by Sandy Barker
I was doubtful. We were talking about the TSA. In America. You can’t take a bottle of hand sanitiser on board if it’s over three ounces—you know, in case you’re one of those incredibly clever people who knows how to hijack a plane with just your (very clean) bare hands.
We moved up and I took a tray, loading it with my iPad, Kindle, a tube of lip balm, and a small bottle of hand sanitiser—just for hand sanitation, by the way. Josh took a tray and placed his laptop in it, and we remained silent as we moved through the line. I wondered about the worst thing that could happen, which led to a vision of Josh sitting in a windowless room being questioned by TSA agents while our flight left without us.
Our stuff went through the x-ray machine and we walked through the metal detector one at a time.
“Sir, is this your bag?” Oh, crap. A TSA agent was looking at Josh and pointing to his backpack. I gathered my stuff and put it back into my carry-on.
“Uh, yes. Is there a problem?”
The woman took Josh’s bag to the end of the conveyor belt and sat it on a metal table. “Come with me please, sir.” Josh followed and I stood off to the side chewing on my thumbnail.
She rummaged around in Josh’s backpack, finally pulling out a giant bottle of sunscreen. “Sir, you can’t travel with liquids in containers larger than three ounces.”
Josh had seemingly lost the ability to speak, so I did. “I told him not to put that in there,” I said. Maybe if I threw him under the bus, she’d be too distracted to search the bag further.
“Well, I’m going to have to confiscate this.” She took the offending item and placed it in a bin behind her.
Josh pretended to look contrite and apologised for the oversight while I shook my head at him and tutted, the finishing touches on my obviously credible performance. He took his backpack off the table, slung it over his shoulder and we walked away briskly. When we were out of sight of the security point, we burst out laughing.
“I think playing the nagging wife really sealed the deal.” He flung his arm around my shoulder and kissed the top of my head as we walked to our gate.
Wife. Coming from Josh, even in that context, it sounded odd—extremely odd.
*
“And here we are, the Honeymoon Suite,” said our bellboy as we followed him into the most beautiful room I’d ever seen. The surprise of the room wore off as soon as I realised what he’d said.
“Oh, we’re not—” I started to correct him, but Josh cut me off.
“We’re not used to such luxury,” he said to the bellboy. “This room is amazing.” The bellboy looked pleased and lifted our suitcases onto the luggage rack in turn. Josh pulled a five-dollar note from his money clip and handed it to the bellboy.
“Thank you, sir. Anything you or your wife need during your stay, just let us know.”
There was that word again, “wife”. Josh and I were barely boyfriend and girlfriend, so it didn’t sit well with me—at all.
The bellboy left, and Josh opened the sliding door and stepped out onto our balcony as though everything was exactly as it should be. “Uh, Josh?” I followed him out onto the balcony, needing to clarify something. “You didn’t book the Honeymoon Suite, did you?”
He laughed in a way that instantly told me two things. First, he did not book the Honeymoon Suite. And second, he thought it was preposterous that I thought he had. The second one annoyed me. Why was it so ridiculous for me to wonder if he’d done it as a romantic gesture? A misguided romantic gesture, but even so!
“It’s probably just an upgrade,” he explained. “It happens sometimes because I have platinum status—I think I told you about that.” I nodded curtly. “Anyway, I’m guessing he just assumed we were newlyweds. It may mean some perks, though. That’s why I didn’t correct him.”
“Oh,” I replied. Was I relieved or disappointed? Perhaps it was a little of both.
Josh, who had either missed my darkening mood, or was deliberately ignoring it, turned me towards the view, then stood behind me and wrapped his arms around me. “Look,” he said softly in my ear.
My annoyance dissipated instantly, and I leant into him, drinking in the view. The lush resort grounds lay before us, vast undulating lawns in vivid green punctuated by palm trees and bordered by native shrubs, each with vibrant bursts of flowers. Just beyond, there was a cove with lapping waves and white sand and in the distance, ocean spray rose from the jagged black rocks along the coastline.
