Chapter 8
“Damn, this place is enormous,” I mutter to myself as I stroll along the softly illuminated pathway towards the main hub of the resort. Serene, spa-like music plays from hidden speakers amidst the lush green foliage. I couldn’t have chosen a more perfect romantic setting for a honeymoon.
And once again, I picked the perfect dress… for seduction. A sexy halter top and a black and white print mini skirt. I’m thankful for the short dress length—my legs are still stinging from the sunburn and any fabric rubbing against them would be torture.
The leaves rustle from who-knows-what is lurking deep within the dense greenery. It spooks me enough to quicken my leisurely pace. I don’t know what’s hiding in the surrounding jungle—birds, iguanas, giant spiders—but I have no intention of finding out.
I spot a sign directing me to Wasabi, the resort’s Japanese/Hibachi restaurant, and follow it. If I can conquer breakfast and lunch alone, dinner should be a breeze.
Out of all the restaurants on the property, Wasabi is the only one that requires reservations. I snatched the first one I could get, afraid that all the slots would be filled for the rest of my stay. I lucked out when a party of six canceled for tonight. Initially, I toyed with skipping this restaurant altogether since hibachi steakhouses are all over New York and New Jersey, but we never went to any because Matt despised loud, flashy places.
Screw you, Matt.
I’m spite dining.
A stunning woman stands at the podium, wearing a black kimono-styled dress and her hair pulled back into a neat bun. She greets me with a warm nod as I approach her.
“Buenas noches,” she says, her Spanish accent thick and gorgeous.
“Um, hola. I have an eight o’clock reservation at a teppanyaki table.”
“Your room number, please.”
“Three twenty-two. Last name is Harper.”
She quickly taps my info into her iPad and nods. “Si, se?orita Harper. Any food allergies?”
“Not a one.”
“Okay.” She grabs a menu and signals for me to come with her. “Right this way.”
As we enter the restaurant, I’m met with the sizzling sound that instantly awakens my appetite—bringing back happy memories of girls’ nights out and family celebrations. Interestingly, all my carefree memories are without Matt—the thief of joy, the jack of asses, the sleaze of balls… the sucker of fun.
My fun, that is. He was fine when the fun was on his terms.
The restaurant is buzzing with lively chatter, spirited laughter, and cheers. The scent of seafood, steaks, and a not-so-faint hint of smokey oil wafts through the air, making my mouth water. I’ll probably leave here stinking like a hibachi chef, but I don’t care. My clothes may hate me, but my stomach won’t.
We pass by the regular tables and sushi bar, making our way to a U-shaped teppanyaki table where four people are already seated.
My eyes widen and my jaw falls open.
I must have been a bad, bad person in another life, because I just hit the holy grail of crappy dinner companions.
“Tess!” Lily exclaims with an enormous grin, her arms waving at me like she’s signaling a police officer after a robbery. She’s seated at the end of the table, a tropical cocktail in a coconut placed before her, with an empty seat next to her.
Rounding the corner, on the long side of the table, is Mr. ‘I Can’t Escape This Guy.’ Daniel raises his beer bottle in my direction, his gaze locked on my face, then trailing down my body slowly and seductively.
Did my annoyingly attractive next-door nuisance just check me out?
No, no. Of course he didn’t.
I clear my throat and pretend that his magnetic blue eyes and handsome face don’t affect me. Hormones and hunger are a dangerous combination.
At the far end of the grill, directly across from Lily, sits a young, sickeningly sweet couple. They’re immersed in their own world of love, affection, and each other—probably honeymooners. They’re sipping champagne from yellow-tinted flutes, their arms intertwined as they raise their glasses to their lips.
Yeah.
No.
Keep that romance crap out of my general vicinity.
I turn to the hostess and whisper, “Are there any other tables available?”
“I’m sorry. This is the last table we have. Is there a problem?”
“No.” I accept my fate. “This is fine. Thanks.”
I choose the middle chair among the three vacant ones, between Daniel and the lovebirds eye-fucking each other.
“We have two more guests arriving, then your teppanyaki chef will be out. Silvia, your server, will be here shortly to take your drink and dinner orders.”
“Gracias.”
Daniel stares at the empty seat between us and shakes his head, a smug expression taking shape on his face. He lays his hand over his heart. “Devastated,” he says sarcastically.
