Chapter Four #2
Lulu acquiesced, wishing the details could be squared up after dinner.
Still, she admired Carmen’s attention to detail in making sure the i’s were dotted.
It was the sort of sensible thing Lulu would have done, rather than this new Lulu, who had just decided to leave her daughter to the scheduling whims of two septuagenarians who occasionally ate chocolate pudding for breakfast.
Glancing around the airy lobby, Lulu took in the smattering of tourists draped on overstuffed armchairs, the carved wooden columns, the actual waterfall flowing through the live greenery in the corner, and the colorful floral arrangements.
The latter were so over the top they could have adorned a wedding and three bar mitzvahs.
But then, to her delight, Lulu spotted a side table bearing…snacks! Beside a giant dispenser filled with a bright red drink labeled jamaica lay a platter brimming with plantain chips, guacamole, and salsa. A sign on the table read, “Welcome to Blue Seas Resort.”
So with the absolute lack of decorum of a woman who had overexercised in the sun on her first day of vacation and was left to her own devices in a mostly empty lobby with a bowl of plantain chips and a mountain of guacamole, she checked to make sure no one was watching before she stuffed a smothered chip into her mouth.
God, it was good! She pulled down a conical cup and drank from the glass of hibiscus tea.
Cool and tangy-sweet, she felt the vitamin C kick in immediately.
On a roll now, she prepared another guac chip and ate it quickly, glancing around the lobby a little guiltily at the thought of being caught with her mouth full of welcome chips by a returning Carmen.
Spotting a bowl of salsa picante, Lulu slathered a healthy dollop on top of the guacamole. Taking care to avoid spilling its contents, she fitted the overflowing masterpiece into her mouth and chewed.
There was a second of bliss in which the strong, layered taste hit her tongue and fireworks of yumminess exploded in her mouth. A beat passed before a new signal shot to her nervous system. Fire! it screamed. Eject the enemy from your system!
Nostrils flaring, she gasped. She reached for the table to steady herself. Her hand landed on the guacamole spoon, which catapulted from the bowl, bounced off the table, and decorated her yellow top with green splatters.
“Oh! Hot!” she cried, opening her lips as wide as possible to get some air onto her tongue and throat. Nevertheless, her mouth felt like a burning house with no firehose in sight.
Juice! Juice would neutralize the chili peppers.
Tugging another cone cup from the tube, she flicked up the lever and held it beneath the dispenser.
The cup filled quickly with the bright red jamaica, and she flipped down the handle and drank greedily.
She refilled the cup, but the paper cone weakened at this second effort, and instead of filling, the vessel crumpled in her hand.
“Shit!” she squeaked as the liquid hit her legs. There went the white pants!
And now…What?! The damn lever wouldn’t flip off!
Dropping the squished cup to the floor, she attacked the spigot with two hands. Despite her desperate struggle, the handle did not budge.
Holy crap! So much juice! It sprayed everywhere. Splashing against the marble floor. And more on her white pants!
Grabbing another cone cup—whoever thought triangular cups were a good idea?
—Lulu shoved it beneath the cascade of neon red juice.
She guzzled down the liquid in the first cup and rushed to shove another paper cup beneath the gushing dispenser as she drank the first. Gasping for a gulp of air, she yanked down a third cup to fill while drinking the second.
She drank fast. She filled faster. By now, the fourth cupful dribbled down her chin while she filled a fifth.
“Shit. Shit. Shit!” she swore under her breath.
The tides had clearly turned, and Team Lulu was drowning.
The tops of her strappy sandals stood out like two little lifeboats in a puddle of red.
“Ah! Fuck me!” she shouted and tried flipping the handle off one more time.
The stubborn thing was really stuck, but thank heavens and the flying spaghetti monster and whatever omnipotent being was laughing its ass off at this shitshow, the liquid gave one final burbling whoosh and the dispenser freed the last of its contents onto the floor.
When the final splashes of the juice hit the marble tiles, her gaze dropped to her ruined outfit. “Fuck! Fuckity-fuck-fuck.”
She looked like a TV crime scene. Or a bystander in Jackson Pollock’s studio if all he had was red paint.
On a velvet loveseat nearby, teacups in hand, an astonished older couple blinked at her.
Where had they come from? Sheepishly, Lulu nodded as if her state of affairs was all part of a master plan.
Behind her, someone cleared his throat. “Can I get you a drink?”
Lulu froze. That voice. That fucking voice. She would know it anywhere.
Slowly, she swiveled. When she spotted him, her pulse machine-gunned a round at the walls before shooting up every bird of paradise and ginger flower in the place.
Because there, in the flesh, was Tyler Demming.
No. No. No, no, no, no. Nope. Her brain refused to acknowledge what her eyes proved. That cool, smug bastard had been leaning beside one of those overwrought floral arrangements for who knew how long. Her jaw fell open in disbelief.
What the hell was Tyler Demming doing in Costa Rica? With those arms and that…hair! In a last-ditch effort to appear unfazed, Lulu rearranged her face into a mask of cool detachment. The fact that she looked like she’d been trapped in a mosh pit at a vampire rave was working against her.
