4. Chapter 4 #2
Group massages? Who would want a bunch of other people there during relaxation time? I inwardly chuckle. Probably those crazy unicorn ladies. They seem like they could turn anything into a party.
Kat slides a yellow folder across the teakwood, pulls out a map, and points with a red pen. “This is where we are now, and this is your cottage. You’ll just follow the path to the left when you leave the lodge. Would you like someone to escort you?”
I take a sip of my drink. It’s fruity without being overly sweet, and I’m pretty sure I taste a hint of prosecco on my tongue. “I think I can find it.”
“Wonderful. Our grounds are large, so if you get lost during your stay, or if you feel uncomfortable walking alone at any time, call the front desk. There are signs along all pathways with a location code. You just give that to them, and security will come and escort you within a couple minutes.”
My shoulders sink in relaxation, probably both from the drink and the sense of security I feel at her words. After what happened with my friend Evie all those years ago, I can’t deny I had a hint of trepidation about coming to a tropical location.
“That sounds great. Thank you, Kat.”
“My pleasure. I’m the manager here, so please let me know if there’s anything you need.” She points with her pen toward the back door of the lodge. “You mentioned the pool earlier. We actually have two. The main pool is just through that door, and swimwear is required there.”
“Okay,” I say because duh . Swimsuits are required at the swimming pool. I’m not going to wear a ballgown, lady.
Then Kat circles something on the map. “The other pool is located here and is clothing optional. As is this section of the beach.” She draws a square on the paper near what is obviously the ocean.
Clothing. Optional. As in, you don’t have to wear clothes?
A giggle escapes me, and I try my damnedest to make it sound cool and nonchalant, but I fail miserably. I sound like Woody Woodpecker.
“Great. Heh heh heh heh. Super. I’ll just… you know… run over there without… clothes.” I wave a hand. “No biggie.”
Amusement tips Kat’s lips up on one side. “Robes are provided in each cottage for your modesty while walking to the pool and beach.”
“Right, right, of course.” I do that weird-ass laugh again. “Heh heh heh heh. I’ll wear the robe and then just…” I mime flapping open the edges of an imaginary robe. “Patow! Naked Juli is here!” That came out way louder than I meant for it to.
Oh god, help me to shut up now.
But alas, I don’t. I continue, leaning forward with wide eyes. “I’m assuming there’s sand at the, um, clothing-optional beach?”
She clears her throat, and I’m pretty sure she’s trying not to burst into laughter. Or slap me upside my crazy head. “Indeed. Our beaches are full of beautiful white sand.”
“Wow. Okay. Sand with all those… crevices… and sensitive regions.” This doesn’t sound pleasant at all, and my mind fills with all the complications.
“Is there some kind of special ointment one could use for coochie chafing and ass rashes? And I imagine the men would need SPF one-thousand on their penises. Oh! And what if you’re just lying on the beach relaxing, and a sand crab tries to crawl inside your… ”
Kat, the dear, dear woman, handles my bizarre rant with the utmost professionalism when she interrupts. “Perhaps it would be best to stick to these areas at first,” she says, putting giant stars on the map to highlight the non-nudey swimming areas of the resort.
I slam back the rest of my slushy drink, giving myself a brain freeze in the process.
With a wince, I bob my head up and down.
“Right. Definitely. I’m just gonna…” I pick up the map, stuff it into the folder, and twirl it wildly around the room.
“Gonna head to my room and unpack. Because I brought clothes. To wear.”
I take off at a rapid clip, halting when Kat calls, “Ms. McNamara, you’re going the wrong way.”
“Right. Yep.” I pop the P and do an about face, shooting finger guns at the double front doors. “This way. Bingo-bango.”
Well. That wasn’t awkward in the slightest.
By the time the sun is settling into the horizon, so is my mortification. But only slightly.
Bingo-bango? Coochie chafing? Really, Juliette?
I shake my head at the memory as I tuck the rest of my clothing into the drawers of the ash dresser.
I’ll just have to take measures to avoid that Kat woman at all costs while I’m here.
I imagine myself rolling across the lobby floor and hiding behind furniture and plants with the Mission: Impossible theme song in the background.
Dun dun dun-dun, dun dun dun-dun. Doo doo dooooo.
Grinning, I pull my phone from the pocket of my floral maxi-dress when it rings.
“Hi, Daddy.”
“Hey, baby. I got your text that you arrived safely, but I wanted to hear your voice.”
“Miss me already?” I tease, and he lets out a self-deprecating chuckle .
“I know you’re thirty-six, but you’ll always be my baby girl. Is everything okay there?” I hear the worry in his voice and know he’s picturing himself in the place of Paul Bouvier’s after his daughter disappeared and was never heard from again.
“Great. It’s very nice. They have location markers on all the paths, so if I feel unsafe, I can just call security from my phone and tell them I’m at marker 2-A or whatever. Then they’ll be there in a jiffy. So you don’t need to worry about me.”
