Chapter 11 Calling Dinosaurs
Calder
“Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” I say cheerily as I walk into the palapa with coffee, toast, eggs, and bacon on a tray. I snuck
into the kitchen early this morning to put in the request before anyone in the house woke up. If they saw me bringing breakfast
in bed to Dakota, I’d never hear the end of it. But I need to butter her up to get the rest of that whopper of a story she
left on a cliffhanger last night.
“Oh my God, nooo.” Dakota rolls over and covers her face, a halo of tangled golden locks around her head.
“Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey.” I lower the plate of food down to the end table beside her.
She takes one whiff of the bacon and bolts upright in the bed, her hair a rumpled mess. “Get that away from me.” She slaps
a hand over her mouth, black streaks of makeup all over her face. “I’m going to be sick.”
“You need to eat.”
“I need to throw up.” She frowns and looks around the large round bed. “How did I get in this bed? I was going to take the
sofa bed last night. I thought I went to the sofa bed.”
“You did, but there was no way in hell I was letting you stay passed out on that death trap, so I moved you over here.”
“You moved me?” Dakota stares up at me like I’m from another planet. “How exactly did you move me?”
I shrug. “I carried you.”
Her eyes widen in horror. “I did not give you consent to carry me.”
“Jesus, Karen, chill out. I didn’t cop a feel or anything... and believe me, you wanted me to.”
“What?” Dakota stares back at me in horror.
I smirk. “You asked me to spoon you.”
“I did?” She presses her hands to her cheeks. “Did you?”
I laugh and shake my head. “I may be a pig, but I’m not a monster. I knew you were in no state to make those kinds of requests,
so I just tucked the pillows in behind you really good and pushed your hair out of your sweet little face.”
She frowns and shakes her head, clearly not enjoying this little walk down memory lane.
“I may have used my own pillows to spoon you with, though. I think you’ll start to enjoy my musk once you get used to it.”
“Oh God.” She crawls off the bed and begins pacing in the dress she wore to bed last night. I wanted to throw a T-shirt on
her to make her more comfortable, but I’d never hear the end of it if I did that. She grips her sides and points to the door.
“You need to get out of here.”
“Why? Because I made you sleep with my pillows? It was just a joke.”
She sucks her cheeks into her mouth and presses her fist to her lips. “I think I’m going to be sick, and I don’t want you
to be here when that happens.”
“Why? Are you planning to not make it to the toilet?” My nose wrinkles at that thought.
“I will make it to the toilet,” she snaps, her face twisting up in pain. “But I don’t want you on the other side of the door
when I do.”
“Why?”
She hits me with a lethal glare. “Because I’m not one of those delicate female pukers who spit up quietly.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Her eyes flash in horror as she slaps her hand over her mouth and scurries to the bathroom. I run after to help, but she slams the door in my face, and I hear a splash of liquid hit the toilet water.
“Dakota? Sweetie?” I coo softly at the door.
“Calder, get out!” she cries, out of breath.
“I am out. I’m on the other side of the door.”
“Get out of the palapa,” she says on a groan. “I don’t want you to hear this!”
“Come on, we’ve all been sick before. It’s not that bad.” My face falls when a horrific prehistoric-sounding cough reverberates
off the tile floor, shaking the frame of the door. “Okay, maybe it is that bad.”
“I mean it. Go down to the beach. Get far, far away. This is—” Another round of retching hits her full force. She coughs and
sputters, and I hear more liquid hitting the toilet water followed by a strange animalistic belching noise.
“Oh God,” she cries and coughs loudly.
I wince. “Do you need a doctor?”
“Go... the fuck... away!” she screams with more strength than I expected her to have as another wave hits her.
“Whatever you say, Ace,” I reply before heading out, shivering at the faint sounds of the horror show that’s sure to be our
communal bathroom upon my return. That certainly didn’t go as planned.
Dakota
I am never touching tequila again.
My stomach roils as I exit the bathroom. The dry heaving finally ceased, and after a scalding-hot shower, I’m feeling as miserable
as I deserve. I even had to dress myself in one of Calder’s T-shirts that was sitting in his bag in there because I had no
clean clothes in the bathroom to change into after I dried off.
Our suite door opens, and my towel-wrapped head turns at a snail’s pace to see Calder walking in with a tray of supplies. He really needs to stop with the trays.
I wince when I catch him eyeing his Colorado Rockies T-shirt. “Sorry, I got vomit on my dress, and this was all I could find
in there. I’ll give it back.”
His eyes flash to my legs. “So, you’re uh... naked under there?”
