by Elyse Riggs
I feel my cheeks heat. As sexy as he is, there’s no way that’s going to happen. A pity fire dance paid for by my friends is one thing, but pity sex is something I just won’t do. “Um, thank you, but I’m okay for now.”
Ugh, that is a super lame response. But honestly, those are the only words I can muster with the drinks kicking in and everybody looking at me and the crowd noise.
With a shrug and a smile, he walks off to hand out business cards to the hordes of adoring women. I may have turned him down for the pity sex, but I know Paolo will be fine. And by the looks of it, he is making bank tonight.
I return to my chair and pull it back up to the table. All eyes are glued to me. Again. “What?”
“What did he say to you?” Fi asks.
“Um, nothing.”
“So not true,” Angie says. “Did he ask you out?”
“Yes, fine. Well, kind of.”
“Kind of?” They ask at the same time. I know they are never going to let this go. And he did offer, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a date. More like a roll in the hay, er sand, or whatever.
“Yes, he offered to help me break my slump,” I say, mostly to get them off my back about the whole thing.
“What did you tell him?” Fi asks, her eyes wide. She’s proud of herself.
I narrow my eyes at her. “You paid for that, didn’t you?”
“Of course we paid for it; he wouldn’t come for free.” Fi replies.
“You know what I mean, did you pay for the something extra?”
“I would never.” Fi answers.
I arch an eyebrow at her suspiciously.
“If you must know, I did tell him this was a sex-life intervention, and I might have mentioned why, and he might have said that’s the sort of thing he plays by ear, living in the moment, and that he’d consider it.” It was her turn to raise an eyebrow at me. “I guess he decided to go for it. And you shot him down? Bold move.”
I decide to change the subject. “Okay, I would like to officially thank you guys. For all of this. The drinks, Paolo, everything. But can this intervention of whatever it is be over now?”
“Hell no, you know us better than that,” Fi says, signaling for another round of shots. “We’re just getting started. Just remember,” she says, “this is all because we love you.”
“Thank you guys for the dancer,” I reply, starting to feel a little called out, “but I’ve got this.”
Fi runs a finger through her hair in exasperation. “You absolutely do not got this. You deserve so much better. How long ago did you and what’s his name break up, anyway?”
I do some drunk math in my head. Then I re-run the numbers. Work is so busy I barely have time for a personal life anyway. It’s going on six months since I threw him out. Six months since I dated or even had a nibble of interaction with a guy.
I have to admit that’s a long time. And as much as I hate Angie and Fi trying to set me up with oiled up boy toy, at least he had offered. That’s something.
“Um, it’s been like six months,” Angie says, looking to me for verification.
I nod. It’s true.
Our friend Abigail, who’s working tonight as a server, arrives with a tray of shot glasses filled with my favorite: pineapple upside down shots.
I reach for a shot glass filled with yellow liquid on the top, bright red splash of grenadine in the middle, and a cherry on top.
Abigail bends down to whisper conspiratorially. “Sweetie, is it true you turned down Paolo? Because he’s using that little tidbit to rack up all kinds of sympathy right now.” She turns and points over her shoulder to a spot across the bar.
I follow her gaze and there is Paolo, across the bar, mobbed by women.
“Somebody’s getting laid tonight,” Angie says, shaking her head. “It could have been you, Kaylee.”
“Look, I love you guys, but I can get a guy on my own.” I throw down my pineapple upside down shot. “Another, please?”
“You got it,” Abigail says as she heads back to the bar.
When I turn my attention from the drink back to my friends, Fi has that look in her eye. Again. Uh-oh. “I know that look,” I say, frowning at Fi. “We already had a dancer, what’s next?”
“The challenge.” Angie and Fi grab the napkins in front of them, dump out the silverware, and then use the forks and knives to drum on the table. “Chall-enge. Chall-enge. Chall-enge.”
