Chapter 29
Mari
Everyone has a weird smell they seem to enjoy. For me, it’s chlorine. There’s something aromatic about the sharp, chemical scent. I inhale deeply, relishing in that very smell combined with the sunscreen Violet slathers all over her arms before looking down to where my phone sits.
Isaac’s name pops up for the second time today.
Isaac: You can’t ignore me forever. Your stupid little job isn’t taking up that much of your time.
I flip my phone over to hide the screen from view and tuck it beneath my towel. I’ve been finding it easier to ignore Isaac—almost too easy.
I stretch my arms with a relieved sigh and wiggle myself into a comfortable position in the sun lounger beside Violet’s. We lie next to the kidney-shaped pool outside of the casino floor of the hotel. Davina is at her prenatal appointment and I’m taking a little break in her absence.
“If those men over there could stop hollering whenever their friend decides to down a beer and cannonball into the pool, this would be perfect,” Violet mutters, lifting her sunglasses to glare at the rowdy group.
“It would also be perfect if they didn’t try hitting on us whenever they make the trip to and from the bar,” I add, perching my sunglasses on the crown of my head to watch them too.
They’re chanting the same rhyme they’ve been repeating for the past thirty minutes. The only lyrical alteration is the name of the person who has to drink the entirety of their beer at the end of it. Once everyone from the group had their turn, they started randomly selecting people from around the pool. This time, they seem to like drinking with Aaron.
“ ... ’cause Aaron is our mate, and when we drink with Aaron, he gets it down in ...” everyone around the pool chants. The messy bun on Violet’s head jiggles when she laughs, smiling wide at my look of disgust. Poor dude managed to get most of his beer down his chest rather than his mouth.
Unfortunately, I make the mistake of making eye contact with the sunburned face of Aaron. He points from me to my drink that’s sitting on a small wooden table between Violet and me.
“Oh no,” I whisper, dropping my sunglasses onto my nose.
“Oh my god!” Violet’s excitement rapidly dies when she sees my face. “You don’t have to do it, but I will be sad if you don’t ... so I think you should do it,” Violet says, quiet enough for me to hear. “Obviously you don’t have to.”
I pout my lips to conceal my smile at her fluctuation between encouragement and empathy as Aaron comes to a stop in front of my lounger.
“Name?” he asks.
I withhold my answer, unsure whether I even want to throw back the remnants of my drink. This is the peer pressure Auntie warned me about during my freshman year. Only now, I’m in my mid-twenties and arguably more weak-willed than I was at fourteen.
“Mari,” I respond.
Aaron turns to face the guests, and like a conductor, he does one big sweep of his arms, signaling the beginning of the chorus.
“We like to drink with Mari
’Cause Mari is our mate,”
Violet gives me a reassuring nod and nudges my drink toward me. Fuck it.
“And when we drink with Mari,
She gets it down in ...”
The second they sing that line, I forgo my straw and close my lips around the rim of the cup, gulping the mixed drink as fast as I can.
“Eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two ...”
I manage to finish the drink before the countdown reaches one and tip the cup slightly to show I’ve drunk it. The group of men who started the game whoop and howl, their noise hardly a dent in Violet’s one-handed, two-finger whistle. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, then nominate a random woman across the pool to get the attention away from me.
“You good?” Violet asks, moving my sunglasses away from my eyes to scan my face. “Oh, you lightweight!”
I don’t know if it was the speed I drank the drink, but I’m already feeling the effects of the alcohol because it takes me at least five seconds to answer Violet.
“I haven’t drunk like that in years,” I say. “And I’m not drunk, just tipsy. You saw how generous that bartender was with the double shot.”
With narrowed eyes, Violet matches her look of skepticism with a tilt of her head. She returns to her sunbathing, and I decide to check through the message requests on my socials. I’m in Kas’s very small list of people he follows, and I’ve been getting messages from fans trying to contact him. My stomach sinks at the sight of one glaring message.
I stare at Fletcher Ward’s name with a sneer. “You are not going to believe this,” I say, showing Violet the message.
She leans across to my sun lounger and squints to read it. “Yo, you free?” she recites. “And with a wink emoji. What the hell? Fletcher Ward?”
I redirect myself to his profile and sure enough, there’s a verification tick next to his name, and a pinned photo of him and his wife on their wedding day at the top of his feed.
“Oh, it’s actually him. That’s so gross,” I mutter.
“So gross,” Violet agrees.
When I return to the chat, we watch a typing bubble appear, disappear, and reappear. Ward responds with a number and what we quickly realize is a hotel name.
Hell. No.
“Does he not have an entire social media and PR team?” Violet asks.
I nod. “You know what’s crazy? He does.”
I respond with a passive-aggressive message requesting him to contact Davina if he wants to discuss anything with the team and swiftly block him. If he does email Davina, she won’t get to it until after her checkup today. I slide the phone under my towel again, a poor attempt at keeping it out of the sun
“Oh my god, you’re so professional,” Violet says, reclining back. “What’s wrong with men?”
“You tell me,” I say.
The question encourages an image of Kas to pop up in my mind. I wonder if he’s on Violet’s too because her next question catches me off guard.
“Was Kas seriously mad about the book thing?”
I gave her a very rough description of what happened at the club. By rough, I mean I didn’t mention the kiss or anything aside from the weird, intense club interaction.
Truthfully, it’s a kiss I’ve not been able to put out of my mind because it was perfect . I experienced the most intense, passionate experience of my life and it was with Kas, my goddamn coworker.
And the craziest part about it all? I can’t imagine kissing anyone else and it being that good. I’m no better than the people thirsting over his social media posts—I’m worse.
“I wouldn’t say mad , he was just bothered by it.”
The relentless heat against my chest is a reminder of an overdue sunscreen top-up. I tap Violet and have her reapply some onto my back as she ponders her next words.
