Theo places his hand on the small of my back, guiding me toward the growing bonfire. “Nah. We all have our reasons. Divorce, widowed, bored, lonely. We all have a story.”
“I was kind of thinking this was all some joke,” I tell him, being honest, and trying not to be insulting.
“No, the results so far have been quite interesting, actually. We’ve all done better within our careers because there haven’t been many distractions, you know?”
A caterer approaches us and lowers his head, handing me a martini. Usually, I’m not big into martini’s, but I am into drinking them when I’m uncomfortable.
“So, what’s your story, Theo? Are you divorced, widowed, bored, or lonely?”
Theo chuckles, smirking with only the corner of his lips. “I plea, none of the above.”
“Oh, you are here just spilling everyone else’s stories,” I ask, but sort of tell, adding a quiet laugh for good measure.
“Kind of; I—I don’t know what I want. The offer sounded like a good use of time, and I’m all in for helping with the research of social sciences.”
I twirl a loose strand of my hair behind my ear, staring into the licking flames. “So, the social study, it’s not over, right?”
Theo takes in a deep breath and releases the air slowly through his mouth. “It all depends on how you look at the situation,” he explains, keeping his answer unfulfilling and straightforward.
“Oh,” I respond. I might be squinting at the fire now, still trying to piece the facts together so I can figure out what the hell is going on.
“Mind if I borrow you for a moment, Ashley?” A new voice and a new face greet me. I was about to say no, but he cups his hand around my elbow and guides me in another direction, heading for the water.
“Hi,” I greet him, forcing a semi-warm smile. A pair of wide-set, dark eyes stares at me intently. His full, matching dark eyebrows hover, casting a shadow over his cheekbones. He’s overwhelming me with the way he’s smiling at me. It’s as if he’s trying to show all of his teeth at once.
“It’s amazing to get to meet you finally. I was at work earlier when you arrived, so I wasn’t a part of the welcoming committee,” he says, laughing as if this is a joke. A joke I still think is on me. “I am Max Dennis, by the way. You may have seen my face on billboards while driving through the island.” Nope, I don’t recognize his face.
“It’s nice to meet you, Max. I’m Ashley.” I’m still trying my best to be courteous, but I’m fighting the snarling curl edging into the side of my lips.
Max laughs, not rudely, but more like at me as if he thinks I’m cute. “We all know who you are, Ashley.”
“Oh,” I huff. Of course everyone knows me. How do they know me? It better just be by my bland Facebook profile. “So, what’s your story, Max? Why is your face on billboards in this town?”
Max scratches at his chin. “It’s too soon for my story, beautiful” he says. “Just know, I’m here for the right reasons.”
Well, I don’t know why the hell I’m here, so I’m glad he has the right reason.
“You know, this all kind of feels familiar—like I’ve seen this all play out on a TV show or something.”
“Reality TV has everything these days, huh?” he counters, closing my question with a dull response.
“So, what do you do for work?” Am I speed-dating? I don’t want to speed date. However, I do want to go eat a bag of popcorn and watch a sappy movie.
“I’m an oral surgeon,” he responds. “I—ah,” he laughs quietly again. “Let’s just say I fill a lot of holes.”
Oh my God. Am I supposed to laugh now? Is that … like a joke? I’m usually the one with the accidental dirty puns, but his is purposeful. It’s totally purposeful.
He snorts through his nose and leans forward, bucking with laughter. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I had to use my joke. My motto is ‘Max to the max, morning, noon, and night’.”
I try to laugh, but I think my smile is like the kind people make at the mirror when they’re looking for food in their teeth.
“I think I’m going to go meet a few of the other guys, but it was nice chatting with you. I’ll let you know if I end up with any toothaches.” I point my finger at him and wink for good measure.
“Or if you need a hole—“
“Yup, got it. Thanks.”