Maui was nothing like Waikiki. Both were beautiful, but Maui seemed quieter, more peaceful. I needed some of that peace. I was on edge—a concoction of nerves, excitement and doubt. I took a deep breath of the gentle breeze; it carried briny air tempered with the fragrance of tropical flowers. Divine.
“The pools must be on the other side,” said Josh, pulling me from my thoughts. “This is a nicer view than more of the resort, though, don’t you think?”
“I do.” I do? “Uh, yep, yes.” Did you know it’s possible to roll your eyes at yourself so hard, you see the inside of your own head?
“Want to go explore?”
“Absolutely,” I said, with great conviction. Anything to stop thinking.
“You know I mean ‘go sit by the pool and order cocktails’, right?” he added.
“Yep,” I replied, winking at him as I slipped past him and went inside.
“Great, and how about I bring my laptop so we can check out some day trips and excursions?”
“Sounds like a plan,” I replied. I pulled a tangerine-coloured bikini out of my luggage. “Hey, remember this from our trip?” I asked, holding it up for Josh to see.
“Remember? It’s been the sole thing keeping me going through a Chicago winter.”
I grinned. “I’ll be right back.” It wasn’t that I was being modest, but it’s far sexier to get out of a bikini than into one. Besides, I was hoping to erase the image of me, naked, squealing, and rolling off the bed onto the floor, from Josh’s mind. I didn’t want to replace it with me wrestling with some scraps of orange lycra.
“Oh, my god!” I stopped short at the door to the bathroom. It was the most luxurious and spacious bathroom I’d ever seen—including the one at James’s house. There was a long granite vanity with two sinks and drawers below, a spa bath big enough for two, a rainwater shower—also big enough for two—and a separate room for the toilet. There was even a basket filled with spa products on the vanity. I was in heaven.
“What?” called Josh.
“This bathroom is bigger than the Blue Banana,” I called back. I could hear him laugh from the other room.
“Does that make me Richard Gere?” Richard Gere, a silver fox, like James. The thought of James in his rainwater shower, water sluicing off his back, popped into my head. I shooed it away and poked my head around the corner, so I could see Josh.
Josh, Josh, Josh.
“Uh, let’s go with ‘no’ on that one. If you’re Richard Gere, that would make me Julia Roberts and a prostitute. But at least you got the reference.”
“Pretty Woman? Of course,” he laughed. “I wasn’t born yesterday.”
“But you were very young when it came out.” I leant against the doorframe.
“What year was that?” he asked.
“1990, I think.”
He shrugged. “I was a toddler.”
“Right.”
“Well, it’s not like you saw it in the theatre either.”
“Yes, I know. I saw it later, when it was age-appropriate,” I replied.
“Well, so did I.”
This conversation was not going well. I wanted to revel in the glorious bathroom, not discuss the movie about the prostitute with a heart of gold.
And, I still wasn’t in my bikini.
“I’m just going to get changed,” I said, closing the bathroom door on our tiff.
Surely it was normal for things to be a little awkward at first? And if not, it certainly wasn’t helping that thoughts of James kept popping into my head. Why was it s
o hard to be with Josh and not constantly compare him to James?
I needed to focus on where I was and who I was with.
I wrangled myself into my bikini and opened the bathroom door. Josh was already in his bathing suit and we each took a moment to admire the other. His muscular torso was paler than it had been in Greece, him having spent the past few months in cold weather, but the sight of that waistband slung low on his slim hips made my heart race.
“Just like I remembered,” he said, with a smile, indicating my bikini. “Actually, even better.”
“What? This old thing?” I did a twirl, basking in false modesty.
“It’s not the bikini—it’s the woman in it.” He crossed the room and pulled me to him, his hands resting on the small of my back, then kissed me. I liked this Josh—he was quite different from the guy I’d met on the dock in Santorini, the one who was shy around women. I wondered if I’d had that effect on him. He pulled away, keeping his hands where they were. “Maybe the pool can wait.”
“I’m actually looking forward to being in the pool with you.”
“Is that so?”
“Uh huh. My legs wrapped around your waist, my arms around your neck, just floating about. Doesn’t that sound good?”
