From Thailand with Love

by Camilla Isley

So what should I wear?

  A mean idea takes form in my head. I smile to myself as I eye the closed suitcase of “city clothes” I’d packed for my stay in Bangkok, and that I plan to deposit at the hotel’s reception tomorrow since I won’t be needing them in the jungle.

  My only regret is that I didn’t bring heels.

  Logan

  Armed with plenty of patience, I walk up the steps of my neighbor’s hut, ready to get another good dose of sass.

  I try to put myself in a positive headspace. Maybe Archie is right, and the sass is just her way of being defensive. Maybe she won’t hinder the mission after all. I should give her the benefit of the doubt. And, as the expedition leader, it is my duty to make sure the team is united.

  So, with the proverbial hat in my hands, I step on her patio and ring the hut’s bell.

  “I’m coming,” Winter calls from the other side. “Just a second.”

  I respectfully wait a few steps back from the door.

  Scuffling noises fill the inside of the hut, until Winter slides the French doors open. All of a sudden, she’s not my annoying team member anymore, but instead that bombshell who took my breath away before I realized who she was. And she’s doing it again now; it feels like she’s knocked the air right out of my lungs.

  Tonight, she’s decided to torture me with a halter neck black dress that clings to her body like sin, following each generous curve like a tailor designed it specifically for her. Her hair, now dried, hangs in soft waves reaching to her waist. Black gladiator sandals wind up her toned legs, stopping just before the dress starts.

  And I don’t know why, but all those tiny leather straps around her calves are distressing.

  “What can I do for you, Dr. Spencer?” Winter asks, a definite note of sarcasm audible in her tone.

  I snap out of my daze and meet her eyes; a challenge awaits me there. As if she’s daring me to criticize her attire choice. Did she wear this on purpose, to provoke me? Or is this just her wardrobe, what she’s planning to wear on the expedition?

  I take a deep breath, remembering what Archie said. I’m the team leader, and I need to be the bigger person. If the photographer wants to trek through the jungle wearing a skirt, she can be my guest, and find out the hard way why that’s a terrible idea. It’s not my job to tell her how to live her life. Heck, she can come in heels for all I care. And when she breaks a leg, Archie can carry her the rest of the way, and they can be happy together.

  So, no, sorry, Miss Sass, not taking the bait.

  “We got off on the wrong foot,” I say, and only receive back an even more sarcastic, “you think?” stare. I don’t let it frazzle me as I continue, “I wanted to apologize if I came off as unwelcoming earlier.”

  The impossible woman says nothing; she just stares at me with an “aaand?” attitude. Is she serious? That was a perfectly respectable apology! Guess I’m not done groveling. Talk about high maintenance!

  “You’re a valued member of this team,” I go on. “And I can’t wait to see you at work. I’m told you’re the best in your field.”

  Finally, she cracks the tiniest satisfied smile and gives me an almost imperceptible nod.

  “Okay, Dr. Spencer.” She flips her hair back in an exaggerated motion that pushes out her chest. I have to concentrate hard not to shift my gaze to her cleavage. How is everything… staying in place like that? I don’t see any bra straps. “You get the benefit of the doubt,” she says, and, regarding me with a penetrating stare, she adds, “Anything else troubling you?”

  And she’s successfully made me blush for the second time in a day. But she couldn’t possibly know I’m thinking about her bra, or lack of thereof. Or maybe she can. Standing with her chest pushed out like that can’t be natural. Is she messing with me?

  “Well?” she prompts.

  “No,” I say quickly. “I mean, yes!” Damn, I’m making a fool of myself. Not a good look for the expedition leader. “The team is getting together for a casual dinner at the resort’s restaurant. I was wondering if you’d like to join us? I, err, would be really pleased if you did.”

  I swear, asking my first girlfriend out in high school as an inexperienced teenage boy was easier than this.

  “Sure,” Miss Sass says. “Hang on a second.”

  She backtracks inside her bungalow, pointedly closing the door, and comes back two minutes later with a black camera strapped around her neck and nestled squarely between her—

  “See something you like, Dr. Spencer?”

