Sun, Sea and Sangria: Escape with a feel good romantic comedy in the summer sun!

by Victoria Cooke

  ‘That’s very diplomatic of you. I bet they can’t wait to see you.’

  ‘They don’t know I’m coming.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Because if I warned them, the one person I’m most desperate to see would probably go into hiding. ‘It’s a long story.’

  ‘You say that a lot.’

  ‘I—’ The rest comes out as air, and I chuckle. ‘I suppose I do.’

  ‘Well, this is a twelve-hour flight and so far we’ve not quite done three of ’em, so I might just be up for one of your long stories.’

  I eye him suspiciously and when I determine he’s being serious, I begin. ‘All right, but I’m starting from the beginning. And don’t say I didn’t warn you!’

  ***

  Simon fakes falling asleep as I’m telling him about the date at the beach Jay took me on. I elbow him playfully in the ribs. It’s surprising how well you can get to know someone when you’re cramped up in a metal tube, hurtling through the air. I’ve gone from apologetic stranger to touchy-feely (borderline violent) BFF in record time.

  ‘Okay, so then there was the competition,’ I say.

  ‘Competition? Please tell me this was the lady-stripper competition and your memory is vivid enough to provide wonderful imagery?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘In that case, we’re going to need more drinks.’ He hits the service button. ‘And this time, they’re on me.’

  The flight attendant looks weary. She doesn’t even plaster on the fake smile or ask what she can get us this time, and I sense there is some kind of drinks quantity etiquette that we’ve breached.

  ‘Do you think we’re supposed to be asleep now?’ Simon whispers as she walks away.

  ‘Maybe. We’re probably spoiling what should be a quiet overnight shift.’

  ‘I bet they don’t have this problem in the front seats.’ Simon gestures to the curtain at the front of our cabin.

  ‘Probably not. I think they have golden taps by their lie-flat seats that pump out champers.’

  ‘Oh, how the other half live.’

  The flight attendant returns with our drinks. This time, there are no pretzels.

  ‘Good job I’m not starving,’ Simon says wryly. ‘Anyway, tell me about this competition.’

  So I do. I fill him in on the acts, both dodgy and awesome, the guys’ dedication and, of course, Brad and Jenny.

  ‘I know that Jenny bird. She’s a bit of all right.’

  I give him a look.

  ‘So after you dumped muscle-man because you didn’t want to be taken for a ride, he went off stripping in Vegas and you stayed in Tenerife.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But now you’ve realised you made a terrible mistake and are flying to see him, without his knowledge, after he’s been in the biggest adult playground in the world for the past four weeks, as a single man.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Simon makes a ‘phew-ee’ type noise, indicating that he thinks I’m mad.

  ‘Excuse me, do you mind keeping your voices down? I have a conference to get to as soon as we land and need to get some sleep,’ a man across the aisle says.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say quietly and shuffle round in my chair to face Simon. ‘Do you think I’m making a huge mistake?’

  ‘What do I know? I’m just some guy on a plane whose wife has very strict rules about Vegas. I dread to think what I’d get up to if I was single.’

  ‘Oh God.’ I throw my head in my hands. ‘I should have stayed in Tenerife. My friend put me up to this. She bought the ticket and everything.’

  ‘Look.’ He places a well-meaning hand on my shoulder, but removes it quickly, obviously unsure of the boundaries of in-flight friendships. ‘Ignore what I just said. Seriously, what do I know? If your mate thought you were so mopey she wanted to chuck a fortune in your direction, there was obviously more to you and this Hunk than I’m privy to. If he has similar feelings for you, you’re on to a winner.’

  ‘Do you really think so?’ I ask, clinging to that shred of hope.

  ‘Course I do. Anyway, what’s the plan? Land and head straight to his hotel room?’

  I shake my head. ‘No, I’m going to check in to my hotel, sleep, freshen up and then go to their show tonight. I called ahead and Brad, my replacement, has managed to squeeze me in and get me a backstage pass, and he’s promised not to tell the guys I’ll be there.’

  ‘Wow, that will be a massive surprise. Aren’t you worried that they’ll have moved on?’

  ‘Bloody hell, you give with one hand and take with the other, don’t you?’

