Page 63 of Grand Escape

“We live at the beach.”

“I don’t want to go.”

“I don’t care.”

“I’m older.”

“I’m smarter.”

We argued this way all the way back to my place, where I dropped the papers on the chair and slipped my feet in metallic Birkenstocks. At Teddi’s insistence, I grabbed a lip gloss.

“Let’s roll.”

“We’re not picking up men,” I warned her as we walked toward the main drive.

Teddi stopped short and stared at me. “Why would we do that? You have a man.”

Not giving me a chance to respond, she left me behind as she crossed the drive toward a white Jeep and Tony.

I watched her explain, with her hands moving faster than her mouth, what we were doing and needed. Next thing I knew, Tony beckoned one of the valets over, handed him the keys to the Jeep, and told him to take us to the Ritz.

The minute our butts were seated at the bar of the Ritz-Carlton, Teddi turned to me. “Pitcher of sangria?”

She knew my weakness, for sure.

The Ritz had the most amazing peach sangria. I knew for a fact they used this expensive peach nectar I’d been trying to convince our bar manager to order, but he wasn’t a peach fan. Hans liked pear, so we served a pear margarita. I told him people didn’t care what he liked, and he’d rolled his eyes at me. I’d wear him down ... eventually.

I nodded at Teddi and surveyed the area.

Yacht rock played in the background. Under other circumstances, I probably wouldn’t know what yacht rock was, but I was a bartender at a place that catered to fifty-year-olds with money. “Baby Come Back” played through the speakers, and I couldn’t help my foot tapping the stool’s footrest underneath me.

Rather than twinkle lights like we had at the Grand, the Ritz had tall tiki torches, giving it a different kind of island vibe. Our place was more whimsically decadent, but this place was a posh fantasy for rich people on vacation. The Ritz touched on all the décor one would think should be in the Caribbean, while we created more of our own shabby-chic vibe.

“Hey, Ry.”

Glancing over, I swallowed a sigh. “Scott.” Of course, the one failed relationship I’d had was with the man who had just sat next to me.

“Teddi,” he said, greeting my friend.

Since we stopped dating, Scott had moved up from waiting tables to become a dining manager at the Ritz. He came by the Grand occasionally to say a friendly hello, but everyone knew he was checking things out. We all knew one another.

Teddi was busy ordering the sangria and asking for an order of tostadas when Scott called out to the bartender, “On the house.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I mumbled.

Running his hand through his thick hair, highlighted by the sun, he stared at me. “You don’t have to be so strong, Rylan. You don’t always have to be that girl. It’s okay to be human.”

I wanted to interrupt and say woman, but what was the use?

“Hey, cool it with the serious talk. We’re here for a girls’ night out,” Teddi said, coming to my rescue.

“And you chose my bar? Of all bars?” Scott joked, smirking.

“We did. Not that it’s better than our bar. It’s just different,” I joked back.

“There’s the bite we all love,” he said with a grin.

Like a wrecking ball to my brain, my head hurt immediately. I couldn’t help but think of Adam and when he said something like oh, she bites too.

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