by Alexis Angel
“You are? I guess you have no other plans for tonight.”
“If I did, I’d scrap ’em in a second. Wouldn’t even think about it.”
I stand up and start walking toward the door.
“What does that mean, may I ask?”
“Since I have plans with you, I’d scrap everything else.”
I stop right at the door.
“What makes you think you have plans with me?”
“Why are you calling?”
“I wanted to know if you wanted a drink. I could go for one more tonight. I’m buying.”
“The poolside bar’s still open.”
“Alright, then. Ten minutes.”
I hang up and walk out the door. It takes me less than five minutes to walk to the bar. Would you like to guess who’s already there, waiting with a drink?
Sunscreen is wearing a short-sleeve button-up Hawaiian shirt, because what else would he be wearing?
He smiles in greeting and pats the stool next to his. As soon as I sit down, the bartender places a frozen drink in a hollowed-out coconut in front of me.
“Where else would I sit?” I take a sip through the straw—still a piña colada, only in coconut dressing this time.
“Nowhere else, I hope.”
“I thought I was buying the drinks.”
“You still can. I haven’t paid yet.”
I nod and take another small sip.
“So are you here like, permanently, or something?”
Sunscreen takes his own coconut with both hands and helps himself to a large sip.
“Or something—something like coming down here for spring break one year, and never getting around to going back. It’s working out rad so far.”
I look at all the little tchotchkes behind the bar while Sunscreen looks at me.
“Ah. Yeah. Rad.”
“Ha, yeah. Totally.”
I swing on my stool to face Sunscreen.
“Do you apply a lot of sunscreen?”
“Not really, just on special occasions.”
“Am I special occasion?”
“Girl, you’re a damn national holiday.”
“National?”
“International—Mexico, America—a holiday everywhere.”
“How about just Cancun?”
“A local holiday. I could celebrate that.”
We have a couple more drinks, our conversation gets even fucking dumber, I loosen up, and we both end up laughing like a couple ditzes at everything.
I pay the tab with my credit card, and Sunscreen and I still have a case of the giggles as we saunter up to my room.
I hear Sunscreen let out a couple final chuckles behind me as I walk to the bed. I turn around and see that Sunscreen has his tote bag with him.
“How did I not notice that bag before?”
Sunscreen shrugs as he drops the bag to the floor.
“Nothing major in there. Just some sunscreen, oils, lotions, feathers, light scarves.”
“Scarves?”
“If you’re interested. It could be fun. I also have some chocolate body paint, if you get hungry. Or if you’re feeling artistic.”
“Uh-huh. Let’s take it slow for a second.”
We walk toward each other, and the moment we reach each other, he grabs me and pulls me tight up against him. We kiss greedily, our tongues traveling, exploring each other’s mouths. We collapse onto the floor, continuing to make out.
I naturally end up on top of Sunscreen. I lift my head away from his and see him looking blissed-out, his arms stretched out on the floor. I run my fingertips softly along his muscly arms and down his Hawaiian shirt.
I shift backward a bit so I have easy access to his zipper. I feel around the front of his shorts. He sits up a bit and undoes his zipper.
His rigid cock is sticking up through the front of his boxers.
I think of WineBar before I could even make my next move. Shit.
I jump up, and Sunscreen seems confused about my abrupt actions. I can’t keep Kirk out my head even if another man’s cock is pointing straight up at me.
But how do I tell Sunscreen that?
He starts standing up and pushes his cock back into his shorts.
“I’m sorry” is all I say, because what the fuck else do you say in this situation?
But Sunscreen doesn’t look too upset as he grabs his bag and leaves in a hurry.
Well, fuck.
I flop onto my bed. That whole thing was a bust, but I’m really not disappointed.
It’s for the best, and I know it. My guardian angel is looking out for me tonight, and for that I’m grateful, because now it’s clearer than ever that I’m not ready to give up on WineBar yet.
Emily
There’s no shortage of dudes walking along the lucky narrow strip of sand in front of my beach chair. Most of them are like insanely hot as well.
Especially this guy—I only see his abs at first, then his wet black speedo with that bulge, and finally as he’s walking away, showing me a toned ass that dreams are made of.
Anne’s sitting on my left, and I give her a quick look. Did she see that?
Anne’s already looking at me. She lowers her sunglasses a little with her index finger.
She’s thinking the same thing I am: even in the parade of hotness that is Cancun today, that guy is a beast.
I smile, feeling spoiled with all this luxury surrounding me everywhere. It’s not quite noon, and we’re enjoying some pre-brunch time on the beach.
Considering the alcohol-soaked nature of our trip so far, we’re all still feeling great when we finally sit down for brunch at the Omni. The view is also fucking incredible here—swaying palms, light-colored sandy shoreline, and endless blue sea and sky; no words or Google image searches could do it justice.
I see another table drinking piña coladas from enormous hollowed-out coconuts. I kind of want one—that is, until the waiter gently clinks a champagne glass holding a fizzy mimosa in front of me. Yep, I’ll take that.
This is paradise.
“Aren’t we supposed to be eating, I don’t know, fuckin’ eggs or something?” There’s no way that Lana’s being serious. She’s trying not to laugh while she tips back her mimosa.