I’m only halfway back to the bonfire when another hand rests on my back. “Miss Ashley, you are looking ravishing tonight. My name is Jim Rogers. I’m thirty-years-old, an insurance investment agent, and I’ve never been married. I don’t have kids. I like to cook, clean, and give a good massage here and there.” Despite the sweet way in which Jim is introducing himself, the urge to scream from being smothered is burning through me.
Okay. “Jim, was it?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Jim, could you hold my drink?” I hand over my drink to Jim and walk a little closer toward the pit. “Um, hi, everyone. Could I have your attention for a quick moment?”
Everyone, including the caterers, start clapping. Like, they’re giving me a round of applause.
“Could someone fill me in on why you are all here? I’m baffled at the moment, and I feel like I’m strangely in the spotlight and I don’t know why. And why are you clapping for me? I don’t know you. I don’t even know why I’m here, exactly—other than the fact that I didn’t want to move into my parents’ one-bedroom condo in a retirement community.”
“Speech,” one of them shouts. The sound echoes off of the cupped hand, framing his mouth.
“Speech? I don’t know what to say because I don’t know any of you, or why you’re all listening to me like what I have to say is important. I want to know what’s going on.” My voice is louder than I originally intended but I feel like there is steam coming out of my ears.
“We’re here for the same reason you are,” one of them says.
“No, I don’t think that’s the case. I’m here for free rent. Is that why you’re all here?” Not one of the men responds to me. They’re all just staring like I’m a rare bird spotted in the wild. “No one wants to fill me in?”
“We’re all here for different reasons, I hear from a dark area.”
“Great, well that clears things up. Look, I—I’m sorry. I’m bewildered and uncomfortable, so I’m going home now, but thank you for inviting me to your bonfire, and I hope you have a wonderful night.”
A caterer leans toward me and whispers into my ear. “Do you want to send anyone home?”
“What?” I turn, facing the middle-aged man with slicked hair and deep dimples that frame his perfect smile.
“Do you want to send anyone home?” he asks again.
“Why would I send someone home? They live just over there, don’t they?”
“Just asking,” the caterer says.
I remove my flip-flops so I can head home faster, not wanting to spend another minute in the mix of these freaks.
As I step back into my villa, I find Kricket and Krow lounging on the couch, eating a bag of popcorn, watching a movie. That could have been me.
“How was the party?” Kricket asks. I can’t ignore the snide hint to her question.
“The bonfire? Yea, it was great. That’s why I was there for a long twenty-minutes.”
I can see Kricket roll her eyes as she tosses a few kernels into her mouth. “Obviously, you didn’t read the lease agreement, or you would have known what you were moving into.”
I make my way over to the TV, standing in front of it to get their attention.
“Moving into? A luxury villa? Yeah, I knew where I was moving.” The lease looked reasonably standard from the few glances I gave it.
“But, you didn’t read the rest of the agreement,” she says, with emphasis on the but.
“Yes,” I mean, no. “I just didn’t understand the living arrangements.”
“Are you sexist or something?” Kricket counters.
“Sexist? What? No. Why would you think tha
t?”
“You seem to have a problem living in a community full of men. What’s the big deal? They have penises. They aren’t aliens—unless you’re into that kind of thing. Actually, have you seen that YouTube video about alien dildos? They like … they plant alien eggs into your vagina just for fun? It’s weird but cool, I guess.” Kricket stares past me in thought, assumedly about alien dildos. I might gag.
“No, no I can’t say I’ve seen that video, and I don’t understand the relevance of that video or how it concerns this conversation we’re having. In any case, this isn’t about living in a community full of men.”
“Then, what is it?” Kricket drones, unaffected by my heated words.
“They’re all hitting on me. Like ... it’s a speed-dating game or something.”
Kricket pulls her popcorn filled hand away from her mouth. “Ah, this is why Katarina warned us about you. You’re a little shallow, right?”
“Katarina? My brother’s ninety-day fiancée? Yeah, she doesn’t know me.”
“Well, apparently your brother knows you because that’s what he told our sister. Obviously.”
