Nicola Marsh - Deserted Island, Dreamy Ex

The best time of his life.

The first woman he’d ever been involved with.

The first person he’d allowed close enough to care.

The first time he’d allowed himself to feel anything other than caution and judgement and bitterness.

He’d been numb after escaping his parents’ bizarre turnaround when they suddenly started acknowledging he existed, had been driven to succeed, to utilise the talent he’d uncovered through their neglect.

Melbourne had held nothing but bad memories and newly clinging parents for him and moving to Sydney had been as much about fresh starts as fostering his career.

Though she hadn’t known it at the time, Kristi had been a saviour: a friend, a lover, a distraction, all rolled into one.

And when she’d got too close … well, he’d done the only thing he could.

He’d run.

‘Kristi and I dated casually. We had fun.’

‘And you didn’t break her heart?’

He hadn’t stuck around long enough for that; had made sure of it.

‘Would she be taking part in your little social experiment if I had?’

Apparently satisfied, Elliott nodded, his glasses sliding down his nose as he absent-mindedly pushed them back up.

‘Good point. She seemed feisty. I reckon she would’ve skewered you if you’d done a number on her.’

‘Too right.’

Not that he agreed with his friend’s assessment. Back then, Kristi had had vulnerability written all over her. She’d acted as if she didn’t care but he’d seen the signs, had caught the unguarded longing stares she’d cast him when she thought he wasn’t looking.

Then there was that bridal shower she’d been so hyped about, throwing a huge shindig at her apartment for her room-mate, her incessant chatter of gowns and registries and invitations sending a shudder through him.

Marriage was never on the cards for him and just being close to all that hearts and flowers crap made his gut roil.

Then he’d walked in on her one day, standing in front of a cheval mirror, wearing a shiny white wedding gown and a beatific smile. If that vision hadn’t sent a ripple of horror through him, her words had.

‘It’ll be our turn next.’

Not a hope in Hades.

So he’d pulled back, brought forward his departure date to a Florida training camp, said goodbye with a phone call. He’d taken the coward’s way out but, the way he saw it, he’d made the right decision.

He’d never promised Kristi anything, had made it clear from the start their dating had a time limit. Wasn’t his fault she’d interpreted it as anything other than what it was: a casual fling, fun while it lasted.

‘If you two parted amicably, does that mean you’re going to pick up where you left off on the island?’

‘For your nosy viewers to see? Not likely.’

As the words tumbled easily he had to admit he’d wondered the same thing himself, the thought crossing his mind the instant she’d strutted in here with her shoulders squared for battle and her eyes flashing fire.

‘Too bad. Would’ve been nice to add a little romance to the mix.’

With a shake of his head, Jared stood. ‘You’re a sap.’

‘No, I’m a producer after ratings.’

Throwing a few notes on the table, Elliott hoisted his load into his arms and stood too.

‘And sex sells, my friend.’

Jared grunted in response, a certain part of him agreeing with Elliott, with the faintest hope Kristi would too.

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