by Shey Stahl
After you’re suited up, you step down a ladder to the ocean floor, and they guide you along. Walking along the ocean floor, I gain a new appreciation for the underwater world and how delicate the ocean is. I come face-to-face with animals I ordinarily would never see—I’m actually holding them in my hands. I even hold a pet grouper I want to take home with me. It’s like I’m Ariel in the Little Mermaid. If only I was as graceful as her and could sing, both of which doesn’t apply to me. Even under water I have a hard time keeping my balance, but if you’ve ever worn one of those helmets, you’d understand completely.
Pablo, the dive instructor, helps me pet a shark, even when I tell him I don’t want to. The only reason I do is because Jake calls me a pussy for not doing it, and the way the word “pussy” rolls off his tongue, I’d do anything for him. And as it turns out, Jake is right, they don’t bite me, though I still hold out belief, if given the day, they still might eat me.
As we’re getting out, I’m a little off balance. Walking on the ocean floor made me dizzy.
Jake notices when I’m struggling to get up the ladder. “Do you need some help?”
“I got this,” I tell him, completely convinced I do in fact have this.
I don’t. Not even a little. I slip off the second-to-last step and nail Jake right in the face with my foot.
I glance over my shoulder at him. “Whoops. Sorry about that.”
Jake says nothing and falls back into the water dramatically. Rolling my eyes, I get on the boat and gush over the experience with Pablo.
After a few minutes, Jake’s back on the boat glaring at me, and Pablo informs us it’s time to go, and I take my seat next to Jake.
“Wanna grab some dinner after this?” I ask, beaming with pride I tried something new today.
Jake doesn’t answer. I look over at him and burst out laughing at the bruise forming on his cheek. “What the hell happened to your eye?”
I’m given a look that screams, are you fucking kidding me? His jaw tightens and deep lines in his forehead present themselves. “You hit me with your foot when you slipped on the ladder.”
I laugh. “Sorry about that.” Gently, I try to reach out and touch it, only to have him slap my hand way. “It’s really swelling up. Maybe you should ice it.”
He reaches for a towel hung over the side of the boat and wipes water from his face, but says nothing. Like I’ve pissed him off.
“I said I was sorry.”
He grunts, then barks out, “Uh-huh.”
“I really am sorry.”
“Shut up while you’re ahead,” he mumbles, annoyed.
I realize then Island Boy has a temper yes, but he’s a bit of an island baby too.
Smiling, I nudge his shoulder with mine, draping a dry towel over my legs. “You’re angry when you get hurt, aren’t you?”
Turning his head, he gapes at me like I’ve lost my mind. “You kicked me in the fucking eye.”
I wave him off. “Don’t exaggerate. I bumped your eye.”
He points an angry finger to his eye, giving me a glare. “Does that goddamn look like a bump?”
I can’t help the rush of giggles that break out. With the way his hair is wet and all over the place from the wind and then the purple swollen eye, it’s too much for me to keep a straight face. “It’s like you’re a pirate.”
“Fuck off,” he says, pushing me away from him, using his palm to cover my face.
2 parts Flor de Caña® 4 Year Rum
1 ½ parts The Perfect Purée® Passion Fruit Purée (diluted 1:1 with water)
1 ½ parts scratch sour mix
¾ part orgeat syrup (preferably Trader Vic’s®
2 dashes of cherry bitters
Build in a shaker
Add ice
Shake well until chilled
Strain over fresh ice.
Jake, and his black eye, take me through the straw market after that. He still likes me, despite his battle wound.
“Lady… pretty lady….” People shout, attempting to draw me toward them. They use the word “lady” a lot.
Everywhere I look, they’re calling out lady to get me to buy something else. “See something you like? Everything is on sale, man. Braid your hair for a dollar, pretty lady?” And then to my right, “C’mere, sweetie, let me sell you a baseball cap that says ‘the Bahamas.’”
Some of it’s actually stuff I would have bought, had they not been hounding me. I do find a dress I like in a soft cotton material, similar to the one I wore the night I met Jake. You know, the one he ripped off me.