“More like quesadillas. With pork. Or mushrooms,” Anne responds, actually studying the pineapple-shaped menu.
“Those both sound good to me, for various reasons.” That’s my sole input while I finish my first drink.
Oh my god, there’s the speedo guy, just waltzing past our table and looking around like it’s nothing.
“What are you doing here?” Anne’s almost slurring, probably from giddiness more than alcohol.
I see the speedo guy’s face for the first time. He takes off his aviator shades to look at us. He has slicked-back black hair, like a stereotype of a Wall Street dude. He’s even more gorgeous without his sunglasses.
“I’m just looking for a friend.”
Oh my god, what kind of accent is that? Italian? Whatever it is, it’s so working for me.
“Who you meeting wearing that?” Anne doesn’t point at Speedo’s speedo as much as thrusts her finger at it.
“What? This?” Speedo pulls on the elastic waist of his swim briefs and lets it snap back. If this continues, I’m going to need to change my fucking panties.
“Yes! That!” Lana’s now joining in on the fun.
“You are all being, how do I say this, uptight? I’m just a human body, close to the beach.”
This sends us all into fits of hysteric giggles. Speedo looks perplexed, almost a little hurt.
“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Lana explains, still laughing. “Nothing wrong at all.”
Another sexy European-looking dude, strangely wearing a full tailored suit, grabs Speedo’s shoulder and gives it a short, rough rub.
“Salve!” The suit guy doesn’t talk to us. He just goes to sit at an empty table after greeting his friend.
I try to look into Speed
o’s European eyes without getting too excited, and I offer him an observation.
“Your buddy there, now he seems uptight. Isn’t he also by the beach or whatever?”
Speedo scrunches his face up slightly.
“Ah, he go to business meeting later.”
“In Cancun?” Anne, Lana, and I all nearly scream this in unison.
Speedo doesn’t miss a beat. “There is business in Cancun. He’s in talks to buy hotel. I set up deals for him.”
“Show us your cock!” Anne’s voice goes up a couple octaves with her request.
“Yeah, don’t be uptight,” I offer, smiling seductively.
Speedo doesn’t seem bothered, and he also seems to realize we’re not interested in his life story.
“Okay.”
Speedo pulls his cock up over the waist of his speedo and just lets it hang there. It’s like a ridiculously impressive length, even flaccid. He’s not shy about it, standing there with his hands on his hips.
I start giggling. Oh my god, this is so fucking crazy. And fun.
Like, who does this? Me and my friends, bitches. That’s who.
We don’t go totally crazy or anything. We just study it silently for a few moments. After finishing our study, we all clap politely, and Speedo takes a bow.
I laugh again. This is seriously the best vacation ever.
But if that’s true, then why does it feel like something’s missing?
Ugh, I don’t want to think about it, so I drink another mimosa.
After brunch, I retake my spot on the beach. There aren’t as many dudes around this time, so I look at the Caribbean for a while. I can only take that for so long before turning to Lana, who’s sitting in the next chair.
“I should be having the best time of my life.”
“You’re not?” Lana has her sunglasses on, face pointed straight up at the sky.
“I should be, but I feel empty. It’s weird. But now I realize why: WineBar. Like, I really miss him for some reason, Lana.”
Lana takes off her sunglasses and sits up.
“Em, come on. Don’t let that ruin Cancun. It’s over. Otherwise, he would’ve called you by now. It sucks, I know, but it’s time to forget about that shit.”
I look at the beach behind me, and there are actually a lot of people out—and a lot of men.
I sigh. “When you’re right you’re right, Lana.”
Lana goes back to sunning or whatever she’s doing, and I get up to wander the beach. I venture farther and farther from the water, and without thinking, I end up back in my hotel room.
I guess the partying is catching up with me. I probably need a nap.
I sleep for a couple hours, until late afternoon. I’m almost ready to give up on this vacation. Almost.
I throw on a bikini and find my way to the poolside bar, hoping to get one of those pineapple piña coladas I saw earlier.
The bar and pool are annoyingly crowded. Maybe it’s time to go back inside and just order room service.
“That’s some tan you’ve got there.”
I jump a little and turn around to see who the hell just said that to me.
I’m greeted by a surfer-looking guy, wearing nothing but a pair of neon swim shorts. He’s tan himself, and cute. Really cute.
“Excuse me? Who are you to judge my tan?”
The surfer-looking guy laughs. He has very well-defined muscles and very carefully maintained shaggy blond hair.
“I’m acquiring mine slowly, but you look like you’ve only been here a couple days, right?”
Why the hell am I blushing?
“Yeah, you guessed right.”
“Do you have any sunscreen with you?”
“No, it’s back in my room.”
I’m not sure why yet, but I’m starting to really like where this is going.
“I can help you out with that.”
My heart begins beating faster as I watch this guy—let’s call him, oh, I don’t know, Sunscreen—lean over and rummage through a tote bag next to a beach chair. He pulls out a white plastic bottle.
“I guess I should use some of that?”
“Yes. This is the good stuff, high SPF.”