  “That’s a nice camera,” I babble. “How many megapixels?”

  Did I seriously just ask about the resolution of her Reflex?

  “No pixels for this baby.” She smirks condescendingly. “Only old-fashioned film. And before you say anything, don’t worry, the expedition reportage will all be in modern high-res digital shots. This is for me.” She taps the camera. “I want to take a few photographs of the ocean at night.”

  Is that even possible? I wonder. With no light? But I don’t ask, I only nod.

  She gestures at the steps. “After you, Dr. Spencer.”

  I’m sure the use of my academic title is a form of mocking for her, so, as I take the first couple of steps down, I say, “Please call me Logan. No need for formalities.”

  Your move, Miss Sass.

  ***

  Once we arrive at the beach-side restaurant, another open-wall wooden structure, we’re the last to join the party. Everyone has joined in except for the military guys, who must’ve declined the invite. I can’t honestly say that I’m sorry.

  There are only two spots left at the table: one next to Tucker, and the other beside Archie.

  Without hesitation, Winter bypasses Archie and sits beside Tucker, making me sigh in relief. The last thing I need on this trip is a jungle romance. And I suspect that if Miss Sass and my best friend collided and exploded, things could potentially end worse than in Acapulco. Archie’s nickname in college was Lover Boy for a reason, and, unfortunately, he hasn’t grown up much since then—not in the romantic department at least.

  “What’s on the menu?” I ask, taking the chair next to Archie and getting a “does the photographer get hotter every time we see her?” ankle kick under the table. That or he’s silently wondering if she’s bra-less.

  After years of living in symbiosis, as roommates in college first, and afterward on all our adventures around the world, Archie and I have developed amazing non-verbal communication skills.

  “I was just suggesting a Thai Experience tasting menu,” Dr. Boonjan says to me, pointing out the option on the menu. “It’s an authentic roundup of traditional Thai dishes.”

  We all agree to the suggestion just as a server arrives at our table, notepad in hand. Dr. Boonjan orders for us in Thai. Then, as the server walks away, Dr. Boonjan turns to Winter and asks, “Is this your first time in Thailand, Miss Knowles?”

  “Please call me Winter,” she says, smiling. “And, no, I’ve been to Bangkok several times. Also Ayutthaya, Chiang Mai, Chiang Rai, Phuket, Phi Phi Island… but it’s my first time in Trat…”

  Blah… Blah… Blah… We get it, Miss Sass, you’re well-traveled. Join the club.

  I tune her out and turn to Archie.

  Mistake.

  He waggles his eyebrows at me.

  I roll my eyes and pick up the wine list. I’m still a little buzzed from the bourbon, and should probably keep my head clear, but enough dry nights await us for me to want to indulge a little while I have the chance.

  A citrusy smell hits my nose, and I look up to find Winter spraying lotion all over her bare arms and legs. Across her nape, over her collarbones, down her neckline…

  Archie coughs loudly beside me, and this time it’s me kicking him.

  “What is that?” Tucker asks the photographer.

  “Lemongrass spray,” Winter says. “A natural insect repellent. You should try it.”

  Tucker scowls. “That won’t
be strong enough once we get to camp. You should use the one in the kit.”

  Winter narrows her eyes, and just when I think she’s going to rip into him, she smiles instead and says, “Sure. That’s good advice. Thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  She’s pretending to play ball, but I get the strong impression she doesn’t really mean to use the proper spray.

  Sassy and stubborn.

  What’s not to like?

  “So,” she asks Tucker, “is the lost city location really that wild? What can we expect?”

  Each team member had to sign NDAs in order to join the expedition. The documents stressed the need for confidentiality while detailing the perimeter of the mission. But apparently, the classified aspect wasn’t emphasized enough. Nor was the importance of the discovery given how casually Miss Sass feels free to discuss them. I hate the way she tosses around the words lost city as if they were trivial.

  Doesn’t she get how significant this is?

  “I’ll brief everyone tomorrow on-site,” Tucker says, and then gives her a rundown of the first few days’ schedule anyway. “…After that,” he concludes, “we’ll have to play it by ear.”

