Operation One Night Stand (9 page)

I popped my head up and looked at her.
“That’s what I said.”

“Maybe it would be a good idea to practice saying his name.
You know, in case you forget.”

“Nice, Sarah.”

“I’m just saying.
Everyone needs a smart-ass sarcastic friend in their lives and I’m so very happy to be of service to you in your time of need.”

“Yeah, yeah.
You’re always just saying.”
I pushed my plate away, silently repeating his name over and over in my head.

“Come on.”
Sarah stood and dropped money on the table.
“We have appointments.
Manis and pedis.”

“Girls, this time tomorrow we’ll be baking on the soft, warm sands of Jamaica.”

W
e arrived at the resort in Montego Bay just before noon and were on the beach, drinks in hand, an hour later.

“This”—Melody sipped her rum punch—“is what we needed.
Fuck all that snow.
Fuck all that dreary weather.
We need sun.”

“You aren’t kidding.”
Sarah rolled over onto her stomach after she handed me the suntan lotion.
“If I had to deal with one more administrator talking to me about leaving no child behind or whatever the fuck, I honestly think I was going to shoot myself.
Common Core my asshole.”

I half-listened to the two of them go on about the pleasures of a sun-filled winter vacation.
My head was stuck processing the events of the past weekend.
I’d finally taken the plunge.
I’d had sex with a stranger.
Good sex.
Excellent sex.
Mind-blowing, bucket-list sex.

I’d lived through the awkward next day encounter.
Ryan was the perfect target.
Tall, built, hot as hell.
And he’d asked for a date the following week.
I wasn’t sure what to do with that.
Wasn’t a one night stand just that?
One night?
I was sure I was breaking some weird rule about the whole one night procedure.

Who said, of course, that it had to be anything more?
Maybe I’d never have sex with him again.
Maybe dinner means just dinner.
Maybe dinner meant he felt as awkward as I did when we ran into each other at the gym yesterday.
Maybe he’ll tell me he has crabs.

“Care?”

“What?”
Even with sunglasses I needed to shield my eyes.
Melody’s metallic swimsuit reflected back at me with the strength of an eclipse.
I was pretty sure I’d go blind.

“You okay?”

“What if he gave me crabs?”
I looked back at the ocean, picturing tiny little crabs marching toward me.

“You’re bald as a baby doll down there.”

“So?”

“Oh my God, Care.
It’s like teaching a newbie.
Crabs are lice.
Lice need hair.
You have no hair.
As in none.
As in zilch.
As in—”

“You think too much.”
Melody finished Sarah’s thought.

“I’m just saying.
I don’t know him.
I don’t know where he’s been!”

“As in,” Sarah continued, “there is no hair down there for crabs to hang on to.
I was reading online that the popularity of Brazilian waxing has led directly to the decline of pubic lice.”

“So, it’s not crabs you should be worrying about.
If it starts burning when you pee, or—”

“If your vagina begins to shrivel up, then you should be worried.”

The two of them were unbelievable.
I was having a real and seriously minor panic attack at the possibility of contracting a sexually transmitted disease and all they could do was joke.

“It’s not funny.
My vagina will not shrivel up.”
Just in case, I was going to have to check later.

“Well, not now, because you used it.
For a while we were wondering if you’d started collecting cobwebs down there.
I was actually thinking of purchasing a feather duster for you.
I figured you could get off while you cleaned.
But, if you’re really worried about shriveling or crabs, one of us could check for you.
Sarah, did you bring a flashlight?”

“Har, har.
Cobwebs?
Really, Melody?
Real mature.”
I searched my bag for suntan lotion and remembered it was in my lap.
“Whatever.
I don’t think I’m having sex with him again.”

“You know what your problem is?”

“Enlighten me, Sarah.”

“You think too fucking much.
Christ, the way you talk about it, you’d think he popped your fucking cherry.
This isn’t forty-year-old virgin crap.
You’ve had sex before.”

“True, but it was so…vanilla.”
I rubbed lotion wherever I could reach.

“So you’re used to vanilla.”
Melody shrugged her shoulders.
“I’d be freaked out, too, if all I ever ate was vanilla then all of a sudden someone served up hot fudge, sprinkles, nuts, and cherries.
Deal with it, doll.
Ryan gave you the perfect sundae.”

“He really did, didn’t he?”
Lying back, I closed my eyes and thought about him.
I thought about his hands, his big hands, which had held me pinned against the wall.
I thought about his mouth, the mouth that touched every inch of my skin, his tongue that explored me inside and out.
Thank God we had that extra room and thank God I brought my vibrator.
It looked like I was going to have to make my own luck.

“This is good, right?”

“What is good?”
Sarah asked.

“This.
This whole me being on my own thing.
Never really did this before.”

“You are going to be great.
Look, you have a wonderful set of parents, a brother who loves you.
I think you were so dependent on the tight family unit you had that when you finally had the opportunity to spread your wings, you chose someone you thought would take care of you.
Steven was that person.
I don’t think he’s a bad guy, he’s just not good for you.”

“He is a bad guy,” Melody added.

“Mel—”

“No, I’m good.
You’re right, this will be good.”

“There you go!”

I looked at my empty glass.
“I don’t know about you, but I need a refill.
Be right back.”