Steam is pouring out of my ears, and rather than stand here and argue this moot subject, I flee up the stairs and close myself in my bedroom. I need to find that damn lease I signed. I know I have a copy on my computer.
The two bags I have are already resting on my bed. I toss the flaps open and rummage through them both, looking for my laptop and charger. It isn’t until I reach the bottom of both cases that I realize I packed them in one of the boxes I shipped. Shit.
With frustration raging through me, I plop down onto my bed and glance out the window as the glow from the bonfire catches my eye.
The men are all still down there, mingling. However, I swear they’re all looking up here again.
I'm going to have legitimate nightmares tonight about some of these men.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket and I pull it out, expecting the message to be from Bradley, one of my parents, or Gracie. God, I miss Gracie.
It’s from an unknown number.
* * *
Unknown Number: We have been given your number. I wanted to introduce myself because we didn’t get a chance to chat tonight.
* * *
I hold my finger down on the power button, waiting for my phone to turn off. Nope. Nope. Nope.
I’ve had many dreams of having my choice of men to pick from, but I woke up in a sweat, trying to figure out how I could ever make such a difficult decision like that. It’s not something that should be concerning me. I believe in fate, but I gather these men are desperate and are not here on behalf of a social study that involves anything more than having their time with me.
Throughout the four years of college I attended, I was asked out on three dates. Three. I don’t have a third eye or a nipple growing out of my chin, so I’m not sure what it is about me that scares men away, but I wasn’t anyone’s first choice on most Friday nights.
Those three dates consisted of:
1.The first-date “I love you” already.
2.The second date had another woman show up halfway through. It was planned.
3.The third date was a sweet guy, but he was looking to get laid the night before he was moving to Spain for three years.
Therefore, I have spent the better half of my adult life, single and not eager to mingle.
Chapter 8
The sun is pouring in through the blinds, and a slight breeze from the open window is sweeping across my face. For a moment, I allow myself to believe I’m living in paradise. All the furnishings in my bedroom are white and clean, and when I peer outside, I see crystal-clear blue waves crashing into the cream-colored sand.
I need to sweep yesterday off and move forward with my reason for being here.
Men are not the reason I’m here.
I pull my hair up into a high ponytail, securing it with the elastic band I keep around my wrist. I remember I didn’t unpack much yesterday after running into roadblocks and distractions, so I toss my larger of the two suitcases onto my bed and rummage through my clothes for my jogging shorts, sports bra, and running shoes.
Running on the beach will give me a better workout than the one I’m used to, and it’s only six in the morning, so I have hope that the beach will be clear of more … distractions.
The bathroom is free of Krow and Kricket, making this a seamless transition of not having to face anyone before I get my run in. I splash a handful of cold water onto my face and glance in the mirror.
What is it that made those men want to come after me yesterday?
I’m pale, I don’t wear much makeup, and I have light freckles covering every inch of my face. My hair is reddish-brown with ashy-blonde highlights, but that’s the most amount of effort I put into my beauty upkeep. I’m not a showy person, and no one seems to be interested in the au-natural type these days. Plus, all of those men looked like the kind of men who need a vanity girl in their life. That is not me. Although, maybe I’d try a little harder if one of them was the beautiful Noah James from The Clam Pit.
I can safely assume I won’t be seeing that eye-candy again, though.
I pat a towel over my face and give my teeth a quick brush before I hustle down the stairs and make my way out of the slider.
Day two has to be better.
I jog down the rocky path I took last night that was lit up with tiki torches. Today, the flames are gone, and the path is no longer highlighted or pointing in the direction of where I’m supposed to be. I cut through the beach grass and head for the wet, harder sand to warm up.
My earbuds are in place, and I pull my Red Sox hat down over my eyes, so I can focus on the horizon and nothing else.
The temperature is perfect, a little balmy, but it’s an improvement from the weather in New England.
I could get used to this.
