up at me from his outstretched palm.

I shook my head. Hard. “Nooo. Not mine, never seen them before,” which was actually the honest-to-God truth. The man gave me a little knowing wink and turned the box over in his hand. Oh God, what was that? It looked like my mother had pinned a little note to it. He opened it and read.

Jane, in case you decide to let your hair down. Mom X

A strange, shrill laugh pushed its way through my lips. “Hahaha… Mothers, hey… hahaha!” The laugh continued for a little longer than I would have liked it to. The man said something to the Adonis in Greek and handed him the box.

“Oh no! No!” I gestured frantically and shook my head even harder. “We’re not, I mean, I would never. It’s not like that, it’s…” The man gave me one more amused look before walking away. I looked over at Mr. Greek God; he was holding the box of condoms in his hand with a strange smile plastered across his face.

“Jane, here’s a condom and have sex with me. Have sex with me now!”

He extended his hand, the bright-red box almost glinting in the overhead lights. I was going to kill my mother for this! Or maybe this was one of those incidents I would laugh about in years to come. “Remember the time… hahaha.”

I doubted it.

I cringed as I reached out and took the box from him and slid it into my bag. I looked up at him briefly, and he smiled.

“I can see you’re really going to love it here, Jane.”