Every Girl Does It

by Rachel Van Dyken

  “Brad and Kristin Holland checking in for four,” Brad says as he and Kristin approach the giant desk in the lobby. My mouth is still open. Mrs. Butterworth is now back in her cage patiently waiting for me to free her in the room.

  Preston comes up beside me and asks, “What do you think? Beautiful, right?”

  I smile and get ready to answer, but instead of words all I can do is nod. How can he already be that tan? We’ve been here five minutes and he already looks more tan than me. Guys should not be allowed to be prettier than girls; it just isn’t right, or fair.

  My assumption about his good looks is confirmed as I watch several girls in swimsuits walk by and drop open their mouths. I even hear someone whisper “celebrities”. They can’t be talking about me, only him. The dark-hair-blue-eyed look I have is quite exotic, but that’s all I have going for me considering I’m shorter than most kids in middle school. He, however, has a whole lot of everything going on, from his tall build to his perfect hair and teeth. He needs to be humbled. And I now feel the need to be the person through whom that humbling comes. Not that I haven’t tried, mind you. It’s just hard not to get sidetracked around him.

  “So,” Kristin says with a strained voice as she approaches us. Uh-oh, something is definitely wrong. “They double booked everything, which is fine.” She puts up her hands so I don’t panic, “It's fine. It’s just that you guys didn’t get the rooms you wanted. Actually, none of us did.”

  I look to Brad for some sort of hint as to what is going on, but he just shrugs and smiles; figures.

  “Where are we staying then?” I ask.

  Brad and Kristin laugh awkwardly before giving us our room keys. Kristin hands me mine then says, “You’re both staying in their resort huts outside. Well, have fun. Meet us for dinner at five. Bye.”

  And then, just like that, they’re gone, leaving me and Preston with Mrs. Butterworth.

  “What exactly,” Preston muses while opening his pamphlet with the key card, “is a resort hut?”

  “Well, I guess we’re about to find out.” Pointing at the little sign that says, ”Resort Huts this way”, I motion to him and grab my stuff. As long as there are no bugs, I’ll be fine.

  Upon arriving at our little hut, I realize I’m more than fine. It’s beautiful! Except…“Preston?” I ask, trying not to sound scared. “What number does your hut key have?”

  “Five. Why?” He asks leading me down the pathway.

  I’m going to kill them. I’ll absolutely kill them.

  “Oh, no reason…well, except mine says five, too.”

  “We can’t stay in the same hut, Amanda. It’ll look bad,” he says shrugging, as if to say, “Find somewhere else to stay. I’m taking the hut.”

  “I agree.” I catch up to him. “But she said it's overbooked.”

  “Let’s at least go inside before we jump to conclusions,” Preston answers while unlocking the door.

  And I know it’s silly to hear music when you see things as if you’re in a good movie, but I could swear at this moment, I hear music.

  It isn’t just hut number five. It is honeymoon hut number five. Awesome. This could not get any worse. My only saving grace is the fact that there are two bedrooms in the hut, meaning I can lock my door every night. The entire living room is open to the outside, but there are nets you could pull down at night. It also leads directly to the pool, giving us a fantastic view of the waterfalls.

  “This—“I start to say.

  “—is awesome,” Preston finishes. “We have to stay here,“ He adds as he throws his stuff into the main room.

  “Um, excuse me,” I say, putting my hands on my hips.

  “What?” He asks truly not getting my sarcasm.

  “What makes you think you get the big room?”

  He shrugs. “Easy, because I’m bigger.”

  He has a point. I’m not going to back down without a fight. “Okay fine,” I say, throwing my stuff onto the couch. “Let’s paper rock scissor for it.”

  “You’re on.” He puts his hand into position then glares at me with those green eyes.

  “Paper, Rock, Scissor,” we say at the same time.

  “Hah! Scissor.” I yell as I cut through his paper. We go two more rounds, and I win. Then he does the most uncharacteristic thing I’ve ever seen him do. He takes my hands in his and gives me puppy dog eyes. He makes himself cry one single tear then leans in close and says, “Please, Amanda, pretty please may I have the room.”