Minutes of unwinding fly by when the sensation of being watched comes over me. I glance to the sides, seeing nothing. The beach is empty for as far as I can see, so it must be in my head.
The idea of being alone is gone once I spot a shadow growing next to me. It’s not-so-shockingly a man—a half-naked man, with a t-shirt hanging out of his back pocket. His sweat-covered tan tells me he’s one of them—the pod-men.
He’s pouring water over his face as he slows his speed to stay next to me. “Hey, beautiful,” he says, breathlessly.
Jesus. “Hey,” I respond, adjusting my earbuds.
“Thirsty?” he continues.
Obviously. I’m running. “I’m okay,” I tell the man.
He reaches his water bottle over to me anyway. “I’m not sick.”
Yeah, you kind of are. “We met yesterday, right?”
“Yes, I was the one who brought you a rose,” he says, seeming a little deflated. I probably should have remembered the rose guy’s name.
“Right, of course. I remember now. I just—I’m feeling a little overwhelmed with all the new faces, and the speed-dating game I was taking part in last night.”
“There was a speed-dating game?” he asks. He’s totally serious. You’d think I told him he missed out on being the winner of a big lottery.
“I'm being funny.”
“Ah,” he says, trying to catch his breath. “Well, in case you forgot, I’m Leland Patrick. I’m a Finance Manager at—”
“The real estate company, right?”
“Yes, you remember. Fantastic,” Leland continues. “Anyway, I’m—ah—twenty-five, just moved out of my parents’ house, and I’m ready to get my life moving, ya know? I should mention that I just got out of a serious five-year relationship to the woman I thought I was going to marry. It just—it didn’t turn out exactly the way I thought it might. My heart was pretty broken, so I knew I needed to make a change. But, that’s why we’re all here, right? Change.”
I slow my run down to a jog for a second because I suddenly feel bad for this guy who is pouring his heart out to me. “I’m so sorry, Leland.
That sounds awful. Well, you seem like a good guy. I’m sure things will get better for you. Change ... is ... always ... good,” I offer, breathlessly. I’m not one of those people who can easily talk while running.
“So, what do you—“ Leland is cut off.
“Excuse me, mind if I cut in?” I’m sorry, are we freaking tangoing right now?
“I’m Alex Lopez. We didn’t get a chance to meet yet.”
“I only met a few of you,” I tell him, trying to run faster to get away from him. I don’t know him. He could be a nice guy, but I want some space right now.
Alex doesn’t seem to have any trouble keeping up with my accelerated pace. “Oh, I know. I just wanted to make sure I introduced myself before it’s too late,” he says with a struggling laugh.
“Before what is too late?” I question.
I’m so flustered with the questions and conversation that I must have missed the giant rock buried in the sand because I have now tripped, and I’m on my hands and knees.
My hair flies out of my ponytail, shielding my face on both sides, which is good because I’m afraid to see what’s next to me and behind me, but I gain a sneaking suspicion when at least four hands make contact with my back.
“I’m a doctor,” Alex shouts. “Don’t move.” Alex is a doctor. Noted.
“Dr. McDreamy is on the beach, folks,” I grunt. “Or, is it Dr. McSteamy? Who do you relate to more?”
“I didn’t mean—that. I didn’t know if you were hurt,” Alex follows. “Sorry, it’s just a habit.”
“No, I’m fine.” I jump up to my feet and spin around, finding more than a few men in my trail. “Whoa, what are you all doing?”
“We’re going for a run,” Max, the oral surgeon, speaks up.
“Two feet behind me?” I counter.
“We want to make sure you’re okay. I should fill that hole up right there, huh?” Max replies.
“I’m not okay,” I shout so they can all hear me. “You’re all freaking me out, and I have no clue what it is about me that you’re so interested in, but I’m no one special, so if you don’t mind just leaving me to my business, that would be amazing.”
The Bachelor Beach: The Love Connection Series - Villa One Page 6
