by Elyse Riggs
The tiki torches are now casting long shadows as I get to the bar and set down the glasses with a chorus of clinking noises on the shiny, wooden, surface. I smile across at Abigail, who wears a frown of worry.
I know that look. Somebody’s in trouble. Maybe I should help. “What is it?” I ask her.
Abigail leans onto the bar toward me, and her eyes crinkle up with concern. “Girl, you are even mopier than usual. Which is disappointing, because for a little while there, you looked like you were finally having a little fun. Especially when you were dancing on the table with Paolo.”
“Yeah,” I grin. “That was fun. And I won the challenge. Got a phone number.”
“I saw,” she says. “The intervention looked like it went great. Until Angie and Fi ditched you.”
“Medical and booty emergency, in that order,” I admit.
Abigail laughs.
“It’s fine. I’m all good.”
“Then why all the sitting alone and staring at the ocean?”
“It’s what I do. Haven’t you noticed?”
Abigail spots somebody across the bar trying to get her attention.
“Be right back,” she says. And with a swish of her skirt, she’s gone.
I sit and stare above the bar where there are coconuts painted to look like monkeys. They’re cute. Some are smiling, some have thin, straight lines for mouths, and some of them look downright agitated.
They are painted in bright blues, oranges, greens and yellows and are lined up on a narrow shelf above the liquor bottles. And they are all staring back at me. It’s probably all the drinks from earlier, but the funniest idea pops into my head.
“Hey, baby,” I say, as I scan the painted coconut monkey faces. All of which, regardless of expression, appear to be significant upgrades to the last guy I dated. “Which one of you guys are free tonight?”
Laughing at my own joke, I then move even further into my self-pity psychosis by picturing all of them in my head jumping up and down shouting me, me! I decide that the fairest way to decide which one to choose is to randomly point at them and see which one speaks to me.
I point to the green and red smiling coconut monkey at the far left. “Nope.” I hear footsteps approach from somewhere behind me. It’s probably Abigail returning, but now I am engrossed in my own new game.
I sweep a finger to the next coconut, which is all red with white eyes and nose and a blue, frowning mouth. “Not you, either.”
Somebody pulls out a chair and sits down at the barstool next to me. I turn, still wearing a goofy smile, but the person sitting next to me isn’t Abigail.
It’s the grumpy, sexy guy I spilled a drink on earlier. Uh-oh.
Looking at him now only confirms my earlier impression of him. He is unbelievably sexy. To calm myself down I decide he’s probably wearing shoes. In beach sand. That is a big turnoff for me.
He turns his attention to where my finger is pointed. Then he stares with me at the coconut monkey faces. Hey, these coconut monkeys are taken. I was here first.
I can’t believe he’s right there next to me, with his handsome stubble and stupid suit, judging me about my coconut monkey boyfriends. Or even worse, trying to steal them away. Then I remember what is really bothering me about him. The shoes.
Well, is he wearing them or not? I have to know. It says something about a person. There are exactly two kinds of people in the world. People who go barefoot in the sand at the beach. Those are good, kind, and normal human beings. And the second kind.
Without a word, I push myself back from the bar slightly and tilt my head down to see what kind of footwear or lack thereof sexy suit guy is wearing. Yup, shoes. Ugh. I mean whew. Now I can blow him off easier. He’s a shoe-wearing tourist, Kaylee. Run away.
My body jumps into the conversation in my head and tries desperately to point out that my love life is currently in an awful rut and that he is unbelievably sexy. But only if I’m into shoe wearing tourists, I argue back. Which I’m not.
That’s when I realize he’s staring at me. Of course he is, I’m checking out his feet. I chuckle and turn back to the coconut monkeys.
That’s when he leans in and whispers, his hot breath on my cheek causing a heat to wash over me. “What exactly are you planning on doing to the coconut monkey when you choose one?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” I ask cheekily. With a wink. A wink. Are you kidding me? My body is such a traitor. Stop flirting with him.