It looks like fun, so I join them. Even though I have no idea what the hell is going on. “Chall-enge. Chall-enge.” In the light of the tiki torches it feels like we are in an episode of Survivor and somebody is about to get thrown off of the island. I hope it’s not me.
What are they going to ask me to do now? Walk a plank into the ocean? Do an unlit ropes course while drunk? Probably not those things. And now I’m out of ideas. Plus, none of that has anything to do with getting a boyfriend.
Angie flashes me a grin and puts her silverware back down. “Yeah, Fi, what’s the challenge?”
Fi slaps her hand down hard on the wooden table, jolting me and Angie. And also everybody within three tables of us. It’s an entirely unnecessary move since she already has our attention. Still, Angie and I watch Fi with rapt, drunk, attention.
Fi looks around the crowded bar and then makes up her mind. Then she leans in to whisper. “Alright, Kaylee. The challenge is this. You have to get a guy’s phone number. Right now, right here in this bar.”
“Yeah, and he has to be hot,” Angie chimes in.
I shoot Fi a look. It’s a little anticlimactic after all the chanting. That’s hardly a challenge at all. “Seriously?”
“Hey, that’s what you get for turning down Paolo,” Fi adds.
Then they grab their silverware again. “Chall-enge. Chall-enge. Chall-enge.”
The pounding on the table started out fun, but now it’s giving me a headache. “Okay, I’ll do it. Just stop banging on the table.”
Angie frowns at me, but she puts down her silverware. “Fine, I’m unarmed.”
Then we get down to business and rotate our chairs outward from the table so the three of us can survey the crowded room together.
I am relieved to hear the challenge. It’s a piece of cake and they know it. This particular bar is practically synonymous with pickups. Rich tourists in tuxes and sequined dresses make nightly appearances here. Either bringing dates or trolling for locals looking for a good time.
I come for the fresh air and the drinks and my friends. And also the comforting sound of the waves crashing on the shore. Seriously, I could sit here all day and night and be perfectly happy. But now is not that time, now is the time to focus. I’m in the middle of a challenge. One I intend to win.
My number one rule is to never date tourists. Angie and Fi know this well. Abigail knows it. Hell, everybody in this town who has spent more than ten minutes with me knows my damn rule.
That means that this is nothing more than an exercise in boosting my confidence. And frankly, I appreciate it. Maybe this is just what I need to get my life back on track. Who knows?
Although I suspect my love life decline has more to do with working around the clock now inside a resort kitchen and less to do with lack of interest. Nonetheless, challenge accepted.
I scan the crowd for an easy target. It’s crazy that most of the men are wearing suits and tuxes despite the fact that even at this hour, the summer heat is still simmering off the sand.
A few of the men are in board shorts or khakis. Those are the locals. I’m not going anywhere near the locals for this challenge.
I’m aiming for a nice and easy overconfident asshole tourist. They’re easy prey. Always on the lookout for a local to hook up with for a night or two. It always ends the same way though, with him jetting back to the northeast or Europe or Asia or wherever they came from. There is no such thing as a happily-ever-after hookup with a tourist. Everybody here knows that. And that’s why it’s my number one rule.
“There,” I say,
pointing as nonchalantly as I can to a guy in a charcoal suit with a pink tie off to the side drinking alone.
As I watch him, he looks down at his phone constantly, possibly texting a date. But I recognize the restless expression on his face instantly. I could get his number easily, and he’d squirrel it away in case the first few numbers on his list don’t work out.
“I don’t know, he looks fine, but he’s a total tourist.” Angie says, scrunching up her face.
“Look around, Angie, they’re all tourists.” I get up and adjust my tank top, turning the heads of several male patrons around me. Maybe Angie and Fi are right and I’ve been selling myself short lately after all.
I waggle a finger at Angie. “Hey, no changing the rules now. The challenge is for a phone number. I get a number, I win the challenge, whether they’re a tourist or not. To victory!”
