Chapter 3
Carpe diem, baby. Here’s to a carefree night out.
Mia clinks her cocktail against mine. The orange liquid sloshes around and the peach slice garnish nearly falls to the ground.
I take a sip of my fruity smelling drink and smack my lips.
It’s dangerously sweet, like someone tried to dissolve a pound of sugar in a glass of water.
I can practically feel the enamel shatter from my teeth and I can’t help but screw up my face as I drink, though it does get a little tastier with every sip.
We’re standing in the middle of a crowd of people who are mostly facing a huge stage and bopping along to the beat of the music.
There’s a massive turntable setup in the middle of the stage, manned by a DJ wearing his headphones askew and whipping his arms back and forth through the air.
The people around us follow his lead, reaching their arms up to the wide open sky above.
That move never really made sense to me.
He looks like an overachieving fortune teller, trying and failing to wipe greasy fingerprints off of a crystal ball.
The crown of my head absorbs the final warm rays of the day as the sun slowly descends toward the horizon.
I close my eyes, feeling the warm breeze brush a few strands of hair from my face.
Huge green palm leaves gently sway on the trees all around us.
They seem to be moving to the rhythm of the music.
I look up to the clear sky that’s slowly transforming into a mixture of pinks and oranges as the DJ’s newest track engulfs me.
I take another sip of my Bellini, which is bringing an extra touch of fluidity to my moves.
Mia is jumping around like her life depends on it, with her epic mass of curls in tow.
This place really knows how to party! Her sun-kissed skin really adds some oomph to the little white dress she’s wearing, the skirt swishing around her legs as she dances.
My blue floral wrap dress is a perfect colour match for my eyes.
The long hem drifts around my ankles as I take in the scene around me.
Holy moly, I forgot how hot Spanish guys are. It’s no coincidence that they’re often the quintessential love interest in romance novels. Novels with the kinds of covers that people try to hide when they’re reading on the bus.
When my gaze meets the eyes of a man over to my right, I feel the hair on my arms stand to attention and I’m hit by a wave of heat.
He should be on his bare knees thanking the genetic gods for that perfect face.
He breaks into a grin, revealing a row of white teeth.
His black hair is shorter on the sides, while his messy bangs have tumbled onto his forehead and match the colour of the stubble on his square jaw.
He’s wearing a dark blue V-neck tee that hugs his torso and lands loosely around his hips.
His lower arm is etched with dark green lines.
I squint a little in an effort to decipher his tattoo, but I can’t quite pull together a clear picture from the tangle of symbols.
His dark eyes gaze at me approvingly and I feel my cheeks flush under his brooding stare.
A little shockwave courses through my body when his penetrating eyes meet mine again.
Startled, I whip my head back toward the stage.
My mouth has gone dry and I swallow repeatedly in an attempt to get rid of that sandpaper feeling.
I’ve often wished I could have a bit more of Mia’s bold confidence.
Mia would never look away, but return his stare in a way that would make his shorts feel a little too snug.
Maybe it’s time for me to try something a little outside my comfort zone—not perform a full risk-reward analysis on every situation, but just do something spontaneous for a change.
It takes everything in me to toss back a final gulp of liquid courage and turn my focus back to the gorgeous man, ready to jump his bones and rip his clothes from his body.
Or at least start a conversation and then get his consent to ogle his shirtless torso, muscles and all.
I can do this. I’m fluent in Spanish, so it doesn’t have to become a whole thing with awkward silences or, even worse, useless lines picked up from random movies and shows, like hola supermercado or donde esta la biblioteca.
But then I notice a group of girls standing in the spot where the guy was just a moment ago.
They’re clearly under the influence of not just alcohol.
One of them is monologuing to a table and another is dancing like she’s trying to ward off a swarm of wasps.
A mixture of relief and disappointment spreads through my body and I feel my shoulders slump.
A few tequila shots later, the sun, to great applause, has dropped below the horizon and the orange-red sky has been transformed into a jet black canvas studded with twinkling stars.