Abigail comes back and re-takes her place at the bar. She’s doing her best to pretend like she’s not paying attention to what’s going on with me and suit guy and she’s failing miserably. I know that she’s clocking us and probably has been since he pulled up a chair.
Sexy suit guy rubs his stubbled chin with his hand. I notice that his hand doesn’t have a wedding ring tan line. Not that I’m interested, mind you. Checking for that kind of thing is a habit when you work at an exclusive beach front resort and get hit on a lot.
His expression melts into a delicious smirk that rises from the corner of his full lips. “I want to know what you plan to do with the coconut monkey, once you choose one. That’s why I asked.”
For whatever reason, he’s not acting like he’s still mad about the drink earlier. Did he forget? Or is he trying to be nice?
A quick glance in his direction confirms that he’s the same guy, since there are still yellow, sticky remnants of the drink on his white undershirt.
Suddenly I feel a little bad about earlier. And maybe if he doesn’t remember me from earlier, he should. That might make all of this a little easier. Maybe he’ll just walk away. “Hey, um, I’m sorry about bumping into you earlier. But I don’t date tourists,” I say flatly. That ought to send him running.
“No problem,” he answers. “And if you ask me, I like the green one that looks like it’s about to jump up and down,” he points at a coconut monkey on the far end of the shelf. “That one over there on the other end.”
I hadn’t gotten to the other end yet, so I feel compelled to look. And there it is, a maniacal smile on its face. Whoever painted that monkey’s face did, in fact, manage to project a mental image of the thing jumping up and down, like a scene from a video game.
It was the damndest thing. And then I stared at it too long before finally breaking myself out of its manic trance. “You’re right. That’s a pretty great looking coconut monkey. What would you do with it?” I smile casually but try not to make it flirty. After all, this isn’t about me or how his sea-green eyes perfectly accent his wavy brown hair. This is about coconut monkeys.
“Me, personally?” He looks surprised by the question. “I don’t want to do anything with any of them. They look like they’re laughing at me. But since you looked so interested, I decided to tell you which one I liked best. In case it helps.”
Now there is an unmistakable hint of a smile playing on his lips that catches my eye and causes my gaze to linger on the rest of his face. As I already noticed, he has striking, crystal clear, sea-green eyes.
Normally that would be in the plus column, but again, this guy is some kind of beach-shoe-wearing, monkey coconut disliking tourist and is therefore utterly unacceptable.
So, despite his strong square jaw with adorable stubble and perfect brown hair, it’s not going to happen. To make matters worse, he’s wearing a suit jacket that looks expensive and tailored. I stare for a moment and swear there are muscles knotting underneath that jacket, but it’s probably my imagination. He’s not my type at all. Can’t stand the sight of him.
“Can I have another Mai-Tai, Abigail?” I ask, changing the subject of my internal monologue after realizing I’m staring at him.
Abigail gives me the universal girl expression that translates roughly to: Are you crazy? What are you waiting for? Go ahead and flirt with the handsome guy sitting next to you.
I return her gaze with the universal girl code look that means please get me a drink and stop meddling. Because I’m already warring with my traitor body an
d now, I feel like the coconut monkeys are laughing at me too. Damn him for pointing it out. Ruiner.
I just want to have another drink and pretend that I didn’t get caught trying to figure out which coconut monkey I would ask out. And as much as I hate to admit it, he’s right. The green monkey on the end is probably the best.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he says to me. It looks like he’s holding in a chuckle. “Please, let me pay for the Mai Tai. In fact, I’ll take one too.”
“I appreciate it, but I don’t date tourists, remember?”
“Oh, I heard you,” he says, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “And I get it. But what if I’m not hitting on you? What if I just want to hang out next to you. And I’ll buy. Can you live with a few rounds of drinks while sitting next to a tourist?”
Abigail stifles a laugh.
Since everything is clear now, maybe it’s okay to have a few drinks. “Okay, you win, you can pay for the Mai Tais.”
