One Hot Summer

by Heidi McLaughlin

  “No way,” Grace jumps in. “Nope. I’ve known you way too long. There’s something you aren’t saying.”

  I manage to drag out the questions and conversation all the way to our hotel room. When our heavy wooden door closes us inside, I fall against the wall. “He kissed me, which ... I know ... is totally ludicrous. I don’t even know his last name or how old he is, but that beach, it did something to my brain.”

  Both Grace and Macy are in shock by the look of their wide-eyes and dropped jaws. “You kissed a stranger? Alexa would never do something so wild,” Macy retorts. Macy wouldn’t do something so wild either. She’s not one to talk.

  “It was all that fear and adrenaline rushing through me I guess. I don’t know. He’s really sweet, and I fell, and I fell onto his lap, or ... he caught me I guess. There was this rock where unknown lovers etched their names. It just felt oddly, right.”

  At the very same time, Macy and Grace press their hands over their hearts. “That is so romantic.”

  “No. It wasn’t romantic. It was just awesome,” I correct them.

  “Whatever you want to call it. That stuff doesn’t just happen,” Grace coos.

  “Let’s put it behind us because we’re in Mexico. He lives in Mexico, and we’re going home in three days. It was just a kiss.” My heart thumps a bit at my words, my realization that something incredible happened, and there is no possibility of it being anything more than temporary.

  Temporary or not, I put a little extra effort into my wardrobe, hair, and makeup while getting ready for dinner. The hotel is all-inclusive, so aside from our excursion tomorrow, we will be doing nothing else but sauntering around the hotel grounds.

  “She’s got a crush,” Grace tells Macy. “She put on lipstick. You know things are getting serious.”

  Macy studies my face for a moment as I’m painting on a thin layer of gloss. “For someone who doesn’t care about makeup, you were very aware of what that shade does for your blue eyes, weren’t you?”

  “What are you talking about?” I ask, furrowing my brows at my reflection in the mirror.

  “You enjoy dressing up, don’t you? You just don’t think you have a reason to do so most of the time,” Grace jumps into the conversation.

  “Stop focusing on me, and go gush over there,” I tell them, pushing the bathroom door closed. Even with the door closed, I can still hear the incessant giggles.

  “We need to find out more about him,” Grace not-so-quietly says to Macy.

  “I’d pay him to move to Boston. With the smile on her face ...”

  “Hi, um, psycho-friends,” I say, poking my head out of the bathroom. “One, I can hear you. Two, I’ve known the guy for an hour. One. Hour. That is not a good reason to ask a man to move across the country. Why am I the single one? Seriously. You two are nuts.”

  6

  Dinner has been casual, lacking conversation about swoony men, and focusing on a where we see ourselves in ten years, kind of conversation.

  “I can’t believe we won’t be roommates in a few weeks,” Grace says with a sigh. She has been planning her wedding since before she met Rex. Her vision board comprises of decor and fixings for her country-style beach themed house she plans to buy, and she started that board at least a couple years ago. Grace will not miss us. She might say so, but playing house and getting married, having a family, it’s her dream coming true. “Are you guys going to look for a new roommate to replace me?”

  Macy glances over at me with a longing look, one I can’t decipher.

  Never mind, I have deciphered.

  Her face says to me, I don’t know how to break this to you, and I wasn’t planning to bring any of this up today, but I’m moving in with my new boy toy and you will have to figure out life on your own now.

  I am not thinking through the words that are about to spill out of my mouth: “I’m thinking about a change, anyway. My boss told me I can start working remotely, and it might be a good opportunity to travel a bit.”

  All lies.

  I would have to quit my job to move somewhere that I can afford to live because I can’t afford rent alone in Boston. I don’t want Macy or Grace to feel responsible for me or my job, however, so this little white lie, is healthiest for all involved.

  “You’re moving out on me?” Macy asks.

  Geez. I was trying to spare her of that question. What if I was serious about what I said? It could be my dream to be a poor nomad.

