Page 11 of Chasing Lynda

He looks vaguely familiar but there’s no way I know him. I keep to myself and shy away from other people, just in case someone calls the number on the flyers and the countless social media alerts that offer a reward for information on my whereabouts.

My fight or flight instinct kicks in and it’s firmly set on “flight,” however the man grabs my wrist with gentle but firm fingers, keeping me from getting away.

4.

A Girl In Need

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Carter

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DODGE NEEDS TO FIRE the asshole that his dad had hired to manage the resort.

I don’t like Monroe at all. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but just looking at the numbers in the books, the guy is either lazy, incompetent or both. Of course there’s a third option, that he might be doctoring the books and helping himself to some of the profits, but I’ll keep an eye on him. God help him if he’s been stealing from my best friend.

I walk out of the admin offices in the hotel, headed to the boardwalk where the others should be overseeing the preparations for tomorrow’s events.

Aside from the Miss Wet T-shirt contest, we decided on a fortune teller. That’s for the evening, once the families are back in the hotel or leaving our youngest guests with a sitter, ready for some more adult entertainment.

Eventually, I want to have a “kid’s zone” separate from the more adult oriented part of the resort. I agree that we should cater to the student population but I don’t see why we should miss out on families and senior citizens.

I spot her as I’m headed to the end of the pier. I think it’s the same woman we helped get out of trouble last night on the beach.

She’s wearing an expensive looking bikini top and short denim cut-offs that also look like they came from a luxury boutique.

Her long, dark hair is hanging down her back in soft waves and I’m immediately drawn to her. She’s gorgeous, but like I had noticed last night, she looks like she’s in need of a couple of good meals; her ribs protrude a tad too much and her soft looking thighs are thinner than my bicep.

She’s standing in front of the pier cafe, looking at a toddler having a complete meltdown, screaming and kicking at his mother.

Kids. Maybe Bennett is right and we should just cater to students?

The kid is eventually dragged away by his mom, still kicking and screaming after throwing a croissant on the boardwalk.

That’s when I watch in horrified fascination as the pretty girl bends over—shit, she might be skinny but her ass is perfect; round and toned—and picks up the croissant off the ground. After looking around, as if to make sure that no one’s watching, she dusts it off and opens her mouth to take a bite.

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