After we were served, the fire dancers took the stage. I had been waiting for this all evening. I always wondered how they managed to not burn themselves. The one closest to me winked, sticking his tongue out in a playful way. I giggled, blushing and turning away.
Apparently, tequila made me coy. I was usually not the best at flirting, but give me a giant margarita and I was doing okay. I looked back at him and gave a sideways grin. If Grant could flirt with the staff, by God, so could I.
Breaking off from the group, the one who had winked at me came to stand a few feet in front of me, twirling his fire baton. Lifting his hand in the air, he slowly brought the flame down to touch his tongue. Paying particular attention to me, he showed the crowd he was unscathed, eliciting applause and whistles. I was especially appreciative.
With my next sip, I could feel myself edging toward the nauseated side of drunk, and I knew I needed to back off. Drinking to take your mind off your troubles was one thing, but I didn’t want to have to rely on Grant to walk a straight line back to the hotel. I was angry at him, and having to lean on him would only aggravate me more. I stopped drinking the margarita and began to take gulps of water to hydrate. I’d be peeing all night, that’s for sure.
Toward the end of my glass, my prediction came true. My bladder began calling. No. Yelling. The show was over, so I didn’t have to worry about being rude and leaving during the performance. I stood, steadying myself on the back of my chair.
“You okay there, Doodlebug?” Dad asked, standing.
“I’m fine, I’m fine. I just stood too fast. They’re not stingy with their margaritas.” I took a few deep breaths to make sure I wouldn’t lose my kalua pig, and he slowly returned to his seat, eyeing me warily. I gave a reassuring smile.
“Do you need help?” Grant was standing now, and he had a hand on my elbow.
Trying not to show my annoyance, I kindly said no instead of just pulling my arm back like a brat.
“I just needed a few breaths. I’m fine now. If I’m not back in ten, send a search party.”
I’d foregone the cute wedges I’d brought for more practical flat sandals. As cute as the wedges were, I wouldn’t have been able to take three steps in them. The bathroom was tucked behind the bar, and I was certainly well-acquainted with where that was. Eye on the prize, eye on the prize. As long as I kept my eyes on the bar, I was doing all right.
“Sophie!”
I turned at my name being called and had to close my eyes to stop the fresh wave of nausea, but not before I saw Tyler making his way to me, blond curls bouncing. Maybe I’d try to actually puke in the bathroom. The kalua pig was swimming laps in my gut, and I used the time it took Tyler to reach me to close my eyes and take a few more breaths. There was nothing less sexy than drunk puking at a dinner party, and I certainly didn’t want Tyler to be on the receiving end of it.
“How’s that ankle? I tried to call your room to check on you but some German guy answered. Which I assumed wasn’t you. The front desk wouldn’t tell me where you’re staying. Apparently, they don’t want me to stalk you or whatever.”
“Oh, yeah, sorry about that. My room was given to someone else, so we got stuck in the honeymoon suite, of all places.” I pulled a face to show my displeasure.
“How romantic,” he said.
“Unfortunately for me, it’s with Grant.” I wouldn’t hate sharing that room with Tyler… or the fire dancer. My mind went back to the weird dream I’d had, where I’d started having sex with Tyler before he somehow morphed into Grant. I blushed and was grateful for the dim light.
“Well, you could be sharing the room with all four of your little brothers, one of which thinks farting in his hand and throwing it in your face to wake you up is funny.” He shuddered.
I stifled a giggle. “I only have sisters, but that comes with issues of its own. And my ankle is doing all right. Still sore, but I can manage a little without crutches.” I pulled up the hem of my dress so he could see the bandage.
“You’re going to have a wicked scar.”
“Yeah. Oh, well, I guess.” I shrugged. It wasn’t as if I showed my legs off that much.
“You just need to make up a story about how you got it.”
“Shark attack?” I thought out loud.
“Or rescuing a puppy from a burning building,” he said.
“I think anything is better than the truth. I’m a clumsy mess and fell off a rock, almost drowning in the process.” I dropped my hem, remembering the consuming blackness of the water.