“Okay,” he sighs. “Sorry if I’m being overbearing.”
“You’re not,” I assure him before pivoting the conversation. “This place is so beautiful and relaxing. I think I’ll get a lot of writing done here.”
“Good, sweetie. I loved your last book, by the way. Chapter eight was hot.”
Yes, my dad reads my books. And yes, it was awkward at first but I’m used to it now.
“Thanks, Dad. You should put that technique into practice sometime. Have you had any dates lately?”
He chuckles. “Naw. Maybe you could write a book about a woman who falls for a fifty-something mechanic who always has grease stains on his shirt. You know, to inspire me.”
I laugh. “I’ll do it. I think Ms. Mijares’s daughter is single now. She’s really pretty… a little younger than you, but if she can cook like her mother, you’d be in for a treat.”
“I’ll think about it.” It’s his standard answer and means no.
“If we’re still both single by the time I turn forty, I think we should move in together and rescue a horde of cats.”
I can hear the smile in his voice. “Sounds good to me. Oh, and can you send Isaac a message? I talked to him earlier, and he was worried about you too.”
“Will do,” I assure him. My dad and stepdad get along swimmingly for two men who both married the same woman .
“Do me a favor and pay attention to your surroundings while you’re there. You tend to walk around with your head in the clouds.”
He’s not wrong, and I smile into the phone. “I promise. And I’ll check in with you tomorrow, okay?”
“All right, baby. Love you so much.”
“Love you too, Dad.”
As soon as I hang up, a knock sounds at my door. I open it to a squatty man in the Pineapple Island Resort uniform of a short-sleeved khaki shirt and matching shorts.
“I have your room service order, Ms. McNamara.” He holds up a covered tray.
“Thank you. Just let me grab my purse—”
“No tips, ma’am. Everything is included here at Pineapple Island Resort.”
“Oh, right. Thank you.”
He hands over the food and nods politely before offering me a departing wave.
I take the tray to the small kitchenette and remove the top.
I’m greeted by the sight of plush strawberries, fat purple and green grapes, a variety of cheeses, and of course, loads of juicy pineapple slices.
A small container of gourmet crackers rests on the side.
After eating my fill, I notice a basket of goodies on the coffee table in the small sitting room. The furniture is made up of brightly colored cushions and soft-gray wood, and I take a seat on the couch.
A small card reading Welcome to Pineapple Island Resort and Spa is propped against the wicker basket, and I slide it into my purse.
I always keep something from every trip I go on.
Whether it’s a small notepad from a hotel I’m staying in or the name tag from a book signing, I like to have a small memento to remember where I’ve been.
I plan to add this pretty card with the embossed pineapple logo to my collection.
Sorting through the contents of the basket, I find snacks, bottled water, wine, and a small box. I open the box to find a pretty bracelet with a pineapple charm on it. “How cute!” I say aloud, sliding the jewelry onto my left wrist and admiring the way it glints in the overhead light .
Digging deeper in the basket, I come across a handful of condoms in various colors and flavors as well as a bottle of lube and…
a lemon? I pick up the last item and turn it over in my hand.
It’s velvety soft and has a button on the side.
When I press it and the device vibrates to life, I realize it’s one of those clit sucking toys.
Okay, Pineapple Island Resort. I see your kinky ass.
While I have a variety of sex toys for— ahem —book research, I’ve never used this particular one, though I’ve seen ads for them. Maybe I’ll try it out tomorrow. Again, purely for research purposes. It’s definitely something my female main character would use.
See? This trip is a good thing. It’s already giving me ideas for my book.
Taking the lemon to the bathroom, I thoroughly clean it before retrieving the condoms and lube and stowing them all in the nightstand drawer between the beds. Not that I’ll be needing the condoms while I’m here.
The beds are gorgeous, with soft yellow covers and white gauze draping down from the four carved posts of each. After I get some writing done tonight, I’m going to sleep like a baby beneath those plush covers.
Returning to the living area, I take the food items to the kitchen, stowing the water and wine in the refrigerator and the snacks in the small pantry closet. Then I feel the pull of the ocean guiding my bare feet across the floor and to my bedroom.
This side of the cottage faces the ocean, and I pull aside the vertical blinds to find a sliding glass door. There’s a button beside it, and when I press it, the back door slides smoothly open. Stepping onto the wood-plank back porch, I press my palms against the white railing and lean forward.
The sun is completely gone, and the moon is rising above the water, casting its feathery glow over the gentle waves. Closing my eyes, I flare my nostrils and drag in the myriad of scents.
The saltiness of the water. The hint of sweet pineapple from the fields. The lush aroma of the bougainvillea I saw planted around the cottage.
And I relax, letting my toes curl against the smooth wood beneath my feet. Without a care in the world except for my writing, every ounce of stress blows away on the supple island breeze.
This is exactly where I need to be. No worries.
And absolutely no distractions.