He turns to me. “Oh yeah, I should introduce myself-”
“Nope,” I cut him off. “That’s the deal. You want to hang out and drink? No names.”
He lets out a breath and looks relieved. “Deal.”
Abigail slides the drinks forward and then leaves to wipe down a few tables on the other end of the bar. Tables that I know for a fact are already spotless.
“So tell me,” he says, swirling his drink around, “if you don’t date tourists, then why did you ask that guy out earlier.”
I think about it, frown, and then laugh out loud. “What are you, stalking me or something?”
He shakes his head and dips his hand into one of the several jars of jellybeans placed on top of the bar. “No stalking here. I couldn’t help but notice you after the table dance. Everybody noticed you, there was fire and everything. And for the record, you did bump into me. Not the other way around.”
“Fair enough. I got that guy’s number to win, well, let’s call it a bet. It’s a long story.” It’s a short story, but I don’t feel like telling him. “It’s an inside joke. Tell me more about why you’re drinking alone on a fine night like this.” I decide it’s more fun to hear about other people’s misery than to talk about my own.
“Oh, I’m suffering from run of the mill corporate politics. You know, the usual. Backstabbing, name-calling, highway robbery, assorted other felonies.” He puts a finger to his full lips and leans forward conspiratorially, a twinkle in his eyes. “Shhh. It’s all a big secret. And most importantly, almost none of it can be proven in court.”
“No kidding?” I ask, taking a sip of my drink. “Now you’re just messing with me.”
“I wish.”
“Sounds intense,” I say, deciding to call his bluff, “give me an example.”
The smile returns, and since I am staring right at him, I notice an adorable dimple on his right cheek. So not fair.
“Ever get that feeling?” he asks. “Like a storm is coming and there’s not a damn thing you can do to avoid it?”
“I wish,” I answer with a chuckle of my own. “My storms all seem to come out of nowhere. Honestly, it would be nice every once in a while to get a heads up.”
The dimple is back. “That sounds fair. What’s your story, coconut?”
I give him a horrified look and then we both break into raucous laughter.
“What?” he asks. “You said no names. And you’re apparently into coconut monkeys.”
“Okay, but if I get a stupid nickname, then so do you,” I warn him. But every nickname that comes to mind when I think about him is cool and hot. Maybe emerald for his beautiful eyes. No, that won’t do. C’mon, Kaylee, think of a stupid nickname since you’re the one who brought it up. He reaches for more jellybeans. Ha, got you! “Jellybean.” I announce triumphantly.
“What?” he asks.
“That’s my nickname for you. Jellybean.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t like it. I want a do over.”
“Too late. If I’m coconut, you’re jellybean.”
Abigail, from somewhere nearby, laughs out loud.
I stare at Jellybean for a moment, and his face softens into a smile. It could be the alcohol, but there is something about him. Something that has my interest piqued. I mean, he’s hot as hell, there is that. Lots of guys are hot in suits, though. Whatever it is, I can’t put my finger on it quite yet.
He also seems genuine and relaxed, not just on the prowl. Normally I am a pretty good judge of character, but my last boyfriend disaster has not only left me in a slump, it left me questioning myself. And that’s even worse.
Maybe my friends are right, and I should put myself out there again. Sure, this guy isn’t going to be around next week, but who says I need him to be? Maybe he is exactly what I need to prove that my instincts are still on point. And why not have a little fun in the process.
“What?” he asks.
“What?” I ask back.
He cocks his head to the side. “You look like you’re doing advanced calc three in your head. Please tell me whatever you’re thinking about isn’t coconut monkey related.”
“Maybe,” I say as I put a finger on his chest and walk it down, poking him playfully and confirming that he does, in fact, have rock hard abs underneath that dress shirt. Mmmmm. Okay, fine, so now I am flirting. “Let’s say I have a question for you. And it’s not about the monkeys.”
I try to narrow my eyes at him seriously, but judging by his amused expression, I’m not pulling it off.
“Ask away,” he says.