“Clumsy you may be, but a mess you are not,” Tyler said, leaning in with a sly smile.
“Just wait. You’ll see.” I beamed a smile back at him, not caring if anyone saw me flirting with a man who wasn’t who I was here with and wasn’t tonight’s entertainment. I told myself that flirting with the fire dancer didn’t count, since he was a performer.
“Everything okay over here?” Grant asked, coming up behind me.
I gave Tyler a look that said I was as thrilled with the interruption as he was.
“I’ll catch you later?” I said as he waved and walked away.
“Did you get lost?”
“No, Grant, I didn’t get lost. He was asking how my ankle was. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to pee and puke. You may not follow.” I left Grant at the bar, relieved to find that the lighting in the bathroom matched the lighting outside, and I wasn’t bombarded with bright fluorescent lights.
Puking didn’t take much coaxing, and I found that I felt a little better. Especially after splashing my face with cold water and rinsing the taste from my mouth. Turns out, kalua pig and margaritas were far less fun the second time around. The show was over, and all I wanted was to return to our room and remain horizontal until my stomach calmed down.
Thankfully, Grant was willing to oblige. After telling my parents good night, and assuring Dad I was okay, we took the long route back to the bungalow, the breeze helping to sober me up. Neither of us said anything, and my mind wandered back to Tyler. I shouldn’t feel jealous of Grant talking to another woman when I was crushing on Tyler, but I couldn’t stop it. I assumed it was because Grant had made a big deal about playing the part of fake boyfriend perfectly, and how he said I’d be the only girl receiving his attentions. Clearly, I couldn’t even keep the attention of Grant, even if it was only for show.
I briefly considered staging our public breakup sooner than planned, but that would come with a whole new set of issues to navigate. Namely, a second hotel room and having to fly home alone. I may want to throttle him, but flying with a familiar face was vastly better. Although, Tyler might be an excellent flying buddy. I filed that away as a viable alternative
Back at the bungalow, I just wanted to take my book to the lanai and read with a glass of tea. As I passed the sleeper sofa, something glinted, catching my eye. I looked to make sure Grant was still in the bathroom, and I walked closer.
An earring.
I snatched it up and whirled around, just in time to see him emerge.
“Come on, Grant. Cut the shit.”
“What are you talking about?” He looked around.
“Look. I know I gave you a pass, and I know it’s none of my business, but just be honest with me. And for the love of God, please don’t bring women back here.”
“What are you talking about? I haven’t brought anybody back here. And I told you that pass was stupid. Besides, we’ve been together the whole time.”
“Then explain this. It was in your bed.” I held up the offensive jewelry. “I’d also like to point out that it’s cheap and tacky.” I knew using those words would get to him. Cheap and tacky were two things Grant was not.
He came closer and took the earring from me. “Wait. I’ve seen these before.”
“Yeah, probably on the woman you were nailing earlier.”
“Look, I told you I haven’t slept with anyone since we’ve been here, and I’m not telling you again. I’ve seen this earring before.” He studied it, brow fur
rowed.
“Maybe you haven’t slept with anyone yet, but you’ve certainly amassed a following. You’ve flirted with every damn woman who works here.” But the redhead seemed to be popping up more than necessary. Which was odd, considering he almost exclusively dated blondes.
“Oh, don’t act all high and mighty. I’ve seen you flirt with Tyler. And the fire dancer tonight.” He tittered and giggled, mocking me. “How am I supposed to make everyone believe we’re in love when you’re practically licking other men? I can’t do this alone, Soph. You’ve got to meet me halfway.”
“Fine. You’re right. Tyler just seems like someone I could actually date outside of this scenario, and I guess I didn’t want to ruin that possibility. You’re never going to see these women again. You’re just using them.” Tyler would likely run as fast and far as possible if he knew exactly what was going on between Grant and me.
“I don’t use anyone who doesn’t want to be used, Sophie. Anyone I bring to my bed is there of her own accord, and I don’t give them any false ideas of a potential relationship, not that who I’ve bedded is any of your concern.”