“You’ll get over it,” I respond dryly as I crack open my menu.
The menu options are pretty much what I expected, with a few Mexican twists on the usual hibachi items I’m accustomed to in the States. I’m not complaining. Everything sounds amazing.
“Tess. Tess,” Lily calls out.
“Yeah?”
“Are you enjoying your vacation so far?”
“I guess. You?”
“Oh my gosh, I’ve been so busy. Want to hear about it?”
No.
Not even a little.
Right as Lily is about to go all Lily on me, our hostess shows up with the last remaining guests.
Well, fuck me sideways.
Apparently, I wasn’t a bad, bad person in another life… I was the worst of the worst. The dreg of all dregs.
Sans the Jackie O sunglasses, the red-lipsticked redhead and the guy she clocked with her clipboard walk up to the table, both looking equally annoyed with each other.
“Excuse me, would you mind moving over a chair so we can sit together?” the man asks politely.
Would it be wrong to say no?
It would, right?
“Um… sure. I guess.” I stand, my gaze bouncing between the couple making out at the end of the table and the guy who’s like gum under my shoe. Frustrated, I choose the seat next to Daniel as the lesser of two evils.
“I’m touched,” he says insincerely, then takes a quick swig of his beer.
Yeah… in the head.
“Hi Coco.” Lily waves frantically. This girl is bursting with overzealousness. Everything about her is three steps above extra.
“Hey, hun.” Coco gives her a dismissive wave with her index finger.
If I were a betting woman, I’d wager a thousand bucks that Coco doesn’t remember Lily’s name.
The man she came in with looks to be at least ten years older. He’s got that well-groomed, salt and pepper bearded Hot Daddy/Silver Fox thing going on. He grabs a seat closest to the newlywed girl, who I suspect is going to get finger-fucked while we’re distracted by a flaming onion volcano.
I’d place a thousand-dollar bet on that too.
Coco stands next to her chair and clears her throat. Her dinner companion opens his menu and completely ignores her.
“Ahem,” she clears her throat even louder.
He turns a page of his menu, oblivious to her attempt to get his attention.
“Hmpft.” Annoyed, her green eyes narrow and her bottom lip protrudes out into an exaggerated pout. She pulls her chair out, sits with a scowl on her face, and dramatically crosses her arms.
This couple might be more entertaining than the cooking show I’m about to watch.
Daniel leans in close to me and whispers, “You look nice.”
I take in a breath and catch a whiff of his enticing aftershave. My face flushes and my heart races.
Houston, we have a problem.
I just inhaled a combination of spicy, citrusy, and woodsy scents—the secret ingredients to a hot and bothered lady-boner. Masculine, clean, and oh-so-delicious. I’d love to bury my nose in the crook of his neck or poke a few reed diffuser sticks in him and sniff him all night long.
This is a totally normal reaction, I think. I’m just used to Matt’s signature scent of ink toner.
“Thanks. You clean up well, too,” I reply.
It’s the truth. Even sitting down, I can tell that his tan linen pants and sky-blue shirt are perfect. I saw his toned body underneath that shirt earlier. Well, most of it. And from the sneak peek I got during our sweatpants introduction, I have a pretty good idea of what’s going on… everywhere else.
God, I’m hard up.
Lusting after the enemy is a stupid idea. I need a new visual to counteract this momentary lapse in judgment.
Something horrible.
There’s only one thing I can think of that will crush this aftershave sniffing yearning/lady boner. I insert Walter and his swinging sultans in my thoughts and…
I may have thrown up a little in my mouth.
Poof! All my sexually deviant thoughts have disappeared.
Maybe forever.
“Can I buy you a drink?” Daniel asks, pulling me out of my anti-lustful thoughts.
“This place is an all-inclusive. The drinks are included.”
“I know. It was a joke.”
“Oh, okay. Sure. A drink sounds good.”
“Another paloma? Or something different this time?” he asks.
“You remember my drink order?”
“Believe it or not, my memory spans more than four hours.”
I resist the urge to smile. This is the same guy who stole my chair, polluted my air, and introduced my innocent eyes to Walter’s billboard crotch.
All unforgivable offenses.
Daniel may look good and smell like sexy gone wild (not sure if that’s a thing, but it should be) but he’s still a jerk.