  He chuckles. ‘I’m just making sure you’re mentally prepared. What if you turn up and Mr Loverman has a loverwoman?’

  ‘I haven’t got the capacity to mentally prepare for that. I’m going to say sneak out, fly home and pretend I was never there.’

  ‘Wrong answer.’

  ‘I didn’t know I was on the Wheel of bloody Fortune.’

  ‘Shhh,’ Aisle-man says again, this time with considerably less patience.

  ‘So sorry,’ I say, embarrassed to have caused a scene again.

  ‘Look, you’ve flown all this way. If you see him with another woman, that’s not his fault. Remember, at this point, he owes you nothing. He’s single in a new country and might feel lonely. If he’s as good-looking as you say, he won’t be short on offers, will he?’

  ‘No,’ I whisper, sullenly.

  ‘There’s no saying this scenario is going to happen, but be prepared that it might not be roses and daffodils like in those movies I never watch.’

  ‘Those movies you never watch, hey?’

  ‘Maybe I’ve watched one with the missus,’ he grumbles. ‘The point is, you still have to tell him how you feel. Even if he has Pamela Anderson on his arm, he deserves to have all the information available to him before he makes his decision.’

  He’s right. If Jay is with someone else, I can’t blame anyone but myself. ‘Maybe I should have told him I was coming. At least that way, if he has met someone else, he could have told me not to come.’

  ‘Or told her he’s not that into her.’

  ‘Isn’t that the name of one of those films you never watch?’ I tease.

  ‘Wouldn’t know.’

  ‘Anyway, it is what it is. I just have to be brave.’ I don’t feel brave. I feel like I need to shut off any form of emotion just to have the courage to face him and that’s before I say any of the awkward ‘feelings’ stuff.

  ‘Exactly,’ he says. ‘If you’ve messed him about in the past, you need to prove to him that you’re ready to be with him.’

  ‘How do I do that?’ I ask, lapping up the advice from this stranger.

  ‘If I knew that, I’d have my own book out.’

  I sigh. I suppose I have to figure that out on my own.

  Somehow, we natter for the entire duration of the flight, and when the captain announces our descent, I’m a little bit sad at having to say goodbye to Simon.

  Chapter 39

  After four hours’ sleep and a shower, I feel much more human. The flight in and meeting Simon is a fuzzy memory now and all I can think about is the show tonight. It’s dusk when I peel back the curtains; I’m taken aback – it is quite a view I’ve got.

  ‘Jesus!’ I say aloud, as giant floodlit fountains go off. That must be the Bellagio; I’ve seen it in movies. Thinking of Ocean’s Eleven reminds me of Iain, and I shudder.

  I check the e-ticket Brad sent me when I got in touch to tell him I was flying out. The show starts at ten in the Forbidden Theatre in the Jackson Hotel. Google Maps shows me I’ve got a bit of a walk on my hands, even though it’s only a few hotels along. I’ll grab some food and do some sightseeing on the way.

  The theatre is intimate but deceptively spacious. Each small table seats four patrons, all forward facing, and the floor slopes gently upwards from the stage to give everyone a good view of the action. There is also an upper tier. I spot podiums and all sorts dotted about – it’s going
to be a much bigger production than what we had in the Canaries.

  As the room fills up, so does a cavity of apprehension inside me. I order a giant frozen margarita from the waiter and take in more of the elaborate surroundings. The stage juts out so the audience can sit around three of its four sides, and when I look up I can see all sorts of fancy lighting and suspended platforms.

  As the lights dim and the music starts, my stomach tenses. I’m more nervous than I was during the competition. I check my phone as a distraction and see a WhatsApp message from Simon.

  Go get ’em, tiger!

  I smile. At this moment in time, that small jumble of words from a virtual stranger is just what I need to read.

  My margarita arrives just as Jenny floats down onto the stage in a suspended harness. She’s wearing a red chiffon dress that dances elegantly around her as she descends. I’m not going to lie – seeing her in my old spot is hard to watch, especially with the upgraded set, but I can’t process that right now because I’m desperate to see someone else.

  I sip my drink, and as I place my glass down, the boys come on stage. I gasp.