“It is when we’re here,” I reminded him.
“I. Haven’t slept. With anyone. Here.”
“Fine.” I snatched my book from the table. I wanted far beyond the lanai. There was a cluster of palm trees near the shore that had lights. I’d read there. Taking a towel that had been drying on the banister, I found my way to the lit trees, opening the romance where I’d left off.
I couldn’t focus; my mind kept wandering back to Grant and the earring. Eventually, I gave up. Closing the book and propping my elbows on my bent knees, watching the waves roll in. The literature lover in me could see a metaphor in the clashing waves and my own feelings, a riptide inside, pushing and pulling me under.
“What’s really going on, Sophie?”
Tyler was certainly someone I could date when we got back to New York, and I felt like he was definitely interested. He was cute and laid back but had an excellent job, not that money mattered. And he understood the importance of comfort while traveling, which was definitely a plus. I didn’t know him that well, but he seemed genuinely sweet. At the thought of him calling my room to check on me, I smiled. He was thoughtful.
Grant...Grant wasn’t someone I could date. Ever. Not only was he an unrepentant womanizer, but he was most assuredly not interested. The other girls he’d brought around had been blonde, size two, and barely out of college. I was a size twelve on a good day, brunette, and thirty.
Ugh.
I fell back to the sand, staring at the stars, trying to find the few constellations I could still remember. Perseus and Andromeda’s love story had been a favorite of mine, and I looked for the familiar sprinkling of stars. Perseus had fallen in love with Andromeda when he’d first seen her chained up, waiting to be devoured by the sea monster.
That was the problem. Love at first sight was a stretch, but I’d had a crush on Grant since we’d met at the elevator all those years ago and we’d argued over existentialism. I knew I couldn’t have him, so I told myself I hated him. Built a wall, brick by brick, with every new girl he paraded around. I hated to see him flirting with the hotel staff, and it irritated me that he was just playing a game with me while flirting with them. Even if I’d given him a pass. I couldn’t fault him for doing exactly what I was doing, and exactly what I’d told him he could do. I knew it was crazy, and I knew my anger at him was misplaced.
Tyler was attainable. Not that he wasn’t as cute as Grant, but he was more my speed. I was angry that Grant had no interest in dating me and it was ridiculous. The last thing I wanted to do was apologize to Grant, but I knew I had to.
But I didn’t have to right now.
11
Grant was gone when I woke up. He’d been asleep when I came in from the beach last night, and it was a good enough reason to prolong the apology. I decided to use the day to figure out how to proceed from here. I knew I had to apologize, but beyond that I wasn’t sure how to navigate these waters. He was my first fake boyfriend, after all. God, what a pickle I’d gotten myself into. What mature, stable woman went this far to avoid telling her mother that she was still single?
I made sure the liquid skin bandage on my ankle was adequate for swimming, and packed myself a small cooler to take to the beach. Beer, soda, snacks, and water. Thankfully, no blood had gotten on my bathing suit cover-up, so I didn’t have to buy a new one. I tugged on my wide-brimmed hat and large sunglasses and began the trek to the shore, my ankle begging for relief by the time I picked a spot to park.
Feeling the nostalgia of my childhood, I’d purchased a small battery powered boombox for the trip and found a decent radio station to play while I slathered myself in sunscreen. I tanned pretty easily, but didn’t want to risk it. I’d rather not be a lobster, immortalized in the wedding photos with tan lines in the shape of my sunglasses. Rebecca would likely find it hysterical. Mom, however, would complain about it on her deathbed.
I opened the magazine that boasted seventy-five new sex moves to blow his mind, and found the horoscopes. They were silly, of course, but fun to read nonetheless. Apparently, a new adventure awaited me this month. Sure, sure. Curiosity getting the better of me, I flipped back to the sex tips. I wouldn’t dare admit this to anyone, but I’d gotten my fair share of tricks from this little magazine, leaving more than one gentleman sufficiently satisfied afterward. Although I drew the line at tickling a man’s feet with my nipples. I couldn’t even keep a straight face while reading it, much less be able to do it in the bedroom without convulsing into hysterics.