  “I—well, I thought you were about to say the same,” I tell her.

  “No, I was going to suggest that we look for another roommate,” she follows.

  “We can do that,” I tell her, feeling like a dog with my tail between my legs.

  “But you just said—”

  “I thought you were going to say something else, and I didn’t want you to feel bad.”

  “No, dummy,” she says, waving her hand at me like my thoughts are ridiculous. I still think she was going to say something else, but I’ll take her word for it.

  “Okay then, a new roommate it is.” Part of me liked the idea of quitting my job and becoming a nomad, but it isn’t the most stable idea.

  Our dessert comes out just as the three of us fall into an awkward silence. The three of us have never figured out how to accomplish this much quiet time.

  “The three of you look like you might have seen a ghost,” I hear from behind us.

  I haven’t known Lincoln long enough to recognize his voice, or I wouldn’t think, anyway, but my heart must have known because my pulse is racing before I turn to see his face, glowing under the candle-lit ambiance of this outdoor cantina.

  I wonder if he lives at the hotel or if he has multiple jobs at the hotel. He wasn’t at the concierge desk when we came to dinner, and I only know that because I might have glanced over.

  “You need tequila, don’t you?” he continues. “Has no one come over to offer you a taste?”

  “No, no one has offered us tequila,” Grace says with a giggle.

  “Well then, allow me to be the first.”

  Three shot glasses appear in the palm of Lincoln’s hand. He had them concealed until Grace agreed to the shots. He’s pouring the amber contents, proving he’s poured a shot a time or too. He hands each of us a shot glass and cups his hands around his mouth, hooting for the crowd’s attention.

  Macy and Grace are quick to down their shots, taking a lime from a small dish in the center of the table. I wondered why there was just a pile of limes sitting there.

  “What’s this all about?” Lincoln asks me, pointing to my shot. “Not your thing?”

  I narrow my eyes at him, trying to figure him out. He didn’t strike me as the shot slinging type earlier. He must notice my curiosity because he leans down and whispers in my ear. “Being the shot guy is good money,” he says.

  “Well then,” I tell him. “I don’t want to make you look bad.” I take the shot glass and swig the contents down, squeezing my eyes shut in hopes of not gagging it back up. I grab a lime and place it between my teeth.

  The taste sizzles and my stomach settles. The tequila is good.

  Music grows from the makeshift stage I spotted earlier. I hadn’t noticed a band setting up, but the sound of cultural tunes fills the air. People stand from their tables as if the music was an invitation, and they’re dancing wherever there is space to dance.

  Maybe the tequila is making me hallucinate.

  I’m hoping the tequila is making me hallucinate when Lincoln takes my hand and pulls me from my chair. “Mind if I borrow her for a blink?” he asks Macy and Grace.

  My two friends fail me when they tell Lincoln to take me wherever he intends to take me, which turns out to be no more than twenty feet away. His hand is around my waist, my body is pressed against his, and somehow, I’m dancing to a rhythm I didn’t know I was capable of dancing to.

  It takes me a minute to realize Lincoln is leading the way, carrying me along with him. He dances so well that he can completely contr
ol the way I’m dancing too. As the initial nerves simmer, I’m feeling everything—his body, the heat, his breath on my neck. I feel like I’m spinning in circles when I’m not sure I’m moving much more than I was a minute ago.

  “It’s important to experience the culture of wherever you are,” he whispers in my ear.

  “Are my friends laughing behind us?” I don’t know why it’s my only questions, but I’m imagining the looks on their faces. They’re both probably laughing, but also fanning themselves with the drink menus.

  “I don’t know. They look kind of jealous of you,” he says. His words tickle my ear.

  “Do you live on this property?” I ask him as our dance moves ease a touch.

  “For now,” he says. “Free room and board. It’s a good deal.”

  “It is a good deal,” I tell him.

  Lincoln’s hands stiffen as he pushes me away a few inches, creating enough space between us so he can look at me. “Why is there sadness in your eyes?”