  ‘Divine, aren’t they?’ the woman next to me says as she bounces in her seat excitedly. I nod before turning back to the stage.

  The first set is pretty similar to what we did back in Spain. The routine, the music and the dry ice. There’s a background stage set that looks like a grand staircase, which we never had, and the lighting is much better – there’s an actual person controlling the sound and lighting, which apart from the competition final, is a huge step up from having a spotlight and a few coloured lights set on a random sequence at best. It’s funny; this is what I’d dreamed about for the Heavenly Hunks – not Las Vegas, but a big production drawing the masses.

  The next song comes on – ‘Freak Me’. Not one of my choices, but I recognise it from the first few bars. Jenny comes on stage and says something about treating the much-deserving women in the audience, but I miss most of what she says because I’m draining the last of my margarita.

  The woman next to me screams, causing me to jump. I look around and see she’s smiling and clapping – eyes fixed on the stage. As I move my gaze, I see what the fuss is about. Marcus has jumped off the stage onto one of the tables and is gyrating his groin just inches from an audience member. This is new. I scan the room. Paul is massaging some lady’s shoulders, Sammy is giving out a foot rub, and Jay is giving someone a lap dance. The audience is going wild; they love it. Then the boys move around, circling the room, seeking more participants.

  I tense. I don’t want any of them to see me, not yet. It will throw them off their game and ruin the performance. They’re going everywhere. I shrink in my seat. Please gods of exotic dancing, let me go unseen. Marcus has even climbed a rope and is on the top-tier balcony. Nowhere is sacred. I slink into my seat. Surely, my body language will be enough for them to see I’m not up for a shoulder rub. Keeny McKeenson next to me, however, is like a stripper beacon, bouncing around and clapping excitedly.

  Two warm hands land on my shoulders. They arrive from nowhere. I go rigid. Apparently, body language is not commonly recognised amongst the male population. I fix my eyes to my lap as whoever it is gets to work, albeit far too gently, on my shoulders. Part of me wants to glance to see who it is but I resist the urge. It can’t have lasted more than twenty seconds, but it feels like an eternity before he leaves me alone.

  ‘I’m so jealous,’ the girl next to me says, punctuating it with a dramatically sour pout. ‘He’s my absolute favourite one.’

  ‘Which one was it?’ I ask, far too eagerly.

  ‘The one with a tattoo on his inner bicep.’

  My stomach tightens. Jay. I look at the stage where they’re now all assembled and study him for signs of upset or shock. But he’s smiling and working the room with his eyes and groin. He didn’t know it was me. I don’t know whether to feel relieved or a little bit miffed.

  By the time the show has ended, I’ve been through so many emotions that the thought of going backstage and surprising everyone seems like too much to tag on to the day. Go get ’em, tiger. I repeat Simon’s words. What exactly do I have to lose? Even if Jay isn’t happy to see me, the others will be, and even if Jay has moved on and met someone else, I still get to see my boys. This is not a wasted trip. I have no idea how to get backstage or what the process is, so I ask a surly-looking member of the security team, who takes me through after checking my ticket.

  ‘First door on your right,’ he says before going back out to the foyer to help disperse the crowds.

  I’m in a stark white corridor, lit with awful fluorescent strip lights that hurt my eyes after being in near darkness for a few hours. The door is closed. There’s an actual star on it that reads ‘Heavenly Hunks’. How do I do this? Do I knock? Do I barge in? Do I run?

  ‘Do you have a VIP pass?’ a female voice chirps. I turn around to see a petite lady with shoulder-length blonde hair. She has headphones on with one of those attached mics that reminds me of Britney Spears circa 1998.

  ‘Yes,’ I say meekly.

  ‘Wonderful. I think you’re our last one, so I’ll take you straight through.’

  She knocks three times. For the record, I would have gone with the knocking too.

  She peeps around the door. ‘Hey, everyone, I have one more fan for y’all.’

  ‘Awesome,’ a male voice says. I think it’s Marcus.

  Morris-dancing centipedes fill my stomach as she guides me through the door. They’re having photographs taken with a giggling bunch of young women in front of a screen with ‘Heavenly Hunks’ splashed all over it. It’s very Hollywood-esq. Once the pictures have been taken, a different member of the events team beckons me over, and the guys turn their attention to me. The plastic smiles on each of their faces dissolve at slightly different rates as they recognise me in turn.

