Chapter 6
6
Cameron
“I’ll stay here with you.” I run a hand along Hayden’s flushed face.
She flinches almost imperceptibly at the touch and inches away.
An all-inclusive experience at Atlas Luxury Resort the aesthetic is both intentional and practical. There is no shortage of images for me to capture, that’s for sure. Almost instantly, I know I want to return to Crete just to stay here.
Putting a pause on picture-taking, I follow a narrow path to a small taverna that shares the resort’s beach. Lunch at the resort is included, but I’d rather experience a little local flair.
“Sparkling or still?” the young server asks .
“Still is fine,” I reply. “ Efcharistó. ” I thank her, stumbling over the one Greek word I’ve picked up since I arrived.
After eating the most delicious saganaki and grilled octopus, I wash it down with complimentary raki, a traditional after-meal drink my grandmother would probably say will put hair on my chest.
Full and even more buoyant as the hour passes, I go for a swim in the sea. When my skin is adequately caked in salt, I head back to the resort’s pool deck, where I catch a flash of pink in my periphery.
The young woman in the pink bikini is disembarking from the boat along with her group, and she doesn’t appear to be alone. A man with a towel draped around his tattooed torso jogs to catch up to her. He grabs at her wrist, but she swats at him. From where I’m standing, I can’t hear their conversation, but it’s hard to miss the way she rushes away, kicking sand in her wake. The man, a statue on the shore, doesn’t even attempt to follow her as she hustles in the opposite direction of her tour group and plops herself in a hammock in the shade. For a heartbeat, I consider following after her, but then what? What would I even say? Excuse me, miss, but I was watching you from my camera earlier and… well, was that guy bothering you?
I shake off the ludicrous thought. She’d probably consider me just as bothersome, or worse, she’d think I was a stalker.
The champagne calls my name, and before I know it, I’m dozing off in my private cabana.
I wake with a start at the sound of a bang. Disoriented and a little drunk from the raki and the champagne, I take in my surroundings. Outside the cabana, rain falls in sheets. Rain? I clamber to my feet, ramming my shin into the metal chaise lounge.
“Dammit.” I snag my phone from the lounger, only to discover the battery has died. “Shit.” Sticking my head out of the cabana, I scan the area, looking for clues as to what time it is. The clouds have dimmed the sky and covered the sun, making it impossible to tell. The only people around are resort employees who are scrambling to strip the lounge chairs of their cushions. In a panic, I throw my things in my bag and secure my camera. Then I make a run for it to the lobby.
Inside, it’s bustling with sopping-wet patrons hurtling around the lobby like ants searching for their hill.
“Excuse me.” I stop an elderly man passing by. “What time is it?”
The man looks down at his watch. “It’s nearly five, mate,” he says, then shuffles to catch up with his family.
“ Five ?” I holler. Fuck. I was supposed to be on the cruise’s shuttle at four. With long strides, I make my way to the concierge desk, nearly knocking over a toddler with a lollipop in the process.
“Excuse me.” I smack the wooden countertop much harder than intended and inadvertently startle the woman behind her computer.
“How can I help you?” Her white teeth nearly blind me.
“Did the shuttle to Poseidon Cruise leave already?” My chances are slim, but I pray to the Greek gods, nonetheless.
She turns to her colleague and speaks in Greek before turning back to me, her brow furrowed. “I’m sorry, sir, but the shuttle departed an hour ago.”
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath.
“Excuse me,” a feminine voice pants beside me. The young woman is just as soaked as I am. She’s dressed in cutoffs and a wet tank top that’s so transparent every inch of her bright pink bikini top is visible. If it wasn’t raining, I’d think I was at a wet T-shirt contest on Daytona Beach during Spring Break.
“It’s you,” I stammer, stunned.
She digs her bright blue nails into the countertop and whips her head in my direction. “What?”
She’s the girl from the snorkeling excursion. The one I captured midair.
“Sorry.” I shake my head. I didn’t mean to say that out loud. “Are you okay?” I ask, bulldozing forward in hopes that she forgets my first comment.
Her cheeks are splotchy and her eyes are red rimmed. “No,” she whimpers. “Did I hear you say you missed the shuttle to Poseidon Cruise?”
I nod.
“I did too,” she sniffles. “Well, not the shuttle. I was on an excursion on the water?—”
“Snorkeling,” I interrupt.
“Yeah,” she continues, giving me a skeptical once-over.
I don’t blame her. See? I do look like a stalker.
“They freaking left without me.” She throws her hands in the air, dropping her phone in the process.
I crouch and retrieve it for her. She’s lucky the screen isn’t cracked.
“Thanks,” she says when I hold it out to her. Her hand brushes mine in the transaction.
It’s small and cold from the rain, and I shiver on contact. If I’m not mistaken, a ripple of goose bumps works its way up her arm too. I follow its path up until I’m locked on her bold brown eyes. Her lashes are long and her brows are lush. I didn’t even know eyebrows could be sexy, but here we are.
