Chapter 1 Sin in Swim Trunks #2
Shayne: Do they have a spa at your fancy resort?
Me: I think so. Why?
Shayne: See my previous comment regarding dust.
Me: You’re ridiculous.
Shayne: You love me anyway.
Me: Yeah, I do.
Shayne: I’ve gotta head to work. Text me later. I want all the deets.
Me: Stay safe.
Shayne: Always do.
I’d been on the island long enough to realize my little escape from reality was merely a pit stop before hell broke loose.
My troubles—aka my father—would still be waiting for me when I returned, as would his three unanswered phone calls.
I didn’t have the energy to play his stupid games anymore. My give-a-fuck jar was bone-dry.
For two decades, we managed to keep our interactions to a bare minimum.
It was a mutually beneficial arrangement considering we couldn’t stand the sight of each other.
But I knew my sperm donor well. The last case my team worked on garnered a considerable amount of media attention, meaning Senator Mitchell wanted camera time with his only heir; whatever it took to boost his image among his constituents.
It was the same song and dance. He’d portray the proud father to the public, then he’d do everything possible to tear me down behind closed doors.
I was his greatest disappointment, after all.
Thousands of my hard-earned dollars were spent learning how to cope with the emotional shipwreck that came with being the daughter of the biggest jackass to ever walk the planet.
In the end, physical distance seemed to be the only thing that worked for me, which was why I sent his calls straight to voicemail.
Truthfully, it was past time for me to block his number altogether.
A line of sweat trickled down the side of my face, reminding me of the air-conditioned room beckoning me.
Glancing at the phone still in my hand, I frowned when I saw it was nearing two o’clock.
I’d wasted almost an hour thinking about a man who was the source of my anxiety.
It was sixty minutes of my life I’d never get back.
“Not another second, Waverly,” I grumbled, tossing everything in my beach bag.
Stepping off the beach onto the concrete surrounding one of the resort's three pools, I veered to the left toward the outdoor bar and grill. Dinner was four hours away and since breakfast consisted of a bowl of fruit, along with a half a pot of coffee, I decided a snack was in order.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked as I slid onto the only vacant stool at the bar.
“A blue mojito and an order of shrimp tacos please.”
“You got it.”
While he prepared my order, I took the opportunity to really look around.
I’d chosen this particular resort for two reasons.
First, it was an all-inclusive, which meant my meals and drinks were included in the price.
Second, it had a beautiful lagoon in the front, stretching from one end of the resort to the other.
It was the perfect place for first time snorkelers like myself—or so I’d been told.
The water was calm, not rippled with wave after wave which would have undoubtedly left me queasy.
Yet, my newly bought gear remained untouched in the bag it came in.
With a job as demanding as mine, there wasn’t time for much more than work, eat, sleep, and repeat. It was an excuse; one I'd used for so long I actually believed my own bullshit. Something had to give. I was tired of watching from the sidelines while the rest of the world rotated around me.
“Here you go, ma’am.”
When the bartender placed a plate of food and an electric blue drink down in front of me, I made a critical decision.
After thanking him, I grabbed my goods then marched toward the concierge desk in the main lobby.
The resort offered a variety of activities, however, there was one in particular which would have been on my bucket list, if I actually had one.
Shayne was right. I did want to try scuba diving.
Go big or go home. I chanted the phrase repeatedly in my head as I signed the waiver for a lesson the next morning, which consisted of an hour learning the basics in the resort pool.
If I was still interested afterward, there was another hour class leading up to a forty-five minute dive with a small group and a couple of instructors.
The jury was still out on whether I’d have the courage to go through with any of it.
Still, I’d taken the first step. That had to count for something, right?
On the balcony of my ocean-view suite, I inhaled the cold, delicious food while sipping my drink.
The mint from the mojito was refreshing and meshed perfectly with the cilantro dressing drizzled over the shrimp.
Seafood wasn’t normally something I’d choose for myself, but the combo had become my go-to cuisine since arriving on the island.
It seemed stepping out of my comfort zone was going to be the running theme of this vacation; the second half of it anyway. Diving and a date? What the hell had I gotten myself into?
The shock to my system might be exactly what was needed in order to climb out of the whirlpool of complacency which had become my life, both personally and professionally. I’d spent so long fighting everyone else’s battle’s, I’d forgotten how to fight for myself; for the future I wanted.
There was a crucial piece missing to the Waverly Mitchell puzzle. I just needed to be brave enough to find it.