Chapter 27
27
CHUCK
I take another helping of the best eggs I’ve ever had and scan the dining room for about the tenth time.
Where the hell is Ruby?
She was up and out before me this morning but left a little note. I thought I’d find her wandering around, exploring the place, not far from our room.
So far? Nothing.
And the place is not that big.
I’m searching for her shock of red hair when someone calls for me.
Without looking, I know it’s not Ruby.
Ugh.
"Chuck! Over here, handsome!"
I turn to see Jasmine—or was it Jazz?—the woman from the other night, waving me over to a table. She's surrounded by a group of women, all eyeing me like I'm the main course at an all-you-can-eat buffet.
What the hell, I think, and make my way over. Maybe they've seen Ruby.
"Ladies," I nod, keeping things polite but distant. "Have any of you seen Ruby this morning?"
Jasmine pouts, patting the seat next to her. "Forget about her. Come, sit with us. We were just talking about you."
Against my better judgment, I sit.
Big mistake.
Within seconds, I'm surrounded. Someone's hand is on my arm, another on my shoulder. The air is thick with way too much perfume and innuendo.
"So, Chuck," a blonde to my left purrs, "we were wondering if you'd like to join us for a... private yoga session later."
I shift uncomfortably. Time to get the hell out of here. "Thanks, but I'm not really?—”
"Oh, don't be shy," Jasmine cuts in, her hand creeping dangerously high on my thigh. "We don't bite. Unless you want us to, of course."
Fuck me. If the men here went around feeling up the women, they’d get kicked out on their asses.
I stand up so fast I nearly knock over my chair. "Look, ladies, I'm flattered, but I'm here with Ruby. So if you'll excuse me..."
But they're not taking no for an answer. As I try to leave, they follow, a pack of lacquered predators on the hunt.
"Come on, Chuck," one calls out. "Don't be such a spoilsport!"
"Yeah," another chimes in. "What happens at Pura Vida, stays at Pura Vida!"
I pick up my pace, weaving through the resort like I'm dodging defensemen on the ice. But these women are persistent. Every time I think I've lost them, another pops up. They’re like cockroaches. You can’t get rid of them.
"Chuck! There you are!" It's the blonde from breakfast, somehow materializing in front of me. "I was thinking we could hit the hot tub. I've got a bottle of champagne with our name on it."
"Sorry," I mutter, sidestepping her. "I'm, uh, allergic. To hot tubs. And champagne.”
And women like you.
“Gotta go!"
I duck behind a large potted plant, heart racing. This is insane. Where the hell is Ruby? And why did I ever venture out of our room alone?
I need a goddamn bodyguard.
As I peer out from behind my leafy hideout, I spot another familiar face heading my way. It's that couple from our first night here—Ken and Barbie, as I dubbed them.
"Chuck!" Ken calls out, waving enthusiastically. "There you are, buddy! We've been looking all over for you!"
Oh God. Not them too.
"Listen," Barbie says, her voice low and sultry, "Ken and I were talking, and we thought maybe you and Ruby might want to... join us for some fun later?"
I blink, momentarily stunned into silence. "Join you? For... oh. Right. Look, I'm flattered, but?—”
"No pressure," Ken says with a wink that suggests there's absolutely pressure. "Just think about it, okay?"
They saunter off, leaving me feeling… strange. There was a time when I’d be all over an invitation like that.
Right now?
Not so much.
I start moving again, no real destination in mind beyond 'away from here.' As I round a corner, I hear a commotion behind me.
"I think I saw him go this way!"
"Hurry, before someone else snags him!"
Panic rising, I spot a door marked 'Workshop in Progress.' Without thinking, I yank it open and dive inside, slamming it shut behind me.
I lean against the door, breathing heavily, only to realize I've interrupted some kind of class. A dozen pairs of eyes are staring at me in surprise.
"Um, hi," I say weakly, waving at the group. "Sorry I'm late. Traffic was terrible."
The instructor, a serene-looking woman, smiles at me. "Welcome, beautiful soul. You're just in time for our workshop on 'Embracing Your Inner Child Through Finger Painting.'"
Did she just say… finger painting ?
I look around the room, taking in the easels, the pots of bright paint, the paper smocks. This is... not what I expected. But you know what? It's not a hot tub full of horny housewives or a couples’ swap meet.
I'll take it.
"Great," I say, grabbing a smock. "I love finger painting. Can't get enough of it. Where do I sit?"
As I settle in front of an easel, trying to remember the last time I did anything remotely artistic, I continue to wonder where Ruby has gotten to. Is she okay? Is she looking for me? Or did she come to her senses and realize she's way too good for a meathead like me?
The instructor starts talking about 'expressing our deepest emotions through color,' but I'm only half-listening. My mind is on Ruby—her laugh, her smile, the way she rolls her eyes at my bad jokes but can't quite hide her amusement.
I dip my fingers in the paint, a vibrant red that reminds me of her, and start to create... something. I'm not sure what. But as I smear color across the paper, I make a decision.
As soon as this class is over, I'm going to find Ruby, and tell her how I feel – really feel, beyond the joking and the flirting. Because sometime between our awkward first meeting and now, I've fallen for her. Hard.
And if that means fighting off a horde of overzealous retreat-goers or embarrassing myself with terrible finger paintings, so be it.