“You should buy this for me, since you destroyed my other dress,” I tease, wrapping my arm in Jake’s firm hold. I love the way my arm feels gliding against his soft skin, sprinkled with the light dusting of hair.
Jake smiles, admiring the dress and then me. “It’s nice.”
“How much?” I ask, opening my purse. I’m only kidding about him paying for it. I would have never allowed it.
“Fifty,” the woman in her too-tight black tank top says, watching Jake. I think she knows he’s from around here, and her only chance at getting me to actually pay fifty for the dress would be to convince him.
Keeping his eyes on the woman, Jake whispers in my ear, “Work ’em. They’re workin’ you.”
I never thought of it that way. He’s right and we, as in Jake and I, work them down to thirty for the dress, which Jake buys for me despite me adamantly telling him not to. Turns out, my opinion doesn’t matter when it comes to letting a guy buy me something. His words, not mine.
“Thanks for that,” I tell him as we walk around with my new dress, taking in the rest of the straw market. “I’m always so cynical.”
“I don’t think you’re cynical at all. I think you’re controlling, yes, but cynical….” Jake shakes his head, adjusting his baseball hat. “No. Sexy? Yes.”
“Whoa. Hold up.” Stopping in front of him, I place my hands on his chest. “Say that last one again.”
“Sexy?” His eyebrows lift.
I grin, nodding. “Yes, that one.”
“Of course that’s the one you heard.”
“Well, naturally, who wouldn’t want to be told they’re sexy?” I turn back around and begin walking ahead of him.
“Hmm….” Jake considers my words for a moment and then places his heavy arm over my bare shoulders. “I like a girl who can take adoration in an unpretentious way.”
I laugh. “Are you saying I’m conceited?”
“No. I’m saying you’re confident. There’s a difference.”
“Is there?”
“Yes.” His arm tightens, squeezing me to his side. “You’ve ruined me. In just three days, you’ve fucking ruined me,” he whispers in an almost teasing manner, but still, it feels as if there’s truth in his words. “I’ll never be the same. I’m always going to want a woman telling me what to do.” He groans, his lips pressing to my temple. “Tell me something dirty,” he demands, growling in my ear, his hands low on my back now and going lower.
“Kiss my cheek.”
“That’s not dirty.”
I raise an eyebrow. “It could be. You don’t know which cheek I was referring to.”
He laughs, low and throaty. “I’ll kiss your ass cheek if you let me stick my dick in your ass.”
“Oh, now see, don’t get greedy.”
“I’m not greedy.” The contours of his body press against mine. “I’m horny. There’s a difference.”
“We’ve already done it twice today, dude.”
“That’s not nearly enough when it comes to you.” He twirls me then, spinning me to face him as we pass by a live band on the street, his hips swaying with the palm trees.
Laughing, I gaze into his eyes and helplessly fall a little more for island life and this guy who knows exactly what to say and when to say it.
As we dance in the street, his damp hand slides to the nape of my neck and draws me in for a kiss. Every one of his kisses gets me. I don’t want to
get attached to this feeling I have, but this Jake drug addiction isn’t going to be an easy habit to break. Time isn’t on my side, and falling deeper is inevitable the more time I spend with him.
We end up going to Jake’s house after the straw market, and I change into my dress. He says he’s taking me to dinner. I’m literally only in his house long enough to change, and then he’s pushing me out the door. I have a feeling he doesn’t want me seeing it. I do get a peek at it though. It’s a small house, light blue with no lawn, just dirt and one palm tree outside the one window that faces the street. Inside were what looked to be two bedrooms and a tiny bathroom. And that was all I saw. No pictures on the walls, no homey feel to it, but I’ll give him this, it was tidy.
Unsure why he didn’t want me seeing it, I don’t press for details and instead go with it.
We have dinner at a small street-side café, but that isn’t what catches my attention. It’s the walking on the beach and our conversation.
“So you spent the day with me, took me to lunch and dinner, now a romantic stroll on the beach.” I bump into his shoulder as we walk, rocking him slightly. “Some would think this is a date.”