“Yes.” I frown and glance down like I need to check.
His Adam’s apple slides down his throat. “Cool. Totally naked in my shirt. Cool, cool,” he murmurs to himself as he sets the
tray down on the bed and struggles to make eye contact with me. “Now who’s sharing whose musk?”
“Chill out, I’ll wash it,” I offer as he continues to make it weird.
“Just keep it,” he says with a punch that reveals just how much he hates the idea of me in his clothes. So much so that he
doesn’t even want his shirt back. The dick. He turns back to the tray and begins pouring some ginger ale into a glass of ice.
“I brought you some stuff to help your stomach.”
Frowning at the swift mood swing, I join him by the bed to watch him attempt to be domestic. It’s a confusing sight on Calder
Fletcher. I huff out a laugh as he hands me the fizzy liquid.
I accept the glass with a pinched smile. “I read something once that ginger ale doesn’t actually help you when you’re sick.”
“So you’re calling my mom a liar?” Calder stares blankly at me.
My eyes fly wide. “No, I’m not calling your mother a liar. I was just stating something I’d read.”
He continues to stare at me with zero signs of teasing on his face, so I murmur my thanks and quickly drink the ginger ale.
It actually does taste really good, and Calder seems mildly appeased once I’ve accepted his offering. God, he’s acting weird.
He walks over to one of his bags and pulls out his laptop, kneeling on the floor as he flips it open on the round bed.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for something for us to watch. I assume you’re not up for the excursion today, right? I think they’re doing Jet Skis and a food tour in town.”
My stomach heaves. Neither of those sound good at the state I’m currently in. Lying in bed in a palapa with the ocean breeze
blowing in from the balcony while I watch a movie sounds divine, though.
“Did you say something for us to watch? Don’t you want to go do the excursion?”
He shrugs. “I don’t want to leave you up here all alone.”
“Are you messing with me?”
I stare at his back in shock, and he stops scrolling on his computer to look over his shoulder at me. “No, I’m not messing
with you. I’ve been sick in a foreign country before, and it sucks. It’s like an intense kind of loneliness. Plus, I didn’t
sleep the best last night either, so watching a movie sounds good to me. But it might involve me getting some of my musk on
your bed. Are you going to be able to handle that?”
I stare at him kneeling in front of me and it reminds me of the club. Again. I inwardly cringe because I need to stop associating Calder with sex. It’s not healthy for my sex-starved brain! Calder Fletcher
has been nice to me today, but it doesn’t mean he’s not still the jerk I’ve argued with for years.
Even if he does look incredibly sexy on his knees in front of me.
God, my hangover is really messing with my hormones apparently. I need to be cooler than this.
“It’s fine.” I shrug and pull down his T-shirt currently covering my body. “I think it’s safe to say we’ve evolved past the
cooties stage of our hatred.”
A soft smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he hops up from the floor and makes himself comfortable like a dog who was
just invited onto the bed for the first time. He settles in and narrows his gaze at me. “I get to pick the movie.”
“No way,” I snap, joining him on the bed and pulling his T-shirt down as it rides up on my thighs.
His eyes snap from my legs to the screen. “My laptop, my movie choice.”
“I’m the one who’s sick.”
“Self-induced sickness!” There’s a spirited glint in his eyes that feels different than the other times we’ve argued before.
I scowl over at him. “Maybe I was drugged. This is a foreign country, you know.”
“Nobody would dare drug you.”
“Why is that?”
He pins me with a challenging look. “Because you’re far too formidable to mess with.”
“That doesn’t seem to stop you.” I quirk a knowing brow.
“I’m built of stronger stuff than most, Ace.”
He winks, and I roll my eyes and fight the smile spreading across my face. Even when he’s being nice to me, I still want to
beat the hell out of him.
“Fine, pick the movie, but if it sucks, I will kick you out of this bed.”
“I would expect nothing less,” Calder replies with a sexy smirk that gives my roiling stomach a fresh injection of butterflies.
I nibble on one of the crackers from his tray as the beginning credits of The Call of the Wild begin. It’s an interesting choice by Calder. It’s been a while since I saw the film, but if I recall, the dog is sort of too
big for his own life and seeks adventure outside of it. Not unlike the boisterous man sitting next to me seemingly fumbling
through his own life a bit.
I shift down to get comfortable when Calder’s voice stops me in my tracks. “So now that you’re no longer violently ill, are
you going to finish your story from last night?”
I swallow nervously and glance over my shoulder at him. “What story?”