His eyes narrowed and a sexy smile rested on his lips. “Okay, pool first, you naked on that bed, later.” He nodded towards the massive bed. I’d counted nine pillows earlier. Nine.
“Deal.” I popped some poolside necessities into my beach bag and slung it over my shoulder.
“Got everything?” He raised his eyebrows at me.
“Yep.” I ignored his teasing and offered up an inventory. “Kindle, hat, sunscreen, lip balm, sarong, wallet, phone.” I slid on my duty-free Prada sunglasses. “Sunnies,” I added.
“You sure you don’t want to bring your whole suitcase, just in case?”
“Have you got everything?”
He held up the key-card for the room. “Yep.” He grinned at me.
“So, no laptop? What about the excursions?”
He made a face. “Oh yeah. Should we just do that later?” I shrugged. I was beginning to think I’d be happy spending the whole holiday sitting by the pool—or in bed.
*
“How about here?” Josh indicated two sun loungers, side by side, with a table in between and an umbrella overhead.
“Perfect.” I put my beach bag on one and started unpacking. Josh climbed onto his and watched me. “What?” I said, without looking at him.
“I’m just looking.”
“I know you are.”
“You’re very pretty.” That stopped me in my tracks.
“Oh. Thank you.”
He smiled. “You’re welcome.”
I went back to getting situated. I squeezed some sunscreen into my hands and slathered it on my neck, my shoulders, and my arms. I sat down and stretched out, covering my legs with the sarong, and then put my hat on.
“You’re also pretty funny.”
“Funny ha-hah or funny weird?”
“A little of both.”
“I like to be sun-smart. I’m Australian. It’s drummed into us at birth,” I said defensively.
“And you’re cute when you’re miffed.” He stood, then leant down and smacked a kiss onto my lips. I harrumphed in response; I do not like to be patronised. “Now, what would you like to drink?” I do, however, like cocktails. Good play, Joshua.
“Well, how about a Mai Tai? That’s Hawaiian, isn’t it?”
“Sure, I guess so. Two Mai Tais coming up.” I watched him walk over to the bar, and I wasn’t the only one. Two women, two young women, women in their mid-twenties—as in, much closer in age to Josh than I was—also watched him walk to the bar. As he passed them, they made “oh, my god” faces at each other, then giggled.
I frowned at them, but they didn’t seem to notice, so I turned on my Kindle, opening it to the home page. I’d downloaded a handful of beach reads, including the latest book from my favourite author about a love triangle. I tapped on the cover. Maybe it would give me some insight into how to choose between two very different men. I was only a few pages into chapter one when a drink appeared in front of me. It looked like a work of art.
“Wow,” I said, putting down my Kindle and taking the drink from Josh. “Fancy!” It had two distinct layers, yellow and orange, and it was topped off with a piece of pineapple, a sprig of mint, a slice of lime, and a cherry with a stem.
I took a sip just as Josh said, “Cheers.” Why couldn’t I ever wait for a toast before I started drinking? What was wrong with me?
“Uh, sorry. Cheers,” I said, clinking my glass against his. I took another sip. “Yum.”
Josh stretched out on his lounger and tasted his drink. “Yeah. Good choice.”
I picked up the cherry by the stem and held it out. “Have I ever shown you what I can do with one of these?” I asked, waggling my eyebrows.
“Let’s go with no.” I knew I had his complete attention, so I put the cherry in my mouth, pulled the stem off and ate the cherry. Then I put the stem in my mouth and used my tongue and my teeth to twist it into a knot. I pulled the knotted stem out of my mouth and held it up for Josh to see.
His expression was one of awe. “How did you …?” He didn’t finish the thought, just shook his head in disbelief, then added, “And, you’ve definitely never shown me that before.”
“I can teach you sometime, if you like.”
“Yeah maybe.” He grinned at me. “You have any more hidden talents?”
“You’ll have to wait and see,” I said, not really knowing what I meant by that. My flirting techniques were a little rusty. And I didn’t usually bust out the cherry trick unless it was at the end of a long, drunken night and I was trying to impress someone. Maybe I was a little hung up on the “younger women ogling Josh” thing.