“Don’t think,” he says, the sun behind his head so I have to squint to see his face. “Just enjoy this for what it is.”
And that is? Smiling, I continue to squint at the sun hanging low in the sky, the air thick with humidity, my mind wandering.
My voice is a strained whisper as I ask, “What is this, then?”
Jake shrugs one shoulder, the corners of his lips twitching, but it doesn’t appear to be from amusement. “It’s whatever you want it to be.” We stop walking, and he pulls his hand away from mine, cupping my cheek. Tipping his head to one side, his bottom lip catches between his teeth. “Anything you want,” he says, simply, leaving me with a choice.
My heart jumps in my throat, unsure what he’s talking about. I think he’s avoiding the question… or playing with my head. Not sure. “And what does it mean to you?” I hint, needing to know. I desperately need him to just say it.
But he doesn’t, because he wouldn’t be Island Boy if he didn’t mess with me. Dropping his hand, he traps me in his stare again, his silence unnerving. I take a deep, shaky breath, waiting.
A smirk plays on his lips. “I think you know what it means to me.” And then he starts walking again, dragging me with him by my hand.
We continue our path up the beach until we’re at the same part of the beach where we’d been the last two nights. My hotel to my left, his life and whatever that holds to the right. The sun has long set, night taking over, and I can’t think of anywhere in the world more perfect than right here, with him.
Instead of going back to my hotel, he sits down in the sand, which surprises me. It’s nearing ten, and he doesn’t seem to want the night to end.
Tucking my dress under by butt, I sit next to him. “Is it always so beautiful here?”
“No, not always. The season is actually from December to May. Hurricane season is June to late November. It’s not that beautiful then.”
“Are there many hurricanes?”
Leaning forward, he picks up a handful of sand and lets it sift through his fingers. “Not a lot. Florida gets more than we do.”
“What’s spring break like?” Again, I think I’m nervous because I tend to switch conversations quickly when I’m nervous. Like now.
“Wild. Parties, naked girls, asshole frat boys.” He sighs, almost sounding annoyed. “I hate spring break here. Everybody gets stupid and makes irrational decisions.”
“Kind of like Vegas?”
“Exactly like Vegas,” he agrees, his head twisting toward mine.
“One of my clients was telling me that he was here on spring break, and he kept seeing college kids having sex on the beach.” I giggle, the thought making me shiver.
Lying back, he stretches out his legs in the sand and stares up at the sky. “Why won’t you have sex in the sand? Isn’t that every girl’s dream?”
“Maybe some.” I relax back in the sand like he did and immediately regret it. My back’s sunburnt. “But I’m not every girl.”
“No, you’re not.” He speaks softly, a smile to his tone.
“What do your friends think of you taking the city girl out every night?”
He turns away, breaking our gaze. “Who fucking cares what they think?” His voice is rougher now. “You get one life, Kendall. One. That’s it. Who cares what anyone thinks about what you’re doin’? If you’re happy, that’s all that should ever matter.”
Jake’s words always seem way older than he is. Like he’s lived a thousand lives before this one and brought all that knowledge with him. Sometimes I’m not even sure we’re in the same conversation. But then when you think about what he’s saying, let the information absorb, everything makes perfect sense.
With our toes in the sand, Jake gestures up the beach a few feet. I follow to where he’s pointing to see a turtle digging a hole large enough for her to lie in. “What’s she doing?”
“Laying her eggs.”
When she’s finished, she scoops sand over the top of the eggs in an effort to conceal them. After hiding them, she returns to the sea, moving in a slow waddle.
I look over at Jake, amazed by what I’ve just witnessed. “That’s really cool. How many eggs do you think she put in there?”
“Like, a hundred.” He shrugs again. “Zain and I dug them up once when we were kids.”
My mouth hangs open in shock. “Jake!”
“They all died too. It was fucking awful.” He laughs, holding up his palms. “Hey, we didn’t know. I had no idea they were baby turtles. I was, like, five and I felt horrible about it. I think I even cried.”