“If you need sex tips, just ask.” Grant spread his blanket out beside me.
I opened my mouth for a rude remark but quickly shut it. If we were going to get along, it had to start with me. I had a dozen snarky things to say, but not a single nice thing came to mind, so I didn’t say anything.
“What? No sarcastic comeback?” He sat down, cracking open a beer.
“No.” I turned the page to an article on the best way to dress for your body shape. I found the pear-shaped section, reading information I’d read a hundred times over.
“Don’t read that garbage,” Grant said, slurping the beer that had fizzed out of the can.
“It’s not garbage,” I said defensively. “I just want to know what’s flattering for my body type.”
“Where in there does it say an old lady muumuu is flattering for anyone?”
“This muumuu is more flattering than what’s underneath, I assure you.”
“You have a warped sense of self, you know that, right?” He squirted a handful of sunscreen in his hand and rubbed his legs.
“Excuse me?” Shocked that he seemed so confident in an assessment of my psyche, I raised a brow toward him.
“You heard me. I don’t know what you see when you look in the mirror, but it must not be what I see when I look at you. I don’t know if your mom just ruined your self-esteem, or if you managed that on your own, but I guarantee you that you don’t give yourself enough credit. And I bet you dinner that if you took that muumuu off, heads would turn.” He moved on to spread sunscreen on his arms.
“Yeah, they’ll wonder who to call to rescue a beached walrus.” My eyes moved over the words, but they weren’t registering. It would be a cold day in hell before I paraded around in a bikini in front of Grant.
“See, that’s what I mean. You spend so much time putting yourself down that you don’t see your potential. I bet you a trip to Paris that if you took that muumuu off, people would check you out. And not because you look like a whale.” He’d upped the bet from dinner to Paris?
“A walrus,” I corrected.
“Any blubbery oceanic animal.”
I thought on it. I didn’t want Grant to see me in a bikini. I had sex with the lights off, and I wasn’t really big on lingerie. I might be a little more adventurous than the average gal, but displaying my body was something that terrified me. And here he was telli
ng me it was fine. That was easy for him to say; he had a slim waist and toned shoulders. Not an ounce of fat, the asshole. I kept reading.
“Your loss,” he said. “I might just go to Paris alone. They have nude beaches, y’know.” He laid back and stretched himself out, abs on display. His swim shorts were a narrow fit and came to just above his knee. His legs were muscular, covered in dark hair. I was surprised to find his feet were very well-manicured. Looking closer, I was convinced that was a professional pedicure. No man I’d ever known took this much care with his toenails. Thinking of tickling his feet with my nipples, I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing.
“If you have a foot fetish, I’m going to have to rethink everything. Not to kink shame anyone, it’s just not my thing,” he said.
“I don’t have a foot fetish,” I said, embarrassed that he’d caught me staring.
“Good. Toe sucking isn’t on my list of turn-ons.”
“I wouldn’t suck on them anyway with that fungus you’ve got.”
Before I had finished the sentence, he sprang up, inspecting his nails.
“You’re gonna pay for that,” he said, standing.
“What are you doing?” I swatted at him with the magazine as he bent down to me, picking me up and throwing me over his shoulder. “Put me down!” I detested being picked up. In college, I had a good friend who was a behemoth of a man, and he insisted on picking me up every time he saw me. It wasn’t my idea of a good time.
He started walking toward the ocean, and I tried again to escape.
“I said put me down!”
“I’m planning on it.”
The waves lapped at his ankles, then knees, and thighs.
“Don’t you do it.” I held my hat down and clutched my magazine to my chest. “Don’t you dare.” Surely, he wouldn’t.
“You said to put you down.” I could hear the grin in his voice, and I dreaded what I was certain was about to happen.
“Yes, on land.” I didn’t mind swimming. I just didn’t want my hat, sunglasses, and magazine to go with me. And I certainly didn’t want to be dunked. We weren’t at a high school pool party, for God’s sake.
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