I yell it a little too loudly and cheers around me erupt. I give a short curtsy and mutter thank you, I’ll be here all night, as I set off.
That done, I stumble forward in search of sweet, sweet victory. The warm evening summer sand squishes under my feet and in between my toes as I make my way forward, weaving in between tables and lit tiki torches as I move toward my prey.
Something in my peripheral vision catches my eye. It’s Abigail, waving. I didn’t think she had been close enough to eavesdrop, but I could swear now she is chanting: “Chall-enge. Chall-enge.”
I smile and wave back. “Hi, Abigail.”
Okay, Kaylee, focus. Hurry up and get that guy’s number so you can go back to the table and enjoy the rest of girls’ night.
I straighten my back, put my flirty game face on, and turn toward the charcoal, pink tie suit guy. Which means basically doing a full one-hundred-eighty-degree turn. While buzzed. And barefoot in the sand. It’s a tricky maneuver, and I nail it. Until I don’t.
What I thought at first was nailing it was really crashing into side traffic that had popped up while I was waving at Abigail.
I crash right into a tall guy wearing a different shade of charcoal suit. Ugh, they’re everywhere. Well, more specifically, I crash into his hand, then his drink, and then his rock-hard chest.
I look up and watch the slow speed crash that I caused. My gaze goes from his hand to the drink spilled on his shirt and then all the way up to his face.
His very handsome, very exasperated face. Oops. I have to admit, tourist or no, this guy is super sexy. His sea-green eyes flash down at me while I eye his strong jawline, sculpted face, and brown hair that is exactly the right amount of messed up to make him more and not less attractive.
I have to fight the urge to gasp. He is exactly what I am looking for in a phone number right now, and if he didn’t look so angry, I might have asked for his number instead of continuing to wander across the bar toward the pink tie guy. Oh well.
“My bad, so sorry,” I say.
He looks like he’s going to say something back at first, and then his lips squish into a line that makes his angry, beautiful, sea-green eyes flash again. He stands there silently as a stone, as if wrestling with the words.
After a moment of silence, standing over me like a sentry, he waves me by. He’s acting like he’s being all gentlemanly. But I don’t think that’s it.
I think it’s more of a realization on his part that right now I’m an airplane going down in flames and he’s like an insurance adjuster who wants to keep his distance so he won’t have to fill out a giant stack of paperwork afterward. “After you,” he says in a low, growly voice that has more of an effect on my body than I expect.
I catch myself still staring up at the handsome face and made-to-look messy but actually perfectly coifed brown hair. Then I snap out of it.
“Thank you,” I say far more sarcastically than I should have, considering I’m the one who crashed into him. But he is a little too grumpy about it because accidents happen.
I move forward now, and I can see that the coast is clear to pink tie tourist. Game on.
Chapter Two
Chase
It takes all of the calm I have not to yell at the girl who just spilled my own drink all over me. And the reason I hold back is because it’s the girl from the table dance. There’s no forgetting her.
She’s all curves and swirling black hair. She’s impossible to miss, and I know for a fact that every guy in the bar watched that performance. She has a fun, athletic, carefree way about her that is absolutely foreign to me. Irritating and enticing all at the same time. I’m sure it’s best for everyone if she and I just move along.
I will be the first to admit that I have a type. Rich, tall, leggy, blond, and socially connected. Although now that I think about it, maybe they were the ones finding me and not the other way around.
Maybe I should do something about that. I consider it as she apologizes, sort of. Staring down into those gorgeous brown eyes, I completely lose my train of thought.
Instead of getting angry, I let her go by. And despite her sarcasm, or maybe even because of it, I catch myself watching her walk away.
I’m captivated for a long moment. Then I feel my phone buzz in my pocket and pull it out and roll my eyes. Now what? I’m on vacation. Can’t a guy get a moment’s peace?
It’s a message from my brother. About a social media post from one of my exes. She’s getting married.