  My heart has stopped. Somebody call a paramedic; blood is no longer pumping through my system. “You irritate me,” I say breathless, willing the blood to return to my face and legs. My legs go weak and I collapse. Unbelievable, I can’t believe I just did that.

  His body is so warm so inviting and strong. I hate myself for wanting to be held by him. Instead he steadies me onto my feet and winks. “I was just kidding but maybe I should try that trick more often on you. It seemed to work considering you were putty in my oh so capable hands.”

  He should be slapped. I lift my hand to slap him just as he grabs it in his own. Then before I know it, he’s kissing me, and not a friendly kiss either. It’s a fireman kiss. A big girl kiss, if you will. The kind that leaves you breathless and aching for more. His lips are hot and possessive as he cups the back of my head with his hands. I should be pulling away, but I can’t seem to find the will power to do anything except return his intoxicating kiss. The pent up tension from the plane ride threatens to escape as he deepens the kiss. Alarms are going off in my head, yet I’m finding it difficult to remember my own name. The thought hazily occurs to me that he’s kissing me to provoke me.

  I force my lips to pull from his, even though my entire body screams in protest, and successfully slap him across the face.

  He’s breathing heavily as he answers, “That didn’t hurt.” He turns to walk into the small bedroom then laughs to himself. “I told you so.”

  “What do you mean you told me so?” I yell after him.

  “I knew you wanted to kiss me.” With that, he closes the door leaving me still stinging from the touch of his lips on mine. What was that?

  Growling out of frustration, I slam the door to my bedroom. Once there I decide that now is as good of time as any to put on my bathing suit and soak up some sun. I put on my brand new green swimsuit from Guess and wrap my towel around my waist. Then I grab my sunglasses and stroll from my room only to stop dead in my tracks. In the living room is a very bare-chested man waiting for me.

  “There you are,” Preston says, putting his Armani sunglasses on. What is it with this guy and name brand everything? I scowl as I notice that he’s dressed to go swimming as well. “I thought we should go swimming before dinner. Get a little bit of that aggression out, if you know what I mean.”

  I nod my head and follow before he turns around to face me. “Plus, I think there’s a lot of tension between us. It might be good for us to swim for a while, unless you had other activities in mind.” His smile deepens as my face turns crimson.

  “Nope. Swimming’s fine,” I answer and stride out toward the pool as fast as possible.

  “Where’s the fire?” He calls, trying to catch up to me.

  “Ha, ha. So funny.” I put on my large black sunglasses, looking to hold on to a little of my dignity.

  He winks in return and leads me to a few lounge chairs. The air is thick like honey making it pleasurable to breathe. It feels good to relax. As I check my phone for messages, I notice Bobby has emailed me again, but after the infruriating kiss from Preston my heart just isn’t in it. It occurs to me that this is one path better left untaken, again.

  As if on cue, Preston turns to bestow on me the most sensual smile known to mankind. The man should really come with a warning label plastered across his forehead before he gives some poor old lady a stroke.

  “Sir?” A high pitched voice interrupts my thoughts as I squint to see whose is addressing Preston as “sir”. Wincing, I see it’s one of the girls f
rom the lobby. She has on a bikini which looks like it’s been shrunk three times before being worn, and her eyes are hidden by too big sunglasses. She’s chewing her gum so hard that my jaw hurts, and to top it all off, she’s looking at Preston like he is Brad Pitt. Which, maybe according to this girl, he is.

  “Yes?” Preston asks dumbfounded.

  “Can I have your autograph?”

  “My autograph?” He asks, looking back at her.

  She nods her head and smiles, “Well, both of you guys’ autographs. I swear, nobody is going to believe me when I tell them!”

  “Tell them what, exactly?” I ask. Now I’m curious. Who does she think we are?

  She shrugs and answers as if we’re the slow ones. “That I met Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie on vacation. So where are your kids? Are they, like, back in the states?” We are in the states, is what I want to say, but I can’t, because that would make Angelina Jolie look bad, not me.