  Archie injects himself into the conversation. “That’s where my aerial recon skills will come in handy,” he says, way too flirtatiously for a work dinner.

  “Really?” Winter fires back. “I prefer the nitty-gritty, feet-on-the-ground exploration approach,” she shuts him down completely. Not a hint of flirtation in her voice.

  I smirk, satisfied, and earn another kick under the table.

  “This whole ‘radar images and drones’ setup is rather unromantic,” Winter continues. “What happened to a good old treasure map?”

  “Well, we’re not treasure hunting,” I cut in. “So…”

  “And how was your day?” Archie asks Winter, changing the subject while throwing me a chastising, be-nice-to-the-lady side glare.

  “Enlightening,” she says, a note of sarcasm in her tone. “And unusual.”

  Three servers arrive, each holding a tray transporting a multitude of dishes. They spread the various bowls evenly across the table and then leave, saluting us with a polite bow.

  Archie leans forward to fill his plate as he continues the conversation. “Unusual day? How so?”

  “Well, I spent most of the afternoon relaxing by the ocean, which was a nice change,” she says, reaching for the mango salad, “but, earlier, I had an emotional long-distance call.”

  “Boyfriend?” my friend speculates, evidently dismayed.

  “No, sister,” Winter replies, and Archie perks right back up. “My twin and I hadn’t spoken in a month. We’re out of sorts… so it was… weird.”

  “You have a twin sister?” Archie rejoices.

  I don’t need to look at him to know his mustached lip is twitching in delight.

  “Yep.”

  “She look anything like you?” he asks, aiming for “casual” and failing.

  “Yeah, we’re identical twins. Why… Oh, please, don’t tell me you’re one of those pervs with a secret fantasy about twins!”

  “I’m not a perv!” Archie raises his hands defensively. “Just a man. Every man has a fantasy about tw—”

  She doesn’t even let him finish before pointing her fork at me. “Logan, do you have a secret fantasy about twins?”

  What? How did I get pulled into this?

  “No, I don’t,” I lie, my cheeks heating.

  “See?” Winter says sweetly to Archie. “Just you, perv.”

  Archie promptly rewards me with another kick in the shins.

  In an attempt to steer the conversation toward a hopefully less sexually charged subject, I ask, “Why are you and your sister at odds?”

  “She slept with our best friend’s boyfriend.”

  I sigh. So sex is inevitably in the picture.

  Tucker asks the next question: “Not your boyfriend?”

  “No,” she confirms.

  “So why are you mad at her?” Archie asks.

  “You have a brother?” Winter says.

  “Yes.”

  “You’re close?”

  “Pretty close, yeah.”

  “Would you get upset if he had an affair with Logan’s wife?”

  “I’m not married,” I jump to say, and get kicked again for the eagerness.

  Guess I deserved that.

  “His girlfriend, then,” Winter says.

  “I don’t have one of those either,” I note, less eagerly this time.

  Winter flares her nostrils. “Boyfriend? Husband? Give me something to work with, here, I’m trying to make a point.”

  “I’m not gay,” I say. And for the millionth time today, my face heats up. Everything that comes out of this woman’s mouth is thoroughly embarrassing and inappropriate. So much for being a professional, asking me about my sexuality half an hour into our second conversation. This is sexual harassment.

  “So,” Winter continues, “it’s safe to assume you could have a girlfriend, in theory?”

  I grit my teeth. “Yes.”

  “Thank you,” she says to me, and then to Archie, “Suppose your brother had an affair with Logan’s imaginary girlfriend. Wouldn’t you be angry with him?”

  “Yes,” Archie admits. “But we’d wrestle it out, I’d kick his ass, and once that was taken care of, we’d all get over it. I mean”—he points at me—“the way I see it, if Logan’s girlfriend was willing to cheat on him it’d be better if someone ripped the Band-Aid sooner rather than later.”

  “Ditto,” I say.

  Winter shakes her head. “Nah, guys, I’m telling you… to have your significant other and your best friend stab you in the back is not that easy to forgive and forget.”