“Whatever you say, Sunscreen.”
Sunscreen laughs again.
“I don’t consider myself that, yet, but maybe I am. Either way, I think you need some help getting full coverage. There are some more chairs a little farther down.”
Yes, I do like where this is going very much. Sunscreen leads me to the other end of the pool.
We don’t say a word. I lie facedown on a lounge chair, and Sunscreen starts working his SPF 70 enchantment. He rubs the lotion in gently yet firmly, and the longer it goes on, the better it feels.
So good I can almost get WineBar out of my head.
Almost.
Kirk
My last two days at the cabin pass like nothing. I avoid any more time-slowing fishing trips, for once looking forward to my return to civilization. For the first time, the drive back to the Bay Area is upbeat instead of a boring slog.
Back in the city, walking along the Embarcadero, I’m happier with my decision than ever. I don’t know where Emily’s at with the whole thing, but maybe Clarissa spoke with her.
When I get to the Ferry Terminal, I know better than to look for Clarissa outside. It’s a gray day, and as I expect, she’s sitting at a table when I walk inside. My sister is already halfway through her kimchi burger.
I sit down, take one of Clarissa’s fries, and eat it in one bite.
“Hey!”
“You couldn’t wait for me to order?” I’m talking with my mouth full, and I know the answer already.
“You know I’m not going to wait that long…but I’ll stay and watch you eat. And you know what, those fries are for both of us, so it’s fine.”
I laugh. “I’m getting more fries, so don’t even worry about it.”
I’m playing it light, and I pretend to look at the menu. I’m hoping I don’t have to ask, but I can’t wait…
“Any word from Emily?”
Clarissa just took a bite of her burger, but she shakes her head slowly. The answer I anticipated, but fuck.
“No, just Miranda.”
Also expected. Also, fuck.
“How many times did she call?”
“Just once, most days.”
I nod.
“I’ll be right back.”
I go to the register and order a California burger, garlic fries, and a glass of pinot noir. I decide to get an ice cream cone for Clarissa as well.
I don’t know what’s going on with Emily, or whether I should call her right away. I think about it long enough that my order comes up while I’m still standing there.
Clarissa smiles sheepishly when she sees me walk back with my food and the ice cream.
“For making you wait so much today.” I hand her the cone.
“It’s the least you could do.”
Clarissa doesn’t hesitate to start in on her ice cream.
“May I have my phone back?”
My sister holds the phone like a parent about to give car keys to their teenage son. She’s ready to give me a preliminary lecture.
“Are you going to block her number?”
I make a baffled face, like I don’t know what she’s talking about.
“Whose?”
“Miranda’s, of course. There’s no reason you should still have to deal with this.”
I lean in as Clarissa eats her ice cream angrily.
“She’s been calling. I’m not just going to ignore her. After everything we’ve been through, she deserves that much respect, at least.”
Clarissa realizes that she has no way of arguing with that and deposits the phone on my tray with a grimace. I pocket it quickly before ripping into the first bite of my burger. After a few days of sourcing and preparing my own food, I appreciate any ready-made meal.
We eat silently for a few minutes. This happens when we fee
l comfortable enough, or if we have nothing to say. This time, it’s a combination of both.
“You’re going to call Emily, aren’t you?” Clarissa finally breaks the silence after finishing her cone and sliding her tray aside.
“I don’t know about that. I’ll get back to Miranda first, but then I do need to speak with Emily. I need to see her, really, to see if she’s okay and to talk about things.”
Clarissa takes one of my fries. I slip my phone out of my pocket and look at the incoming calls. I have to scroll through about a dozen Miranda calls, going back a few days, to get to the last Emily call.
“I never thought I’d see the day.” Clarissa smirks.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I have the feeling I’m in for a lecture, and for real this time.
“The Great Kirk, ruler of the city’s trendy bar world, the San Fran ladies’ man…the Great Kirk is now a fucking sap.”
“Sap. That’s a good one. Rich. What year is it again?”
I wait until a couple seconds after I’m done talking to look up from my phone. It seems like I’d be admitting something if I looked up right away.
“You’re going to call Emily, right? Text her first, maybe? Then wait by your phone? Worried about when she’ll get back? This isn’t you. Come on. This is shit other people go through. Other guys.”
I leave my phone on the table, faceup so I can see if somebody calls or texts.
“What other guys? And why should I care? I’m doing what’s best for me.”
Clarissa goes to take another fry, then stops herself.
“What’s best for you?”
“I want to keep trying with Emily, or at least see where we stand.”
“When’s the last time you worried about anything like this?”
I try to look amused and bemused that she would ask that, but I’m thinking, Am I ever like this? Is this the first time? Why?
I need to think of a response fast. Because what the fuck.
“I’m just going to pay her a visit. Just going to see what’s up.”
“I never thought I’d see the day,” Clarissa repeats while gathering her tray.
Clarissa walks over to the trash and recycling bins, leaving me alone to drink my wine. I pick up the burger, but I’m suddenly not as hungry.
I’m taking a greedy gulp of red wine when Clarissa gets back. She points at the now almost empty glass while sitting down, giving me a look but not saying a word.
