What Happens in Tulum

Chapter 1

Emily

The ice clinksagainst the side of the glass.

The surrounding noise cancels out my internal thoughts about everything that will happen at work, even though I took the time to set everything up on automation.

I’ll only be gone for one week, however, I know that when I return, I will have a major project to start working on.

I quiet my mind and notice the attractive man who just walked into the airport bar.

He’s dressed casually, in a red polo shirt and black shorts. He has a cocky grin covering his clean-shaven face and his dark hair is floppy on top with it shorter on the sides.

He looks like a fuckboy. He looks like a good time. But he also looks like he could break some hearts.

He scans the bar and I avert my eyes to make sure to not let him know I am checking him out.

Please don’t sit by me. Please don’t sit by me.

He sits next to me.

Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him.

What do I do? I fucking look at him.

He’s even more attractive up close. Because, of course, he is.

He even smells good. Like fresh soap and spearmint.

Ah, spearmint. A crutch in the archile’s heel of my regular persona of absolute feminine strength. Yes, the gum flavor that is greatly overlooked is spearmint. I will choose that flavor over any kind of mint the media peddles. There’s just something about the flavor that gets me and the fact that he smells like it makes my knees weak.

All for a fucking smell? Yes. I’m that simple.

As much as I like to prove to others that I’m complex, I’m not.

Fuck it. I’d throw in the towel. I’d lay down here, on the dirty airport floor, spread my legs, and let this fuckboy do as he pleases to me, all because he smells like spearmint.

Get a hold of yourself, lady! Am I that hard up?

Sure, I’ve gone through a dry spell in the romantic area of my life as of lately. But that doesn’t mean that I’ve gone without pleasing myself. And it’s not like I need any complications in my life.

I own a vibrator, or two, or maybe even ten.

But now, with this fine gentleman sitting beside me, smelling like a slut. My mouth waters and I brave myself with another look.

He’s looking directly at me with a curious look on his face.

Oh no, am I sweating?

“What’s on the menu today?” he questions.

I look at my drink. Feeling like I’m betraying myself. “Mint julep,” I respond.

“Interesting drink of choice.” He replies.

“And why is that?” I ask.

“Well, either you forgot to brush your teeth this morning before getting here, or you’re from the south.”

“Neither. I just like how it tastes.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who deliberately drinks those.”

“To be fair, we haven’t met.”

“Forgive my rudeness, names Gavin.” He holds out his hand.

“I’m Emily. Pleased to meet you.” I reply.

“And Ms. Emily?” he pauses and looks at my ring finger. “What has you at the airport at eight in the morning, drinking liquor?”

“Well, like everyone who is here. I’m traveling.”

“Clearly. For business or pleasure?”

“Working on making it a pleasure,” I tell him, without making the statement sound creepy and inviting.

“I feel you on that. I never turn it off. In fact, as I was in my Uber on the way here, I was thinking about all the things that I needed to do upon returning to San Diego.”

“Same.”

“Well, now that we’re well acquainted. Back to this drink that you’re having.”

I roll my eyes and he notices, shakes his head, and laughs.

“I like the flavor. I feel fancy when drinking it and have never really gotten drunk off of drinking them.” I answer him.

“Got it.” He orders a drink from the airport bartender and smiles when a mint julep is placed in front of him. “I’ve never had one, so you’ve inspired me to try it.” He holds the drink with his pinky out and takes a small, hesitant sip. He smacks his lips together, then takes another sip, much larger, then places the cup down. “It must be an acquired taste.” He pushes the drink over to me and signals to get the bartender’s attention again. Moments later, a beer bottle sits in front of him on a coaster.

“You seem like a beer guy.”

“I want to say half of San Diego is. We’ve got so many good craft beers around here that it’s insane. You can have the rest of whatever sorcery that mint thing was. Too much for my taste buds for so early in the morning.”

“And beer isn’t?”

“Ah, but you see. This can be construed as a breakfast beer. It’s like an oatmeal stout. Think of it as the Bloody Mary or mimosa - you can drink either of those in the morning and not get a stank face from someone for drinking it. The same can go for beers.”

“I’ve learned something new. Where do you live, PB?” I tease him.

“Ah, back in my early twenties, yes. But I’ve since graduated from the bar scene and crawling home of living in PB to the sophisticated drunken Uber drive to South Park.” He takes a swig of his beer with his eyes on me, to likely see my expression change.

It doesn’t. I have a poker face when I need to.

“South Park is nice. Lots of good food around there.” I note, more for myself than for him, recalling that there’s a burger place I wanted to try there with a school bus in the yard. Was that South Park or North Park?

“And what about you? What part of the city do you live in?”

“Well, I live Downtown.”

“Sounds fancy. I didn’t think that people lived downtown. What’s that like?”

“Well, a little about what you think it would be like. Busy.”

“I’m sure that everything is soundproof.” He laughs.

“You would be surprised, a lot of the older buildings - probably not. But some of the newer buildings, yes.”

“That’s pretty cool. Do you have a long commute to work?”

“Not at all.”

“That’s outstanding. I used to have to commute an hour, just to get to work up at the triangle. Now, I’m happy that my new job will take less than half of that to get to the office.”

“Well, congrats to you on the new job.” I hope up my glass in celebration, before bringing it to my lips and taking a small sip.

“Thank you. I think I’m onto bigger and brighter things.” He smiles.

We’re quiet for a moment.

Should I ask him more personal questions? What does he do for work? What’s his favorite meal? Does he have a girlfriend? A wife?

My mind was opposed to it. Being at the airport, a busy hub where countless people come and go daily is not about meeting someone for me. We just happen to be in the same place, at the same time. Nothing more than that, and nothing more will come out of this moment.

Right?

“So, where are you heading?” his question hangs in the air as I contemplate it.