He flew across an ocean to see you, Sarah.
While I wrestled with my insecurities, Josh seemed content to drink his cocktail and take in our surroundings. I took his cue and leant back against my lounger, taking another sip of my Mai Tai. “It really is beautiful here. Thank you again for organising the resort—and the hotel in Waikiki.”
“Oh, no problem. It’s nice to be able to spoil you.” I liked that. “And maybe even impress you a little.” He smiled shyly. I liked that too.
“Well, I do feel spoiled and I am impressed, so let’s drink to that.” I lifted my glass and he touched his against mine.
“What are you reading?” he asked, pointing to my Kindle.
“Oh, uh, just chick lit.”
“Chick lit?”
“Yeah, you know, literature for chicks.”
“Ahh. Like romcoms, but books?” I nodded. “But why is it ‘just’ chick lit?”
“I don’t know. Some people think it’s frivolous.”
“Well, you know I’m a fan of romcoms. Maybe I’d like it. What’s it about?”
Uh oh. Danger. Danger, Will Robinson.
“Uh, it’s about this woman …” Not surprisingly, I was having a hard time articulating that it was about a woman who thought she was in love with two men. Not wanting to open that can of worms, I lied. “And, she’s just moved to this new city and she meets this guy, who’s kind of a jerk at first. You know? Typical romcom stuff. I’ve just started … so, uh, yeah …”
“Oh, sure.” From the look on his face, he seemed to buy the lie. I sipped my drink and pretended to be very interested in my book, re-reading the same paragraph four times.
“I’m going to take a dip,” Josh said a little while later and before I could reply, he did a running dive into the pool.
I caught the young women across the way giggling over him again. Then they looked at me, smiled very unfriendly smiles, put their heads together, and sniggered. It was overtly mean. I know I’m not what anyone would call conventionally beautiful—sure, I’m fit and I’m attractive, but I get that I’m not to everyone’s taste. Even so, having two younger women covet my bo
yfriend and laugh at me, was shitty.
I took a big sip of my drink and tried to concentrate on my book, but I couldn’t. I looked for Josh in the pool, which had curvy edges, an island in the middle, and a bridge. It was so large, it took me a while to locate him it, but when I did, he was looking my way and waving at me to join him.
I tucked all my things into my beach bag and put it beneath the lounger. Surely, no one was going to steal my bag at a high-end resort but still, I was a little hesitant to leave my belongings unattended. I took off my hat and my sunglasses and put them with everything else under the lounger.
Then I took another swig of my drink and with my stomach pulled in as tightly as possible, I strutted past those little bitches, did a perfect dive into the pool and swam underwater to Josh. As I emerged, I tipped my head back, so my long hair would cascade down my back, and stuck out my boobs.
“Hi,” I said.
“Wow,” he said, giving me the kind of kiss you don’t normally give someone in public. And just like I’d said when we were in our room, I wrapped my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist. “You’re going to give me a hard-on,” he groaned into my neck. I grinned. Suck it, little bitches.
After bobbing around the pool together—and after Josh swam some brisk laps to cajole his erection away—we made our way back to our spot by the pool. The little bitches had gone. Good.
We were just settling in when a waiter appeared with an elaborate cocktail—not a Mai Tai, but something just as impressive. “Here you are, ma’am,” he said, placing it on the table next to me.
“Um, I’m sorry, I didn’t order this,” I said. I looked at Josh quizzically, but he just shook his head. “Ma’am” is just as bad as “madam”, by the way, but that was hardly the matter at hand.
“Oh, sorry, ma’am.” The waiter looked confused. He checked a small slip of paper on his tray.
Just then we heard, “Yoo-hoo,” from a few loungers away. All three of us looked at the yoo-hoo-ing woman. She was tall and curvy and had a shock of super-curly hair like mine, only hers was jet black. “I believe that was mine,” she said smiling, her Irish lilt ringing in the air. I really do love an Irish accent.