I try really hard not to laugh at his look of horrification that one, he admitted to crying, and two, that I’m laughing at him. “How will she know where she left them?”
“She doesn’t need to find them. But they can detect magnetic pull. Something with their navigational ability allows them to sense it.” Leaning over, he brushes the hair from my face to see my eyes. “She’ll always know exactly where they are.”
Don’t fall in love with this guy, Kendall. Don’t! Clearing my throat, I ask, “Does she come back for them?”
“No. Once she lays her eggs, she never returns. They’re left to find the ocean themselves.”
“How do they find the ocean?”
“They’re guided by light,” he whispers, his lips barely moving as he kisses my exposed shoulder. “They’re guided by the brightest light—the moonlight as it reflects off the ocean.”
“How has a girl not snatched you up yet?” I watch his eyes scan over my face.
Another shrug, barely acknowledging my question, and instead leaning in to kiss me.
Jake’s kisses never fail to gain a reaction out of me. Full of emotion and sensuality, he pours himself into his kisses, making up for the words his lips hold captive.
1½ parts Tommy Bahama Golden Sun® rum
1 part mango rum
1½ parts pineapple juice
½ part fresh-squeezed lime juice
½ part simple syrup
2 dashes of Angostura® bitters
Mix all together over ice, served in a double rocks glass, garnished with a lemon twist.
Most people, even me, would never believe you can fall for someone in a matter of days. They don’t believe in love at first sight. I never did. But I’m starting to. After being here four days and spending every one of them with Island Boy, I’m starting to.
I’m hesitant, though. I’m not naïve. I know Jake is here to show people a good time. And that sucks for me, because I don’t know what’s real and what’s just for show. You know, it’s exactly like if you took the movie Cocktail and then combined that with Dirty Dancing, that’s my life, and damn it, nobody puts baby in the corner.
Sitting in the bar in my usual spot, not the corner, I say, without thinking, “I bet you see a lot of brok
en hearts here, huh? People drinking their problems away.”
Jake laughs, the sound low and throaty. He’s wearing a black shirt tonight, and it’s goddamn beautiful the way it clings to his tattooed biceps. “Yeah, there’s a lot of ’em who come here looking for a one-night thing. It doesn’t matter how you look at it, Kendall. A heart is always on the line.”
Sometimes when you’re falling for someone, or in my case, trying really hard not to, one moment can seal the deal and coat your dry island-burnt lips with sugar-sweet words. That one moment sends you over the edge, and you know for sure you’ve fallen.
Flustered, I stare at the menu before me and smile. “What’s next?”
“Heartbreaker.”
“How fitting.”
He grins. Nothing more. Just a flirty fucking grin I want to kiss off his hot face.
“So how’s it made, then?” I’m curious about this bartending thing. Jake made me curious. He’s so passionate about it.
He gestures behind the bar. “Come back here and I’ll show you.”
“Isn’t that illegal?”
“Why would it be? My dad owns the bar. Doubt he’d care.”
More excited than I need to be, I get behind the bar, and I learn a lot that night from him and Nash. Chasers, cocktails, beer, on the rocks, straight up, all terms I’m taught. I break two bottles of whiskey and one bottle of bourbon. I swear to his dad I will pay for it, only to have him inform me Jake holds the record for the most bottles of booze dropped in one night. Seventeen.
“What the fuck were you doing?” I ask, sensing the story behind those seventeen bottles is a good one.
Leaning against the bar with crossed arms, Nash lets out a boisterous laugh. “He went through a phase when he was twenty-one where he thought he was Tom Cruise.”
I can’t help myself and join in the laughter, picturing Jake acting out the scene from the nightclub and doing a little speech on the bar. My hand covers my mouth, trying to rein myself in. “Can you do a speech on the bar?”
“No, fuck off,” he mumbles, walking away as if I’ve hurt his feelings. He returns though and dances with me on the bar instead. Completely inappropriate for a business establishment, but I’m beginning to understand anything goes at the Sand Bar.