“Did you or did you not come over here to ask me out?” I take a sip of my drink and watch him. His eyes get wide for a moment. He recovers quickly and now I sit and wait.
I glance across the bar to see Abigail still purposely making herself scarce while also lurking close enough to swoop in if needed. She’s a good one.
He sucks in a breath. “Okay, fine. I think you’re a good dancer and I came over here to ask you out, but you weren’t into it, so I’m okay just sitting next to you talking and enjoying the beach. And letting you give me humiliating nicknames.”
That’s a good answer.
He stares into my eyes and I nearly get lost in them. And apparently, he’s not done with his answer. “In fact, you’re good company, and this conversation that we’re having is the first time in a while that I’ve managed to forget about my own issues.” He raises his glass. “Thanks for that.”
I only realize how sucked into the conversation I am when my phone buzzes. The faint notification sound trills the Imperial March. That means it’s Brad. Ugh. Speak of the devil.
I glance back at Abigail and even though she is still wiping already clean tables and specifically not making eye contact, I’m happy she’s here for moral support at the thought of my ex.
No more contact with your ex, Angie and Fi said. They have my best interest in mind, and they’re right. Except that despite it all, I’m curious about what the son of a bitch could possibly want now.
Maybe he’s broken down on the side of the road, or in jail, or getting sued by all the people he has taken advantage of. Who wouldn’t want a front row seat to see that kind of karma in action? It’s not likely, but it’s possible.
I flash Jellybean a quick smile, laughing at the nickname I gave him. Then I pick up my phone. One glance at it reveals the most annoying message ever.
He wants to get back together. After six months. After everything he did to me. I can’t believe it. He has to be kidding. Or drunk. Or most likely, he must have run out of money again. Asshole.
Thankfully I am in a much better place now than I used to be. At least I am slightly less murderous in my thoughts of him. I consider a bunch of different responses varying in saltiness from not a snowball’s chance on the beach to fuck off. In the end I decide not to respond at all.
“You okay?” The concerned, sexy baritone voice next to me asks.
I look up at him. “Yup. I’m okay. Thanks.” I put the phone on vibrate and
slip it back into my purse.
“Hey,” I say, turning my attention back to him. “I have one more question for you. Have you ever ditched a date while she was ordering desert and left her with the entire check? I mean, I would have happily gone Dutch in the first place, but he insisted. Before he ditched me. Though, to be fair it was our waitress he left with, so technically I didn’t get charged for the meal or anything. So there’s that.”
His eyes get wide with horror. It makes him, if possible, even more adorable. Then he blinks at me like he’s a shark and I just punched him in the nose. “Seriously? That question is awfully specific. You’re really asking me if I have ever left a woman with the check?”
He searches my eyes for signs that I’m joking. I guess by his response that he has money. Guys faking wealth are usually way smoother. They have prepared answers. And usually more of a desire to show off. He seems content in his own skin. That’s pretty unusual for the clientele here, tourist or not.
“No,” he says at last, softly. “I have never run out on a date. Did that really happen? With the waitress, like you said?”
I nod. “Just the way I said it? That’s how it went down.”
I start seriously reconsidering my no-dating-tourists rule. It’s a stupid rule. And it’s more like a guideline. And maybe I’m a rebel. I imagine for a moment just how great he might look not in a suit.
I feel my cheeks heat and remember he is still staring at me. Only now there is an irresistible smirk on his face with his lips curled up ever so slightly and that crinkle around his eyes.
That last part is important because not only is it endearing, but according to my one psychology class in college, it indicates that the smile is genuine and not fake.
What the hell is happening to my inner monologue, anyway? It’s not just my body betraying me now. I’m starting to feel a pull toward the handsome stranger. And somehow it feels as easy and natural as the tide.
Right on cue, Abigail reappears behind the bar. “How are my two favorite customers doing?” She reaches for a shelf behind her and turns back with a full box of gorgeous looking foil wrapped chocolates and sets them on the counter. “The bar’s emptying out, so I’m going to let each of you pick a free chocolate.”