  ‘Kat!’ Sammy is the first to jump up and dart towards me. He picks me up and spins me round. When he puts me down the others are gathered around too.

  ‘Hi,’ I say. It comes out all pathetic and unsure.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re here,’ Paul says.

  ‘I didn’t expect to see you, Kat, but it’s great you made it,’ Marcus says, hugging me. ‘Welcome to Vegas! You should have told us you were coming – we could have made arrangements.’

  I bat his words away with my hand. ‘I wanted to surprise you.’

  ‘Job done,’ Ant says.

  As they all ask questions about flights and hotels and how it’s going at Andrea’s bar, I can’t help but scan the room for Jay. He was there a second ago; I saw him smiling away and hugging one of the fans.

  I notice an open door behind the screen, which leads into another room. Has he disappeared at the sight of me? Perhaps he’s gone off with that woman. My skin starts to prickle. This is bad.

  ‘He’s in there,’ Marcus says, following my line of sight.

  ‘Who?’ I say, pitifully.

  Marcus cocks his head to the side. ‘Just go and see him.’

  I look at the doorway. There’s no sign of Jay.

  ‘You have to actually walk through the door,’ Marcus whispers in my ear.

  I look at the opening. Beyond it is a sofa and one of those lightbulb-framed make-up mirrors. It must be the dressing area. Slowly, I make my way towards it. There might as well be a wild bear in there for all the terror I’m filled with.

  When I get to the doorframe, I peer in.

  ‘Hi,’ I say.

  Chapter 40

  ‘A little heads-up might have been nice.’ Without looking at me, Jay pulls on a navy Ralph Lauren hoodie; the action ruffles his hair. He’s got the matching joggers on too. I haven’t seen him this covered up before. He looks so good it hurts.

  ‘It was last-minute,’ I say. ‘A long story.’

  He nods whilst throwing items into a rucksack.

  ‘I got in this morning.’ I’m trying to lead him into some kind of conversation but I’m
struggling.

  ‘Well, it’s a great city. Enjoy your stay.’ He slings the bag over his shoulder and walks towards the door. I don’t plan to, but as he passes me, I reach out and grip his arm. He looks at my hand and flinches as if it’s on fire and I’ve just scorched his skin.

  ‘Jay,’ I say softly, ‘I came to see you. Can we talk?’

  He looks me in the eyes for the first time this evening, and the familiar, enjoyable, zingy feelings fill my body yet they conflict with the tearing pain in my heart. I try to ignore them.

  ‘I think we talked enough in Tenerife, don’t you?’

  Okay, I didn’t expect a warm greeting, but I did think he’d be more willing to hear me out, especially after travelling so far just to speak to him.

  ‘Listen, it’s good to see you looking well.’ His tone softens. ‘And the guys will be so happy to see you, but I’m tired and this is a lot to take in. I’m sure I’ll see you around.’

  Everything inside me is urging me to strike, to convince him to hear me out, but the words turn to sand in my mouth. I’ve messed him around enough and if he needs some time, I have to let him have it.

  ‘Goodnight, Jay. And great performance.’

  ‘Cheers.’ With that, he leaves.

  A few seconds later, I’m engulfed in the comforting warmth of two strong arms wrapping themselves around me. My chest leaps as I spin around hoping Jay has realised he’s missed me and has come back to rekindle our romance.

  ‘He’s hurting. Give him some time.’

  ‘Paul,’ I say, trying to mask my disappointment.

  ‘Thought you might need a friend,’ he says with a sympathetic expression.

  ‘Yes.’ I smile. ‘More than ever.’

  As we walk through the backstage corridor to the theatre exit, Paul natters away without taking a breath. I am listening but I’m also thinking about Jay’s reaction, so I do miss bits.

  ‘So the others have gone off clubbing with some of the crew but they’re all dying to catch up, so we’re going to do a breakfast buffet tomorrow if you’re up for it?’ I hear him say.

  ‘Some things never change,’ I mutter. ‘But breakfast sounds good. Where’s Phil?’