“Which could mean nothing,” she says.
“Which could mean nothing,” I echo in the same unconvinced tone. “I guess it was a gift, and I’m basically declining his gift to me by removing his card.”
“But you’re not declining the gift. You’ll use it without his money.”
We swap turns and I apply some sunscreen to her back.
Violet stirs the straw in her cocktail, batting half-melted ice cubes against the side of her glass as she considers my answer. “I’ve seen you two laughing at each other’s jokes and stuff. There’s something there, for sure.”
“Drop it, Vi. And yes, he can be funny when he’s not blunt.” Kas was far from blunt when his thigh was between my legs. “Actually, he can be really funny.”
Violet settles back into her lounger with an amused look as I pack away the sunscreen. “ Really funny?”
I release a quiet squeal and Violet joins me, our laughs diminishing into a joint giggle.
“It’s not illegal to have a mutual attraction to each other. You’re two hot twenty-somethings, it’s like, unavoidable,” she says. My phone buzzes from under my towel and Violet peeks over. “Look, Freya’s ringing. Ask her for an opinion.”
Freya’s face pops up on the screen, the quality leaving much to be desired.
“What would you do if you were me with the book thing?” I ask.
Freya’s small, silver hoops shake when she rears her head back. “Um, hello and good afternoon? What? The thing with Kas finding out about your dirty little book?”
“Yeah,” Violet and I say.
“Well, if it happened with this hot guy at my hostel, it would all depend on if I’m ovulating or not, because when I’m ovulating ...”
“La, la, la,” I say, dropping my phone and plugging my ears with my index fingers.
Violet must’ve heard Freya’s answer because her face morphs into a disgusted grimace. After a few seconds, I remove my fingers from my ears and grab the phone.
“ ... until the tip falls off,” Freya concludes.
“You’re disgusting,” Violet says.
With my mouth dropped open, I shake my head at the last part of Freya’s tangent. “Until the tip falls off? Jesus Christ, Frey.”
“What? You asked.”
I clear my throat and clasp my hands together. “You know what? I’m over the book thing. It is what it is.”
“That’s more like it!” Violet praises. “Like, who cares? You’re probably overthinking it because you see him so often.”
In the whole scheme of things happening in my life, it’s nothing. But why doesn’t it feel like nothing?
“Or because we work together,” I mutter.
Freya’s call is interrupted when Isaac’s name crops up on my screen, giving me the option to end or hold my current call with her.
“I’m going to fly out to wherever the hell he is and break his phone myself,” Violet mumbles.
“Turks and Caicos,” I specify.
Freya uses her hand to shade her eyes and squints at her phone. “Huh? What did you say? My call has gone all weird. Is it my signal?”
“Maybe. I’m getting another call from Isaac.”
“Hang up on me and accept his call so we can be done with that man,” Freya says.
“What could he possibly want?” Violet asks.
I know what Isaac wants. He wants me to react to his messages and his calls. He wants me to beg him to be honest about the threat he refuses to admit is a joke or not. I might be reluctant and a little spineless when it comes to him, but I’m not immune to having my patience whittled down completely.
Violet’s eyes grow glossy. “This is literal harassment, Mari. You shouldn’t have to put up with this.”
I hold her gaze for a moment.
“Tell him to fuck off,” Freya says, her voice crackling.
“Okay,” I say, nodding my head. I tighten my hand around the phone. “I’ll see what he wants.”
With a deep breath, I select the option to hang up on Freya and answer Isaac.
“Hey, baby, I just wanted to let you know that I’m extending my vacation,” Isaac says with some distant female giggles in the background. My mouth opens and closes.
“Um . . .” I start.
I glance worriedly at Violet, and she motions for me to speak up with expectant eyes. My stomach churns and my heart paces a little faster. If he’s extending his vacation, it might mean he won’t be home when I return from Vegas.
I swipe away the sweat between my brows. “How long?”
“What?”
“How long are you extending your vacation for?” Please be after I get back, please be after I get back.
“Eager to have me back home, huh? Maybe a month? I’m going with the flow, babe. All I know is that I won’t be back before you. I’m sure you like the sound of that,” he says.
I love the sound of that because it gives me a chance to move out without him being in the house. Aside from this current phone call, I can get away with never speaking to Isaac again.
I smile to myself. “Thanks for letting me know.”
The check Kas left in my room on Davina’s behalf is enough to cover a deposit and one month’s rent if I manage to find a good place. I can get back home, pack, and be out of that apartment as long as I start apartment hunting now. I’ll do virtual visits or see if Quinn can check out some places.
“No problem, babe. I’ll call you again soon.”
Isaac is deceivingly mellow today, I bet he’s trying to put on a good impression to the chattering women in the background.
With nothing left for me to say, I hang up.
I immediately block Isaac and sink into my lounger with a shaky sigh.
Violet looks at me with her hand slapped flush over her mouth. “You blocked him?!”
“He’s extending his vacation. I won’t have to see him again.”
Violet shuffles toward me so that both her legs are off the side of the lounger. “So you’re completely done with Isaac’s shit?”
“Who’s Isaac?” I ask.
Violet squeals and grasps my hands. “Who the fuck is Isaac?!” she shouts a little too loud.
Violet and I look at each other with growing smiles before bursting out laughing.
She takes her empty glass from beside her and nudges mine toward me. There’s liquid in there, but it’s nothing more than melted ice cubes.
“To blocking men,” she says.
“To blocking men.” I clink my glass with hers and drink the melted ice, cringing at the warm, acrid water flavored by the dregs of alcohol.
The bitterness of the drink is nothing compared to the relief I feel after blocking Isaac. I squeal again as I flop back into my lounger, feeling a lot lighter than I’ve ever been.