“Or maybe…”—Tyler waved his fingers to indicate her disastrous outfit—“a lemon garnish would be more appropriate?” Damn him, with his dapper purple dress shirt rolled up just beneath his elbows, showing off the tanned skin on his muscled forearms. And with a confident smirk on his lips that drove nails into her soul even as she considered biting them. The lips, not the nails.
“You. You…” Lulu finally stammered. The remainder of the idea would not bubble to the surface, so again she added, “You!”
“Yes. It’s me. Excellent use of pronouns.”
This was not happening right now. Tyler was back in the States.
Not here. In Costa Rica. This must be some trick, some illusion.
But nope. Here he was. His dark waves loose against his shoulders, his chin punctuated by a five-o’clock shadow.
The stubble gave him a manly look that she knew, she just knew, was vanity rather than laziness.
Whoever thought that not grooming made a guy look sexy?
Lulu did. Lulu thought stubble was sexy. And the feeling of it…against her thighs.
What?! Lulu. No! Stop that.
She was infuriated by her train of thought. Was it possible to absolutely abhor someone and still find him snack-a-licious? Yes. Yes, it was, Lulu realized as a glob of guacamole dropped off her shoulder.
Livid with incredulity, she shook her head, trying to will away what had to be an apparition. How was it that Tyler showed no surprise at bumping into her thousands of miles from home, while she was flabbergasted, dumbstruck, and above all, flummoxed?
At last, jump-starting to action, Lulu punctuated each word like a tossed dagger. “What are you doing here?”
“Me? Just hanging around. Hoping to get a cup of juice. Guy gets thirsty,” he added, his brow twitching.
Just then, the click-clack of Carmen Echandi’s footsteps crossing the marble floor turned their heads.
Smiling at her handsome guest, the program manager’s voice lilted flirtatiously.
“Buenas noches!” Oblivious to Lulu and her disastrous appearance, she dropped the paperwork on a side table and eye-snogged Tyler.
“Ah, Lulu. I see you’ve met Tyler Demming.
The famous pickleball pro! I’m sure you’ve heard of The Rocket,” she said, revving her r like an engine.
Carmen stepped between them, looping her arm through Tyler’s elbow. “We’ve just added Lulu to our pickleball adventure tour. So, she’ll be joining you tomorrow.”
If Lulu had thought flummoxed was as bad as she could get, she was wrong. Her heart executed an inward pike half twist and dove off the high dive into a tank of emaciated tiger sharks.
But Tyler’s expression? Carmen’s pronouncement had a totally different effect on him.
Lulu could swear she saw his face open with happy surprise—a look she hadn’t seen since the days of their balmy summer breaks, when they would hang out eating popsicles on the sidewalk outside the convenience store.
She narrowed her eyes at him. Was he seriously pleased with this terrible turn of events?
Carmen smiled at Lulu. “You are so lucky! Mr. Demming is the celebrity face of our new tour.” She turned to the pro. “Let’s head to the welcome party, Tyler. There are a lot of people who are looking forward to meeting you before you run off into the Costa Rican wilderness.”
A tsunami of irritation swelled in Lulu’s chest. This was her vacation!
Her opportunity to fling responsibility to the wind and enjoy being in a place where she could be Lulu unhindered, unrecognized, safe, and anonymous.
And here was Tyler, a thorn in her paw. No.
More like a fishbone in her uvula, which had happened to her once and which was very uncomfortable.
And just look at him, lapping up Carmen’s attention!
And all the “people looking forward to meeting him”?
Of course, everybody and their second cousin once removed knew who Tyler was.
From the smug look on his face, she knew he was itching to milk that recognition for everything it was worth.
And now, just when she got her first chance in a long time for a real break, she was destined to spend a week with this pigheaded pickleposer? Great. Just great.
If ever she doubted that she was truly, truly over him, seeing him here in the flesh in all his arrogant, self-satisfied glory sealed the deal. He was a piece of work, that Tyler Demming.
Lulu glowered, daring him to shoot off some snarky parting jab.
Instead, he tossed a casual comment her way. “I’ll see you in the jungle, Lu.”
They might be stuck together starting tomorrow, but Lulu wasn’t about to let him get the last word tonight. Finding her voice, she called out to him, “See you there.” She was so mad she didn’t care that around the lobby heads turned. “Maybe you’ll meet another snake! You can compare tactics.”
“Maybe,” Tyler shot back. “As long as we don’t have to compare length and width.” He dropped a look on her so intense that she felt tingles crawl across her neck. “Hate to make a snake feel sad.”
Lulu stood stiff as a stir straw in her puddle of red juice. What the fuck? How the hell was she supposed to spend a week with Tyler Demming in the off-the-grid wilds of Costa Rica?
One of them wasn’t going to come out alive.
Still grinning, Tyler checked his reflection in the lobby’s full-length mirror. Satisfied, he turned back to Lulu. His eyes glinted and sparked, and if Lulu wasn’t such a sensible, clearheaded person, she might think the heat in his gaze was affecting her.
He lifted two fingers in a playful salute. “Pura vida!” he said.
Tyler T-F-R Demming. Of course he got in a pura vida before she did.