  “You think we’re–” I begin to say, but Preston cuts me off.

  “Sure thing! Do you have a marker, pen, or something?” Preston asks looking at the girl with indulgent eyes.

  “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe it. This is like so cool.” She pops her gum as she pulls out a sharpie then hands us headshots of Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt. Now I see why she thought he was Brad Pitt. The picture is one from his last movie where he dyed his hair dark, no wonder she thinks he looks like Brad Pitt, the resemblance is almost creepy. While I’m not built like Angelina Jolie, a girl could get used to being compared to her.

  Signing my—or rather Angelina’s name, I say a silent prayer that I’m not doing anything illegal. Preston smiles as she runs away, probably rushing to tell her friends. Then to my horror I realize she’s pointing at us and talking rather loudly to the hotel staff. Well, maybe they’ll upgrade us.

  I shake my head in disbelief as I look to Preston. He just smiles and nods as if to say, “yeah I get that a lot”. Wow, humility is his strong suit; or not.

  “You need to be brought down a few levels.” Snorting, I open up my magazine and try not to be violent toward his arrogant smirk.

  Preston leans over close to my chair. “Are you offering?”

  I meet his gaze, yet all I can think is how he’s the most handsome man I’ve ever seen up close.

  “Did you have plastic surgery? Because you know you can only do so much to the outside, it’s what’s on the inside that counts.” Wow, if that isn’t me channeling Grandma Ned. I feel like a Sunday school teacher.

  “Aw, you’re too sweet. You mean you’d like me just based on my personality?”

  “No!” I yell a little too loud. “Your personality is narcissistic and selfish.” I shake my head and wonder when this guy will get a clue.

  He grabs my hand and begins caressing the top of it. I tell my body to pull my hand away, but instead it just stays there; even my own body is a traitor. “Challenge—”

  “If you say accepted, I’m throwing you in the pool,” I snap.

  “Okay.” He shrugs.

  Leaning back in my chair, I close my eyes then I feel the sun being blocked from my body. As I pull off my sunglasses, I see Preston hovering over me like a lion does to a zebra before it pounces.

  He leans in too close for comfort and whispers, “Accepted.”

  I throw down my magazine and lunge for him. Unfortunately, I’m quite small, and compared to him, I never stood a chance. But being the good sport he is, he decides to jump in after he pushes me into the pool. Then I notice a few cameras go off, and to my ultimate embarrassment, I realize people still think we’re stupid celebrities. Please, Lord, help this not make the papers.

  Bringing myself back to reality, I grab a towel before lying down again. “Exactly what,” I ask as I towel dry my hair, “have you accepted as a challenge?”

  “To woo you.” Preston answers without looking in my direction.

  “Woo me?” I repeat. This ought to be good.

  “Yes woo, as in I’m going to knock you off your feet. I can tell this whole witty banter thing going on between us isn’t enough for you. My, my, you are needy. So I’ll also woo you. You’ll be begging for me to kiss you by the end of this trip.”

  “Overconfident?” I laugh.

  “Not at all.” He smiles.

  “There you guys are!” A female voice exclaims.

  I look up to see Brad and Kristin approaching. Giving them a weak wave, I take off my sunglasses to fully glare at my best friend. She owes me coffee for life, then again I do get to stare at Mr. December for the rest of the week, so it won’t be too bad. Except he infuriates me and makes me want to cut off parts of him and feed them to Mrs. Butterworth. At least I didn’t say that out loud.

  Kristin mouths a “Sorry” my way before sitting next to me. “You’ll never believe what we heard.” Her voice is high pitched and airy, it’s obviously good news.

  “What?” I ask equally excited.

  “Get this!” Her hands are in front of my face as she tries to show me with her body just how big of a deal this news is. “Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie are staying at our hotel.” She puts her hands over her mouth in shock as my eyes widen in something entirely different.

  Preston is the first to break the silence. “You don’t say? How do you know?” He’s now looking directly at me with a smugness that is so irritating I need to push him in the pool, again.