  “It’s the tequila,” I lie, offering a laugh to enhance my response.

  “It’s not the tequila, Alexa. There’s sadness. I’m familiar with the expression and I’m curious.”

  “This—” I point between us, “doesn’t happen to me. I don’t jump from guy to guy looking for a good time.”

  “I didn’t think you were like that,” he agrees, “but that doesn’t explain your current state of mind.”

  “It’s you, okay?” I spill. I wouldn’t have said that if it wasn’t for the tequila, but I’ll keep that to myself.

  “Why me?” he questions as if he kind of knows, but needs to hear it from me.

  “I felt something earlier that I don’t think I’ve felt before and not more than an hour later, I had to tell myself to forget about it because nothing will ever come out of it.”

  “Why think about anything past today, Alexa?”

  “What?”

  “Who cares about forever or what’s next. What about what’s right now?” Isn’t life about planning and protecting our hearts and looking for a means of a good life?

  I don’t have a good response to offer.

  “No one knows what happens next, so I’m a firm believer in enjoying the now.” While I don’t completely agree, I understand what he’s saying.

  “I like you,” I tell him.

  “I like you,” he responds.

  Lincoln spins me around and points to Grace and Macy who are simultaneously drinking down tequila straight from the bottles of two bartenders. “See. They aren’t thinking about tomorrow,” he says, laughing.

  I cover my mouth, trying not to think about tomorrow, then also wondering how badly the hotel is going to smell tonight and tomorrow when the two lightweights are puking their brains out.

  “They aren’t big drinkers,” I tell Lincoln.

  “Well, they’re having fun right now though. Just go with it.”

  “Fine, then it’s my turn,” I tell him.

  “You sure, now?”

  “Fill me up,” I tell him.

  Lincoln's eyes widen and I realize my words can easily be taken out of context. “I mean with Tequila.” His eyebrow quirks. “A shot of tequila.”

  Lincoln releases a hearty laugh and dances us over to the walk-up bar. “Two shots of Jose,” he shouts to the bartender.

  “Linc, my man, what are you doing here tonight? You aren’t the clock?” the bartender responds.

  I tilt my head and glance up at him. “You aren’t working tonight?”

  Lincoln winks at me and takes the two shots. “It’s the only way I’d be able to drink with you. Plus, they don’t pay me to dance with gorgeous women.”

  With as much as Lincoln is making me blush, I feel the need to swig the tequila faster than the last shot. “This is good tequila,” I shout over the music.

  Except the music isn’t playing at the moment.

  Lincoln is laughing at my record-scratch production. “Tequila is always good here,” he replies.

  “Yeah it is,” Grace says. She and Macy have made their way over, dancing in circles around each other. I don’t remember the last time I’ve seen Macy tipsy, but it’s funny to watch. The two are dancing together.

  “You guys are hard-core partiers tonight,” I shout to them.

  “You should come home in our luggage,” Grace slurs to Lincoln.

  I toss my head back, mortified that she came out with that so soon, or at all. “Hmm, you want to pack me in your suitcase?” Lincoln plays with her.

  “I could do it,” she says.

  “Why would you want to bring me home with you?”

  “You make Alexa smile like we’ve never seen before,” Grace says, smiling with a sigh.

  I’m trying my hardest not to smile because I’m embarrassed and want Grace to stop, but she’s grinning from ear to ear waiting for me to bust at the seams. I keep myself together until Lincoln gazes down at me with a smile and traces the tip of his thumb down the side of my cheek. “You sure do have a beautiful smile. I can see why they’re so insistent on seeing it,” he tells me.

  “Tequila time!” I didn’t notice Macy had walked away, but wherever she was, she has come back with a bottle of tequila. “Who wants more?”

  “Hey, that’s my bottle,” Lincoln tells her. “I’ll do the pouring.”

  This can only go in one direction from here.

  7

  I have heard the country songs written about drinking tequila, and I have often laughed at them, wondering who the hell drinks so much that their clothes fall off.