Cheryl and I are old news anyway. She was a social climber that came from new money who found me one night in an L.A. bar and we had some fun. So what if she’s getting serious with somebody?
I find an empty table and sit down heavily. Now I am in an even worse mood. First the drink gets spilled on me, and now this. I came here to have fun and get away from work for a while. Not have all the shit I’m running from follow me.
Chapter Three
Kaylee
When I finally get closer to the table, I can see that pink tie guy is a letdown compared to handsome growly guy. I should have gotten his number. Oh wait, he was mad about the whole drink spilling thing. Maybe I shouldn’t have chased two full sized drinks with a shot. Or two. Oh well.
I reach the table with pink tie guy and drum my fingers on it, causing him to look up from his phone. I smile and curl my fingers around my hair. “Hi, I’m Starla.”
He gives me a broad smile. “Hi darlin’. Care to join me?”
This is going to be even easier than I thought. I swear I can hear stifled giggles across the room. Even over the roar of the chatter, the sea, and the piped in top forty music. I turn my attention back to the task at hand. “Can’t right now. I’m with my friends. But how about later?”
His face lights up. I pull out my phone. Normally at this point of a fake flirt, I pretend to type in the number. But since this is a challenge, I get the digits for real. “Can I get your number, cowboy?”
And that’s all it took. I saunter back to the table, careful to avoid crashing into any more angry, handsome suit-wearing tourists and plop my phone onto the middle of the table with the notes app still visible.
I mean, no way am I going to put his number into my actual contacts. “How do you like them apples? And that, ladies, is how you win a challenge.”
My friends break into a golf-clap session. I curtsy and then sit back down.
The next hour is filled with laughter, appetizers, and one more round of drinks. Then Fi and Angie’s phones buzz at exactly the same time. They practically vibrate themselves across the table. In Angie’s case, I know that it’s the dreaded bat signal. She’s needed at the animal hospital.
Fi grabs her phone and reads her text.
“Oh no. I’m so sorry, Kaylee,” Angie says, scooping up the phone to reply.
“It’s okay,” I answer her. “You go help adorable small animals. Fi and I will be fine. Right, Fi?”
Fi gives me a mortified look.
“What is it?”
“I got a text that Kirk got off early. I’ll text him back and tell him it’s off.” She winks at me. “I was going to meet him later,
but that was before Angie got her message.”
“Go,” I say to Fi. “I’ll be fine. You know this is my happy place.”
Fi laughs out loud. “I can’t leave you for a booty call in the middle of your love life intervention.”
“Intervention’s over,” I say, standing. “It’s group hug time. You guys are the best.” This is our tradition. We meet up here most nights. And every time we part, it’s with a group hug and a flurry of cheek kisses.
We wrap our arms around each other. I feel better already. If a girl has to have a slumping love life, at least I have the best friends in the world to help me through it. “Don’t worry, I’ll be dating again and getting into trouble before you know it. Promise. And it’s all thanks to you guys.”
“I’m going to hold you to that,” Fi says, then she tilts her head at me. “Are you sure? You can ask me to stay and I will.”
“Go. Please. I’m good. Today was a long day, I’ll just take a walk on the beach and go home. You guys take care.”
Fi hurries off, leaving me alone at the table that I had been dancing on only a little while earlier. I take a deep breath, watching the surf come in and out while I finish my glass of water. I concentrate on the sea breeze on my face and the sound of the waves crashing on the shore in the distance.
My thoughts circle back to tonight’s love life intervention. The reason for my no tourists rule is because here at the ocean’s edge, people come and go. They never stay. The one thing I know for sure is that vacation boyfriends never work out.
That’s what makes this last breakup even more worrying. He was local. If tourists are useless and I can’t connect with the local men, where does that leave me?
I break myself out of that particular train of thought, gather up the empty shot glasses, and carry them over to the bar.
Even though it’s not that late by weekend beach bar standards, the place has really emptied out. By the looks of it, most of the patrons have coupled up and moved on.