“On second thought,” I say, “I can order my own drink.”
“Hola!” our teppanyaki chef, Miguel, exclaims. “Buenas noches.”
“Hola!” the table responds in unison.
“Are you ready for the show?” He grins as he pours a circle of oil on the hot stainless steel grill tabletop. Striking a match, he ignites the oil, resulting in a massive, sizzling ball of fire.
“Woo-hoo,” Daniel howls, joining Lily in her excitement.
Eagerly, I join my fellow tablemates in clapping. Audience participation is key in this lively atmosphere, and I’m all for it.
Miguel reaches behind him to his rolling ingredient cart and retrieves the infamous plastic pee-pee boy. I’ve seen this squirting toy at every teppanyaki show, and there’s always someone at the table who blushes when the chef pumps its head and it “pees” some clear liquid on the table. Leaning forward, I sneak a glance at Lily.
Found her.
He takes out a tray of lo mein noodles and white rice, along with another tray of pre-cut vegetables, and spreads them out on the hot grill. The sizzling sound fills the air, as if the food itself is applauding. Miguel grabs a spatula and a double-pronged fork, creating a musical rhythm as he flips his tools in the air and catches them behind his back.
Clankety-clank. Clankety-clank.
A feast for the senses—the ears and the eyes, as much as the stomach.
His playful antics captivate his audience. My tablemates clap and laugh as he skillfully spins an egg on his spatula and the cooktop.
He grabs a red squeeze bottle. I know it’s sake…because it’s always sake. Starting from the newlywed couple’s side, he squeezes the clear liquid across the table, allowing my fellow diners to catch it in their mouths. The bride and groom happily accept, then share a passionate, noisy kiss.
With tongues.
Lovely pre-dinner visual.
The Silver Fox opens his mouth, and the sound of a squeezy shot echoes in the air.
“Don’t even think about it,” Coco warns, her lips tightly slamming shut. She vigorously shakes her head from side to side, her shoulder-length hair swaying with the motion.
“You really should experience…” the Silver Fox begins, but his words are abruptly cut off.
“Zip it, Gabriel,” she snaps, her voice dripping with hostility. Her glare is intense, then her eyes narrow into slits. “I don’t drink from picnic basket squeeze bottles.”
“Watch your tone,” he warns in a low and serious tone. He shoots her an icy glare filled with contempt.
“Watch this,” she says, her tone sugary-sweet. With a wicked smirk, she raises her hand and extends her middle finger towards him.
Jorge is wrong.
There’s absolutely no love in this air.
Miguel respects her wishes and skips her, reaching me next. I’m already on my second warm sake carafe, thanks to a very attentive Silvia, our booze director. I’ve got a warm, happy little buzz.
“Bring it on, Miguel,” I say, curling my index finger, my mouth opening in anticipation.
He squirts the room temperature sake, and the liquid hits the back of my throat. I quickly raise my hand to signal him to stop, preventing the alcohol from choking me. I swallow and burst into a genuine laugh.
“So, you are capable of smiling,” Daniel whispers in my ear, his warm breath tickling my skin.
“Pay less attention to what I do and more attention to the man cooking in front of you.”
Ignoring my comment, he continues, “I like your smile. Makes you look a little softer. Less like a serial killer.”
I glare at him, my eyes wide with disbelief. There’s got to be some palm I could grease to get this guy deported.
“Hey Miguel,” I call across the table.
“Sí?”
“There’s an extra five dollars in your tip if you ‘accidentally’ miss this guy’s mouth.” I point my thumb towards Daniel, a mischievous twinkle in my eye.
“An extra ten bucks when you hit the bullseye,” Daniel counters.
“Twenty bucks and a glowing review on the hotel survey when I leave.” Even I know that Guest Surveys are everything to management.
Daniel extends his arm, his palm facing upwards towards our chef. “It’s up to you, amigo.” He gives him a sly nod and a wink, letting Miguel know he’s cool with it.
Miguel grins. He holds the plastic bottle high in the air, his arm steady. He points directly at Daniel and squeezes it.
The clear liquid shoots forcefully into Daniel’s mouth, the sound of the stream hitting its target filling the air. Miguel’s eyebrows wiggle mischievously, and the bottle slips from his grip. The sake splatters across Daniel’s cheek, leaving a wet trail.