  Well, I can now laugh at myself. I’m not sure I could tell the difference between my hotel room and another “upgraded” suite, but wherever the hell I am right now, must be an upgraded king, presidential, Louis Vuitton suite. The balcony doors are on hinges, opened to the wide-open ocean. The bed I’m in is definitely king-size, and … my stomach is making a gnarly sound.

  I press my eyelids open, forceful against the pressure. I look to each side of the bed I’m apparently slept in the middle of, but I find a half dozen pillows encasing me. The sheets still look intact on the right side of the bed. Where the hell am I?

  I push myself up against the headboard, slowly, and with no sudden movements. I see I’m wearing the tank-top I had on beneath my shirt last night, and at least there are boy shorts covering my ass.

  My gaze clears and I spot Lincoln to the right of the open balcony. He’s leaning into the guest chair in only his boxers. Scratching at his chin in contemplation, his focus is frozen on the water.

  His body is strikingly perfect, and his tan glows against the baby-blue color of his underwear. “Hi,” I croak, squinting an eye against the blinding sun.

  Lincoln twists his neck toward me. “Hey, sleepy.”

  “Why am I here?” is the first thing I ask.

  Lincoln laughs as if what I just asked is funny. It’s not funny at the moment though because I have a lot of questions I’m going to need to be answered in a very short amount of time before I freak the hell out. I have been scanning the room in search for proof of what went on in this bed, and I don’t know if I should worry or not that I don’t see any sign of a condom wrapper. “I didn’t think you would remember much of anything this morning,” he says.

  “Yeah, nothing is coming to me. Could you fill me in?”

  I’m clenching the bright-white sheets against my chest, nervous to hear what he has to say.

  “Well, Grace and Macy could hardly stand by the end of the night. Macy started vomiting. Grace told you to take your time in coming back to the room because she had Macy under control. You forgot your room number, room key, and ID, which meant the front desk would not help you until you came back with an ID. I tried to get them to make an exception but they won’t break their policy. So—”

  “Oh my God,” I sigh, running my fingers through my knotted hair.

  “It was either sleeping in the lobby which is frowned upon, bringing you back to Lover’s Beach, which didn’t soun
d like the best idea, or letting you have my bed for the night.”

  “Where did you sleep?” I counter.

  “Where would you have liked me to sleep?” He’s playing with me, and I’m wondering if I’ll find out the actual truth.

  “I—” don’t have an answer because this is his room, and I feel bad thinking he might have slept in a hard chair all night because of my irresponsible behavior.

  “I slept right here. Don’t worry,” he says, grinning.

  I’m a jerk. “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I should have been more careful last night.”

  “I left Grace and Macy a note under the door, telling them what happened. I left my phone number too.”

  I title my head to the side, taking a long glance at him. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

  “Life’s short,” he says. “Oh, and you yakked all over your clothes from last night. I rinsed them in the sink and hung them on the shower rod.”

  I place my hands over my eyes, embarrassed, once again. “I even held your hair. Women like that sort of thing, right?”

  I laugh against the palms of my hands, wondering why this man is trying so hard to be a good guy when I won’t see him after Sunday. “Thank you,” I mutter. “Sorry for that too.”

  “I ordered breakfast to be delivered to this room and your friends’ rooms. It’s a variety of hangover-wellness food. We actually have a secret menu item for it.”

  “I hope it works, or those ATVs won’t be seeing the best parts of us today.”

  Lincoln stands from his chair and stretches his arms above his head, showing off some artwork on his right side. I should stop staring at his body, but he’s asking for the attention as he saunters over to me and sits down at the edge of the bed. The slightest movement feels like a tidal wave trying to knock me down.

  Lincoln places his hand on my bare shoulder, and though it’s a warm sensation, chills are firing through my body. “You tried to take advantage of me last night,” he utters.

  My eyes grow wide. “What?”

  He leans down to the ground beside the bed and lifts his hand, showing me a condom pinched between his fingers. “Recognize this?”