I left my friends basking in the Caribbean sun as I made my way to the bar.

I immediately regretted not slipping on my flip-flops.
I hopped through the sand like an idiot, then tripped over a backpack and face-planted.
My face full of sand, I rolled over on my back.
Typical Caroline
, I thought.
With a belly full of rum punch, the world spun for a moment.

“Are you okay?”

Turning my head to the side, I looked for the source of the voice but the sun glare blocked my view.

“Did you hurt yourself?”

“I don’t think so.”
The owner of the voice helped me to a sitting position.
I took off my sunglasses and was face-to-face with dimples.
Green eyes and dimples.
And floppy sun-bleached hair.
And bronze skin that rippled with athleticism.
This wasn’t a gym jock.
This guy was lean.

“Let me help you up.”
The face of the voice came into view as it blocked the sun.

He placed his hands under my arms and lifted me to my feet.
He must’ve thought I was insane.
I couldn’t stop staring at his dimples.
I was enthralled by the fact that he didn’t even have to smile to make them appear.
I blamed the rum punch for what happened next.

I lifted my hand and poked a finger in his face.
Right into the left dimple.

“You okay?”

I quickly pulled my hand back and felt the rise of embarrassment heat me from my toes to the top of my head.

“I’m sorry.
I don’t know what I was thinking.”
My stammering attempt at an apology left much to be desired.
I had defiled his dimple.
I’d never prayed for quicksand but in that moment, it felt like a good idea.
“Thank you for helping me up.
I’ll be going now.”

Quickly turning away, I nearly tripped over the same backpack.

“Wait!”
Dimples called to me.
“What’s your name?”

“Um, I really should be going.
Sorry again!”

Somehow I was able to make my way to the cobblestone pathway without busting my ass again.
I speed walked to the nearest bar and hopped up on a barstool.
Thank God for all-inclusive.

“What can I getcha?”
The bartender had the slightest hint of a Southern accent under his Jamaican accent that immediately led me to believe he wasn’t a local.

“Two things.
First, Piña Colada, heavy on the booze.
Second, the real deal on where you’re from.”

“You can tell, huh?”
Mr.
Not From Jamaica busied himself with pouring the drink ingredients into a blender.

“There’s a distinct twang underneath all that ‘hey mon’ you’re trying to pass off as real.”

“I guess I need to do better.
I’m from Texas.”

“I knew it!”

“Don’t spread that around.
I have an image to protect.”

That image was over six feet tall and dark skinned.
He ran his hands over his bald head and smiled as he handed me my drink, two slices of pineapple and a purple umbrella garnishing it.
I wanted to take my straw and drink him up.

“Name’s Wes but everyone around here calls me Marley.”

“Marley?
Isn’t that a bit overkill?
I mean, you don’t even have dreads.”

“My last name’s Marley.”

“Wes Marley?”

“Yes.
Wes Marley, no relation.
And who are you, or should I just call you Nosey?”

“Caroline.
I’m here from New Jersey with my two friends.”

“Ahh.
Escaping the winter blues?”
Wes asked as he cleaned a few glasses and ran a rag over the bar counter.

“Escaping all right.
Not the winter blues, though.”
My straw sucked air as I finished the last of my drink.
“That was fast.”
I stared at my empty glass before pushing it back toward Wes.

“So what are you escaping, Caroline from New Jersey?”
He poured me another.

“Life.
The old me.
An ex fiancé.
Reality.
You name it.
I’m on the run from it.”

“Well, I’ve got nothing to do.
Tell me about it.”

“I did a bad thing.”
Yep.
Rum punch and Piña Colada and no food since six in the morning?
If I wasn’t hammered now, it wouldn’t take long to get there.

“You?
You look like a nice lady.”

“I did!”
I crooked my pointer finger, signaling him to get closer, and whispered, “I had a one night stand.”

The laugh that boomed out of him was sure to garner looks and interest from all the pretty people on the beach.

“Shhh.
There is no need to laugh.
I never did that before and now, I think I’m having, what do you call it?”

“Buyer’s remorse?”
Wes replied with a smirk.

“Yes!”
I snapped my fingers.
“Thank you.
Buyer’s remorse.”

“So what led you to this buyer’s remorse?”

Over the next three Piña Coladas I spilled my guts to Wes Marley, the no-relation, not-from-Jamaica bartender.

I’d just finished my story when I heard my name.

“Care!
Where’ve you been?”

Melody and Sarah walked up to the bar.

“Holy crap!
Did you two fall asleep?”

“We took a little nap, why?”

“Pretty sure you’re sunburned.”
I poked Sarah’s arm, the white fingerprint disappearing in seconds.

“No way.
We used lotion.
Besides, it doesn’t hurt.”
The two of them hand-printed their stomachs.

“Caroline’s right.
You two are gonna be hurting in a few hours.
I suggest you get some aspirin and go back to your room.”

“Who’s this guy?”
Mel gracefully sidled up to the bar.

“
This
is Wes Marley, no relation.
He’s being my therapist.
Let me get you two back to the room.
Seriously.”

Sarah took off her sunglasses and Melody squealed.

“What?”

“Your face.
You have definite sunglass lines.
Do I?”
Mel pulled off her ginormous, look-at-me sunglasses and Sarah’s eyes bugged out.

“Holy shit, Mel!”