The gigantic lights above the stage are flashing over the crowd, hitting the haze from the fog machine in purple, then blue, then green hues.
I feel my fingers tingle as I move my body to the rhythm bursting from the speakers.
I brush my hands through my hair, then reach for the sky.
The ever-present anxious feeling in my chest—a feeling I’ve become all too used to—has slipped away and my head is now just filled with glorious carefree thoughts.
Mia’s open energy and perfect face have caught the attention of every Casanova in the club. They’re circling her like vultures. An attractive guy has wrapped himself around her, their bodies engaged in a sensual, writhing dance. I tap her on the shoulder and get an inquisitive look in return.
Do you want another drink? I scream over the sound of the music. Mia takes a second to think and nods.
Sex on the Beach, please!
That’s not the kind of thing you need to send your friend to the bar for, you know, the man says with a suggestive quirk. Mia rolls her eyes before breaking into a flirty smile as she leans in to whisper something in his ear.
I move slowly through the throng of people, making my way to the bar.
The heat emanating from all these sweaty bodies is so intense, you can feel it at a distance.
I get provocative smiles from multiple men.
When one of them reaches out to me, I take his hand and let him twirl me around.
Once I make it to the bar, I fan myself with my hands, desperate for any fresh air.
My cheeks are sore from the grin that’s been plastered on my face for the past hour.
I patiently wait for the bartender while he takes his sweet time pouring booze into the bellybutton of a girl stretched out on the bar.
Bystanders start to cheer when a guy walks up and sucks the alcohol from her navel like it’s actually an elixir for eternal life.
He licks his lips, then uses his mouth to grab the lime wedge tucked between the girl’s teeth.
He sucks it dry, then spits the peel aside before treating the girl to a passionate kiss.
What can I get for you? The bartender has appeared out of nowhere and looks at me smiling from behind the bar.
I open my mouth to answer. Hold on. Do they call it Sex on the Beach in Spain? Or is it Sexo en la Playa? They seem to lean toward translating things here, so... Umm, Sexo en la Playa? I request, holding up two fingers to indicate the number of drinks I’m ordering.
The bartender blinks a few times, looks around for a second, then bites his bottom lip. He leans in and whispers conspiratorially, So, I’m still on shift right now, but I get off in an hour... How could I turn away a beautiful woman like you?
My eyebrows join together in confusion as I take in the bartender’s eager expression, until I realize exactly what I just said to him. I feel blood rush to my cheeks and I open my mouth to correct my mistake, but someone else beats me to it.
She meant the cocktail, Matteo. You old dirtbag. You must be in a rough dry spell if screwing up drink orders is the best you can do.
There’s a hint of a laugh in his deep voice.
A muscular arm appears about an inch away from mine and it feels like the energy we’re generating in that tiny space between us could power the entire light show in this place.
Goosebumps spread across my arms and my heartbeat is completely irregular, hammering through my chest. I look over and meet the dark brown eyes of the man who a few hours ago became the unconsenting subject of my perverted fantasies.
He pulls a fifty from his wallet and hands it to Matteo.
A Sex on the Beach and a whisky sour, please.
I’m just about to say that he really doesn’t have to do that and that my cousin, who is probably being mauled by a walking STI factory at this very moment, is waiting for her cocktail. But I manage to catch myself just in time.
Thank you, I say instead, accepting the glass from Matteo, who is looking a little disappointed.
And thanks a lot, Elias. It’s not like you’re starved for action, dude, Matteo jokes, handing over drink number two.
Elias draws up a corner of his mouth and grabs his glass. I don’t think my intervention is the thing that’s standing between you and the ladies, he says with a grin, before turning to me.
Matteo is clearly envious and mumbles something unintelligible, before moving back toward the group of drunk teenagers.
I focus my eyes on the man next to me. Elias, apparently.