“Lo siento, se?or,” Miguel apologizes with a sly smile. “My bad.”
Again, ‘my bad’ is not an apology… Sincere or not.
The table erupts in wild applause, except for little Miss Redheaded Sunshine who sits rigidly, like there’s a stick so far up her ass, it hit a major nerve and is blocking her from making arm and hand movements.
Because that, right there, was comedy gold.
Daniel, standing tall, takes an exaggerated bow. He reaches across the table, his hand meeting Miguel’s in a resounding high five.
He settles back into his seat, a sly grin spreading across his face as he reaches for a cloth napkin to wipe away the trail of sake on his cheek. “So, Miguel.”
“Sí?”
“You’re going to be flinging some shrimp soon, right?”
Miguel nods with a chuckle.
“And your aim may still be a little off, sí?”
“Maybe, se?or,” he says with a one-shoulder shrug.
“Miguel, my friend.” Daniel pulls his wallet out of his back pocket and slaps it down on the table directly in his line of sight. “Tonight’s going to be a great night for your bank account.”
“Hey!” I protest in jest as a piece of shrimp ricochets off the corner of my shoulder.
“Lo siento, se?orita.” Miguel chuckles with a quick wink in the Silver Fox’s direction. I don’t know why he’s looking at him when I’m clearly the victim of this crustaceanal assault.
Daniel leans back in his chair, crosses his arms across his chest, and flashes a grin.
My gaze narrows as I shift my focus to face Daniel and fake a scowl.
“Too bad,” Daniel says, his words laced with insincerity. “They’re slippery little suckers.”
“I think the wad of cash you dropped on the table greased them up,” I tell him.
“I don’t know what you’re referring to,” he lies. His gaze lingers on the mound of money beside his plate for a moment before he looks away.
Miguel skillfully arranges our main courses on the plates before us—a tantalizing combination of tender chicken, succulent steak, and plump shrimp. The aroma that wafts from the dishes is simply divine.
Eagerly, I reach for my chopsticks and select a piece of shrimp that has actually made it to my plate. As I take my first bite, I’m met with the divine flavors of fresh ginger and soy sauce coating the fish. It’s culinary perfection, absolutely delish.
While savoring our meals, I can’t help but observe my fellow diners at the table. My eyes roll as I witness the honeymooners playfully feeding each other. The girl seductively slides one of the wooden chopsticks in and out of her mouth, her tongue curling around it.
I don’t know where they’re from, but performing chopstick fellatio in the company of strangers eating their meals is bad table manners in my book.
Shifting my attention, I find myself captivated by the mismatched couple of the century. They clearly don’t like each other. I doubt they have anything in common. Occasionally, they exchange hushed whispers, but the tone is far from friendly. Maybe they’re into angry sex or get off hurling insults at each other.
Who knows what keeps people together?
I sure don’t.
My gaze wanders towards Lily, who’s totally focused on the hostess podium. The hostess is having a cordial conversation with some guy with a sleeve of tattoos and tousled, shoulder-length surfer hair.
He exudes raw sensuality. The guy is straight-up porn.
And Lily…
Lily’s “The Sound of Music.”
I sneak another peek at her. Her gaze is locked onto his, unable to tear herself away. A coy smile graces his lips, causing her cheeks to flush a vibrant shade of crimson. She hastily averts her eyes, focusing back on her plate.
That was curious.
“Is your dinner okay?” Daniel whispers, pulling my nose out of everyone else’s business.
“What actually landed in my mouth is delicious.”
“You’re a pretty good sport, Tess.”
“For a serial killer?”
“Yeah.” He chuckles. “For a serial killer.”
Dramatically, Coco rises from her chair. “I’m going to the ladies’ room,” she announces to the table.
The rules of Girl Code are international.
That was a call-to-action.
“I’ll join you.” I stand from my chair, placing my cloth napkin on the table.
“Me too.” Lily rises from her seat.
Honeymoon girl is busy sucking the ginger dipping sauce off her new husband’s index finger and ignores us.
“I’m curious.” Daniel leans in to me and whispers. “Why do all women go to the bathroom together?”
I crouch down and whisper back, “Two reasons,” I say, amused. “The first is there’s safety in numbers.”
“That’s smart. What’s the second?”
“So we can gossip about men.”
“I knew it,” he says with a laugh.