“You’re welcome.” With a curt nod, I turn back to the woman at the desk, whose name tag reads Anastasia. “So what now?” I ask .
“I suggest you get a ride to the dock as soon as possible,” she begins, her eyes glued to the screen in front of her. “With the way the rain is coming down, there’s a chance they haven’t left yet.”
“Okay.” I swipe a hand down my face, willing my heart rate to level out. There’s no point in panicking yet.
“You should probably call the cruise line to let them know,” she adds.
I turn to Hot-Pink Bikini Girl. “Can you call the cruise while I take care of transportation?”
Wetting her lips, she nods and unlocks her phone.
“Do you have taxis available?” I ask Anastasia.
“Of course.” She picks up the phone and speaks in Greek again.
When she hangs up, she instructs us to wait outside for the car she’s arranged. With a quick “ efcharistó ,” I nudge Hot-Pink Bikini Girl through the sliding glass doors.
“I can’t believe this fucking happened,” she mutters.
“Yeah, me neither,” I agree. “Did you get a hold of the cruise line?”
The woman shakes her head. “It just kept ringing, and there wasn’t an option to leave a message. Do you think we’ll make it back in time?” She has to crane her neck to look up at me. The top of her messy bun is barely level with my shoulder.
“I hope so.” I shrug. “I’m Cameron, by the way.”
“Josefine,” she replies, just as a black car with TAXI printed on the dash pulls up.
“To the port,” I call to the driver once we’re both situated in the back seat. “As fast as you can, please. We’re in a rush.”
Without a word, the driver tosses his cigarette out the window, letting the rain in as he does, and takes off.
“Where are you from?” I ask Josefine while I dig a portable charger out of my bag .
“California. You?” She uses the fabric of her giant beach bag to wipe the rain from her face.
“New York,” I answer. “Are you here alone?” I ask, remembering the dude following her earlier.
The woman got into a taxi with me, a stranger, and I have the audacity to ask if she’s here alone. Jesus, it’s like the beginning of a CSI episode.
Josefine picks at the skin around her thumbnail. “I am now.”
Frowning, I work to decode that statement but come up with nothing.
She eyes me, her lips pursed, then continues. “I came here with my boyfriend, but—” She drops her head back against the seat. “I caught him cheating on me last night.”
“The fuck?” I practically shout. “That’s shitty.”
“Tell me about it.” Her words are soft and her eyes are closed, like maybe she’s holding back tears.
Before I can ask her what she’s going to do, the car jolts so violently I almost hit my head on the headliner. “What the?—”
“ Malaka !” the driver shouts, motioning to a car speeding by.
“What happened?” Josefine’s eyes are wide open now, and she’s sitting ramrod straight.
The driver doesn’t pull over. He puts the car in park and gets out to survey the damage. He walks around it once, being pelted by rain the entire time, before he climbs back into the driver’s seat.
“Tire’s broken,” he says, his voice flat. “Pothole.”
Josefine looks at me, wide-eyed, and I glance at my phone, which is charging at a snail’s pace. I could call Hayden and ask her to track someone down in hopes of keeping the boat waiting for us.
“Is there another taxi?” I ask the driver.
He’s already on the phone, and a moment later, he informs us that another driver is coming to pick us up .
While we wait, I tap Hayden’s name in my contact list, but the call goes straight to voicemail. When I try again, the same thing happens, so I shoot off a text, letting her know what’s happening.
For the next fifteen minutes, we wait. Electronic dance music plays through the speakers, and beside me, Josefine picks at the skin around her nails again. The car that finally arrives to rescue us is a tiny red island beater with the side-view mirror whacked off. There’s no way we’ll all fit, especially since there’s already a woman in the passenger seat.
Our current driver shoos us out but remains where he is. Okay, I guess he’s not coming with us. The two men exchange words through their respective windows and we’re off. The leg room in this back seat is nearly nonexistent, so I’m forced to splay my left leg across the middle. As I get situated, I knock knees with Josefine. She’s fingering the keychain on her bag and doesn’t seem to notice.
“Uh, thanks for picking us up,” I tell our new driver.
With a quick peek in his rearview mirror, he waves a dismissive hand.
The woman tilts closer to him and, in perfect British English, says, “You’re going to have to pay extra for this.”
Josefine jerks back, catching me already staring at her profile.
She blinks at me and says “is she a—” at the same time I mouth prostitute?
We tip our heads a little closer, sharing the space in the middle in hopes of picking up on the quiet words they’re exchanging up front.
“You said one hundred euros.” The driver throws a hand in the air.
“Yes. An hour .”
“Fuck it!” He throws both hands up this time .
The car swerves, causing Josefine to grip my light blue swim trunks to steady herself. She’s dangerously close to my groin.
“Whoops.” She bites her bottom lip and pulls her arm back in a flash.
I don’t have time to process the shock of electricity that courses through me at her touch before our new driver and his, um, friend pull up to the port. They barely wait for me to throw down some cash before pulling away.