  “Well,” Brad interrupts. “We heard they were out here just a bit ago signing autographs. Some teenage girl is running around the hotel showing everyone. I think she might've even called the local news, I can’t be sure though. She was talking way too fast.”

  Almost choking on my spit, I try to digest the information. “So, reporters might be coming?” I croak out as I glare at Preston again. He shrugs his shoulders as if to say “no big deal.”

  “Yeah, but I mean, I’m sure they are going to hear about it and switch hotels. We just thought we could catch a glimpse of them before they took off.” Brad puts his hand on Kristin’s knee and smiles.

  “Hey.” he looks back toward us. “You guys didn’t happen to see them, did you?”

  Just as I open my mouth to reply, Preston covers it with his hand.

  “Nope,” Preston lies. “I did hear they were going to make an appearance at the same restaurant as us tonight though.”

  My breathing becomes rapid as the understanding of what he’s saying becomes painfully clear. We aren’t going to dinner as Preston and Amanda. We’re going as Brad and Angelina.

  Kristin and Brad exchange shocked looks as I mumble under my breath, “Challenge accepted.” And to my surprise I see Preston’s face light up into the most gorgeous smile I’ve ever seen. Maybe this isn’t such a bad idea after all.

  Chapter Eleven

  No way, I’m not wearing that! This I’m thinking to myself as my hand trails down the rough fabric of the dress. Preston had gone shopping earlier, and unbeknownst to me bought an Angelina lookalike dress. He did a pretty good job. The black leather dress somehow looks classy, and the neckline isn’t too low, but the slit up the side isn’t as modest. People could almost see up my dress.

  “You ready yet?” Preston calls as he knocks on my bedroom door. My heart is pounding out of my chest. We lied to Kristin and Brad. We told them we were too tired to go to dinner, and they were more than excited to have a dinner date on their own. The plan is to wear sunglasses throughout the night so nobody suspects anything different. It should work, considering we’re eating so early.

  I put on the dress and look in the mirror. It’s shocking how much I can resemble Angelina. She’s a lot taller, she also has tattoos, which Preston is convinced he can draw on me with a sharpie, we’ll see about that. But I could easily pass for her shorter twin. Oddly, this is something I’ve never noticed before today.

  All in all, I feel like I look all right. I do my makeup as best I can and put on the strappy high heels Preston bought with the dress. As I open my bedroom door, I gasp. I’m
face to face with Brad Pitt, and I don’t mean he kind of resembles Brad Pitt. No, he’s full on channeling celebrity right now. He’s done his hair in a sloppy fashion, let his five o clock shadow grow a little on his face, and don’t even get me started on the tan. He’s wearing a khaki suit resembling something I saw on Ocean's Eleven and is now holding his hand out for me.

  Why am I shaking? There’s no way I’m going to be able to do this, let alone look at him all evening without letting my jaw drop. He has me do a little twirl before he smiles and kisses me on the cheek. My tongue goes numb, therefore speech isn’t an option right now.

  He breaks the silence “You look absolutely stunning.” And I think he means it because there’s no smugness behind his eyes, but there’s something else I can’t identify.

  “Stop overanalyzing me and sit down,” Preston says, breaking the moment.

  I roll my eyes and sit. “What are you doing?” I ask as he pulls out a sharpie. There's a brief glimmer of hope that perhaps he had forgotten about the tattoos I needed to carry off the disguise.

  “She,” he says as the sharpie touches my skin, “only has two visible tattoos when she wears dresses like this.”

  I roll my eyes. “How would you know?”

  “TMZ,” he answers before finishing off the first tattoo.

  “I think I underestimated you.” I shake my head.

  “You always have,” he says wistfully before starting on the next tattoo. Although I hate to admit it, this does feel kind of fun. He puts the sharpie down and looks at my slit. He lets out a big sigh before letting his hand run on the inside part of my knee. It makes me want to jump on him, and I don’t know why. Sometimes he has that effect on me; either I want to kill him, or I want to steal his virtue. That can’t be a good sign.

  “What’s wrong?” Assuming he must think I look terrible or he wouldn’t have such an upset look on his face.