Page 17 of Their Last Resort

“Back.”

“How do you take your coffee?” She slashes her hand through the air and steps closer. “Wait, I already know that. What’s your favorite meal?” She starts talking faster, excited. “No! Wait, it’s steak. I know that too. Damn it! I change my question! Where do you take girls on first dates?!That’swhat I want to know.”

She’s nearly panting with exertion by the time she finally pauses long enough for me to answer.

“You are so weird.”

I say it like it’s a compliment because it is.

She laces her fingers together in desperation. “Please tell me. The morgue!” she guesses. “The cemetery. A sad modern-art exhibit ... a long-winded lecture on actuarial science ...”

I’m already cutting past her to continue with my day. “Bye, Paige.”

“A crumbling war memorial!” she calls out after me.

Because my back’s to her, she doesn’t see my smile.

Chapter Seven

PAIGE

On our days off, staff members at Siesta Playa are allowed to enjoy resort amenities so long as we follow two rules. The first is that we can play tennis or basketball on the sports courts, lie out on the private beaches, swim in any of the resort pools—all of the above—as long as we don’t get in the way of any guests. If they want the tennis court, it’s theirs. If they need the lounger I’ve claimed, oh well. The second rule is that we can’t cost the resort money. No free food or drinks are allowed outside the staff cafeteria. It’s why I’m guzzling water instead of some fruity cocktail adorned with a frilly umbrella straw. I can’t afford a fifteen-dollar margarita on a regular Wednesday! Are you insane?In this economy?

There are three pools total at Siesta Playa. One is for adults only and, thus, pretty boring. Picture crusty old dudes with sunburns layered over fading upper-back tattoos. Another pool is geared toward children, replete with a ginormous play structure and eight water slides and, thus, a littletoocrazy. Then there’s this one, the perfect Goldilocks compromise. It’s large and centrally located and accepting of everyone. There’s always fun dance music streaming through the speakers, and there’s usually enough of a crowd that it provides a good backdrop forpeople watching. Lara and I have been here since the late morning. We scoped out the best lounge chairs and set up shop as close as we could get to the grotto. This was no coincidence, of course. Blaze is working today. I wore a bikini I borrowed from Lara. It’s pink and made of mere scraps. It should be illegal. I have to stay in the water because I’m scared of walking the short distance from here to my lounge chair; there’s no telling what will pop out.

The bikini seemed like a good idea this morning. Now, I just feel Naked and AfraidTM.

I have a clear view of Blaze while he works behind the bar counter. He smiles easily at a customer, and I’m reminded of his easygoing nature. Guests and hotel staffalllike him.Ilike him. While he might be chiseled steel on the outside, inside he’s made of soft plush. More than that, I don’t have to prepare myself for battle when we speak,unlike with Cole. Not to mention, he’ssocute in his uniform. It’s the same standard-issue short-sleeved black button-down tucked into black shorts that everyone else wears, too, but he’s made it his own. For example: he has a little gold necklace hanging around his neck. A pen tucked behind his right ear. Okay, really that’s it, just those two things, but I feel like he’s so unique and different.

“Don’t you think he’sso unique and different?”

“Please stop.”

Lara can’t do it anymore. She’s been here with me for hours. She wants to drown herself to get away from my incessant chatter about Blaze. But I’m sorry, it’s called friendship. Suffer, bitch.

Lara’s leaning over the side of the pool, occupying herself by scrolling on her phone while I keep a not-so-surreptitious eye on Blaze behind the bar.

“We’ve been pretty lucky so far this hurricane season,” Lara muses out loud. She must be on her weather app. She checks it a lot. She’s a constant worrier when it comes to tropical storms. If there’s so much as a rain cloud in the sky, she’s going to duck for cover. “But storm watchers are tracking—”

. . .gibberish. . .boring. . .don’t care. . .

“Uh-huh.”

“It could be really bad. Winds atreallyhigh speeds. Atonof rain.”

“Oh no,” I say with absolutely no inflection.

Then, as if someone just personally insulted me and my entire family, I explode with “Are you kidding me?!”

Some huge dude just plopped himself down on a barstool directly in front of me, blocking my view of Blaze. The guy has to be at least six foot five, built like a horse. His shoulders could span the width of the Grand Canyon. Is this a joke?

“Sit somewhere else, guy!”

Fortunately, (a) he can’t hear me over the music, and (b) my view isn’t blocked for long. Blaze moves to grab a bottle opener so he can pop the cap off a beer. Then he looks over and spots us. It’s the first time he’s looked this way all morning, and unfortunately, I’m still wearing the scowl I was aiming at the big guy. Ah! I quickly relax my features into a flirty smile. Then I wave.

He holds up his finger as if he wants us to wait; then he goes back to making drinks.

“Oh my god.Oh my god.He’s going to come over here!”

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