“Tell me, were we just in a car with a prostitute?” I hook a thumb behind me.
“Oh, most definitely.” She bends over and presses her palms to her knees, her body shaking. “Although, I think the proper term is sex worker.”
“What’s wrong?” My heart lodges in my throat at the sight of her but quickly rights itself when I realize she’s laughing. “Are you laughing right now?”
“I—I can’t—” She giggles. “I can’t help it,” she finally spits out. “I can’t believe this is happening to me. First, my boyfriend fucking cheats on me. With a blonde. How cliché.” Hauling herself upright, she heaves a deep breath. “Then I get left behind. Did that bastard not even notice that I wasn’t on the boat?” Throwing her arms in the air, she tilts her head back like she’s seeking answers from the sky. “Then I get caught in the pouring rain and hitch a ride with a complete stranger, only to end up in a car with a fucking sex worker.” A snort escapes her, and she slaps a hand across her face. “Now I’m back in the pouring rain with my tits glued to my shirt, still with a total stranger. Oh my god!”
Oh, she’s delirious.
Adorable too. I should be just as put out after the day I’ve had, but all I can do is smile at her hysteria.
The lightness that hits me is short lived, though, because when I spin around, the boat that brought me to Crete is nowhere to be found .
“Dammit.” What the fuck are we going to do now? I try Hayden again, but the call drops.
Josefine pulls her phone out and tries the number of the cruise line, but her calls keep dropping too. I try from my phone, but the same thing happens.
“Fuck!” I yell into the sky.
“Let’s just calm down.” Josefine puts a hand on my forearm.
With a huff, I shoot daggers at her, ignoring the way the rain pelts against my face.
“ Okay. ” She retracts her hand like I burned her. “Clearly a trigger. Noted.”
The rain is coming down harder, and it’s not safe for us to be standing out here without shelter. I scan the dock one more time for anyone who might be able to help us, but even the ticket booth is empty and locked up tight.
“Come on. I saw what looked like a hotel not too far back,” I say. “Let’s get there and figure out a plan.”
Clad in our flip-flops and cheery beach wear, we tromp a quarter of a mile or so in the rain to Villa Aphrodite. Soaking wet and cold now that the sun is getting lower in the sky, we shuffle our way inside the quaint bed-and-breakfast. It’s rustic, with paint peeling on the walls, but at least it’s clean. Lots of concrete, pink stone, and pops of blue. Josefine’s bathing suit and nail polish blend perfectly with the aesthetic.
Wearing what probably look like manic smiles, we greet the short, older woman at the front desk.
Josefine shivers next to me, making me wish I had something dry to offer her. Fortunately, we don’t have to wait long because the attendant shoots us a toothy smile and declares, “Bravo, we have a room!”
“Only one?” I ask. “We need two. We’re not together.” I wave between us.
“ Po, po ,” the woman tsks .
“What does that mean?” Josefine mouths.
The woman’s bright smile quickly transforms into a frown. “Only one room.”
“You don’t have anything else?” Josefine stands on tiptoe and angles her upper half over the counter.
The woman, Katerina, according to her name tag, shakes her head. “I am sorry. Everything booked. Lots of tourists. Busy summer.” Her English is good, but her Greek accent is thick.
Josefine turns to me and worries her bottom lip. “I guess we don’t have a choice but to share. With the way the rain is coming down, I’m not all that keen on heading back out in search of something else. It’ll be fine, right?”
Is she saying this for my benefit or hers?
I cock my head to the side and shoot her a smirk. “How do you know I’m not a serial killer?”
“That question alone confirms it,” she deadpans. “Plus, you’re too clean cut.” Pressing her teeth into her bottom lip, she gives me a once-over. “Serial killers are squirrelly and unkempt. Also,” she adds, “they have tattoos and wear glasses.”
We obviously watch different crime shows.
“How do you?—”
“ éla ! Come. Páme ! Let’s go.” Katerina cuts me off much too enthusiastically.
With a nod, I extend an arm, motioning for Josefine to lead the way down the hall. I regret that decision when I’m confronted with the view of her toned calves and ass.
Outside our room, Katerina unlocks the door with a key that looks like it was found among the wreckage of the Titanic. “One key. One bed,” she says.
One bed?
She points at the room through the open door. “Flip switch on wall for hot water. Dinner on other side of building.” With that, she turns and leaves us standing there staring at, yup, one bed.
“Um.” I gulp. “I’ll go talk to her. Surely there’s something else available.” I turn toward the lobby, ready to demand Katerina find additional accommodations, even if it means I’m sleeping on a cot in a linen closet.
Josefine grasps my bicep to stop me before I can hoof it down the hall. “No, Cam.”
Cam . No one but my sister and my best friend calls me Cam these days. “You heard her. The B&B is fully booked. It’s a miracle this was even available.”
“Look.” She points to the open closet. “There are extra blankets. You can sleep on the floor, Mr. Serial Killer.”