He’s even more gorgeous up close. His lips are full and his eyes are intriguing, holding me captive with a gaze that’s doing unexpected things to my insides.
My hand is sweaty, despite the cold drink I’m holding.
When I finally manage to tear my eyes away from his, I notice that the green lines on his right arm form a little maze of symbols that I can’t quite make out.
Elias follows my gaze and leans in. His warm breath moves a few wispy hairs away from my ear and generates a full-body shiver.
It’s a map, he confides to me.
I bite my lip and look at him again. His eyes are beautiful.
The kind of eyes that have seen a thing or two.
I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he routinely risks his life saving kittens from burning buildings.
Or that he deals with degenerates who kick puppies by planting them face-first in mud.
I’m Eva, I blurt. I rush to hold out my hand, only to squeeze my eyes shut immediately.
This isn’t a job interview. And he didn’t even ask for my name.
He was telling me about the tattoo that I’d been staring at like a hypnotized hedgehog.
He draws up the other corner of his mouth, his lips now a perfect grin.
When I spot the dimples in his cheeks, I feel a flutter in my belly.
For a split second, I get a weird sense that maybe we’ve met before, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.
Elias. His hand slides into mine. What brings you to Ibiza, Eva? His eyes are somehow gentle and intense at the same time.
I swallow. I don’t want to be a buzzkill by telling him about the financial disaster at the restaurant, so I shrug my shoulders as casually as I can.
I’ve barely taken any time off in the last few years, I reply.
I’m a freelancer and the summer seemed like a great time to clear my schedule for a while.
My grandparents live on the island, so I decided to come for a visit.
What about you? I let my gaze travel over his toned arms. When he’s not saving fluffy little cats from burning houses, he must help little old ladies with their heavy grocery bags.
Or whatever other noble-cause activities that would lead to a gorgeous body like his.
A deep laugh bubbles up from his throat as he self-consciously rubs his upper arms. I blink a few times, realizing I just fabricated an entire personality to match a set of biceps. Shallow? Moi?
I look back to his face that’s taken on an amused expression.
I dive a lot. I run my own company. He takes a sip of his whisky, cocking his head a little.
That explains it. He’s a diving coach. Of course his arms are buff if he’s out there swimming all day and wrestling carnivorous sharks.
I fidget with my necklace for a moment. His eyes follow the small movement and land on my cleavage.
He knits his brow, then quickly looks back up to my face.
When he opens his mouth to say something, he’s interrupted by a drunk, but attractive woman draping herself around his neck.
Elias! She struggles to pronounce the l in his name, her tongue seemingly too swollen to manage proper diction.
Why haven’t you been in touch? She pouts at him with an innocent look in her eyes.
She flutters her lashes in slow motion, which might have a thing or two to do with the empty glass in her hand.
Her sleek black hair drapes across her shoulders like a velvet curtain as she presses her breasts into his shoulder.
She doesn’t seem to pick up on the fact that he’s in the middle of a conversation.
Although conversation is probably an exaggeration.
.. We’ve barely exchanged a few sentences.
She whispers something into his ear and Elias’s eyes grow wide.
Rawrrr, she adds to whatever she just said to him, shaping her hand into a claw that she moves in front of his face like a cat ready to pounce on her prey. The blood draws from Elias’s face, probably rushing to a different organ in need of additional blood supply.
I observe the scene unfolding in front of me and a surprised laugh escapes me. This might be my cue to get out of here. I’m about to turn away when I realize that Elias isn’t turned on. He’s uncomfortable. He gives me a helpless look and gently tries to push the girl away.
I hesitate for a moment until I remember that he just saved me from the bartender’s Mick-Jagger-wannabe pickup attempts. It only seems right to return the favour now.
I fire off a text to Mia to let her know I met a cute guy. Her reply is a series of eggplants and splashing water emojis, followed by a have fun! text.
I turn back to Elias with a seductive gaze.
Wanna get out of here? I ask, nodding toward the exit.