  Tucker dips a spring roll into the sweet and sour sauce and asks, “Is your friend still heartbroken?” He takes a crunchy bite.

  Winter falters. “No… mmm, actually, Lana, my best friend, is the happiest she’s ever been.”

  I push a suspicious-looking vegetable out of the way on my plate, saying, “How come?”

  “She was sort of rescued by the Sexiest Man Alive, and now they’re dating.”

  “Sexiest Man Alive.” Archie scoffs. “That’s debatable.”

  “Sorry, Golden Boy.” Winter cuts him a sideways look over her Pad Thai. “The man’s aesthetic supremacy is certified.”

  Golden Boy? What is that? Is she flirting?

  “How’s that possible, Snowflake?” my friend challenges.

  Really? Golden Boy, Snowflake? Are they using nicknames now?

  Just no.

  “Ever read People magazine?” Winter asks. “He’s on the cover every year about the time when they release the Sexiest Man Alive chart.”

  “Your friend is dating someone famous?” I ask.

  “Yup, Christian Slade,” she confirms.

  “Oh,” Somchai enters the conversation for the first time. “He very good actor. Love his movies.”

  “Yeah, right?” Winter says. “And he’s a pretty decent dude, too. Lana has never been happier…”

  Archie takes a sip of white wine. “So, come again, why are you still mad at your sister? Is she still dating the other guy?”

  “No, she broke up with him because it turned out he was an even bigger ass than just being a cheating cockroach—long story.” She waves a hand in a dismissing gesture. “But that only makes the affair cheaper.”

  “How?” Tucker asks.

  “Because my sister screwed up her life over a douchebag that isn’t worth her pinky toe, and now she’s a castaway. Everyone knows what happened, thanks to the douche, and she’s the one who’s ended up having to go around with the figurative Scarlet Letter on her chest. She’s all sad and alone… and when Summer suffers, I suffer…”

  I’ve listened to the tirade, not caring much about the soap opera drama and thinking women enjoy complicating things for themselves, b
ut that last sentence startles me. “Your twin’s name is Summer?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s—ouch!”

  “Sorry, dude,” Archie says. “Table’s a bit crammed,” he adds as a makeshift apology for stomping his don’t-mock-their-names boot hard on my foot.

  “You were saying?” Winter asks, with a smile so sweet it scares the living daylights out of me.

  “Compelling names,” I deflect.

  She turns her gaze to Archie. “You always have to kick good manners into him?”

  Archie throws back his head in a hearty laugh. “No,” he admits. “Logan’s usually the good boy. I don’t know what got into him today.” He arches a mocking brow at me.

  “Must be the tropical air,” I sulk, polishing the last grains of rice off my plate. My legs are really starting to feel all those kicks. Good thing we’re mostly driving tomorrow.

  An awkward silence follows.

  Tucker breaks it by clearing his throat. “Well, if everyone is finished, I suggest calling it a night. Wake-up call is going to be a bitch tomorrow.”

  Thank goodness this dinner is over.

  Relieved, I throw my napkin on my plate as we all stand up to leave the restaurant.

  Winter, heedless of Tucker’s recommendation for an early bedtime, steps toward the beach.

  “I’ll go take a few quick shots by the water and then head to bed like a good girl.”

  She addresses the remark at Tucker, but I know it’s really meant for me.

  We watch her go, and once her figure is engulfed in darkness, the rest of the group follows the narrow alleyway that leads to the bungalows. At the first fork, Somchai and Dr. Boonjan go right while the Americans proceed left. A few more yards bring us to the next divide, where Archie and Tucker have to follow the right path. Until it’s just me walking toward my villa alone.

  When I reach it, I stop in the grassy space between my hut and Winter’s, undecided if I should wait up until she’s made it back safely from the beach. I decide against it. If she wants to be treated like a big girl, then that’s exactly what she’ll get.

  Inside my room, I change, pack the last few things for tomorrow’s journey, and jump between the sheets, ready to enjoy my last night in a proper bed.