Where the hell is Ruby?
She was up and out before me this morning but left a little note. I thought I’d find her wandering around, exploring the place, not far from our room.
So far? Nothing.
And the place is not that big.
I’m searching for her shock of red hair when someone calls for me.
Without looking, I know it’s not Ruby.
Ugh.
"Chuck! Over here, handsome!"
I turn to see Jasmine—or was it Jazz?—the woman from the other night, waving me over to a table. She's surrounded by a group of women, all eyeing me like I'm the main course at an all-you-can-eat buffet.
What the hell, I think, and make my way over. Maybe they've seen Ruby.
"Ladies," I nod, keeping things polite but distant. "Have any of you seen Ruby this morning?"
Jasmine pouts, patting the seat next to her. "Forget about her. Come, sit with us. We were just talking about you."
Against my better judgment, I sit.
Big mistake.
Within seconds, I'm surrounded. Someone's hand is on my arm, another on my shoulder. The air is thick with way too much perfume and innuendo.
"So, Chuck," a blonde to my left purrs, "we were wondering if you'd like to join us for a... private yoga session later."
I shift uncomfortably. Time to get the hell out of here. "Thanks, but I'm not really?—”
"Oh, don't be shy," Jasmine cuts in, her hand creeping dangerously high on my thigh. "We don't bite. Unless you want us to, of course."
Fuck me. If the men here went around feeling up the women, they’d get kicked out on their asses.
I stand up so fast I nearly knock over my chair. "Look, ladies, I'm flattered, but I'm here with Ruby. So if you'll excuse me..."
But they're not taking no for an answer. As I try to leave, they follow, a pack of lacquered predators on the hunt.
"Come on, Chuck," one calls out. "Don't be such a spoilsport!"
"Yeah," another chimes in. "What happens at Pura Vida, stays at Pura Vida!"
I pick up my pace, weaving through the resort like I'm dodging defensemen on the ice. But these women are persistent. Every time I think I've lost them, another pops up. They’re like cockroaches. You can’t get rid of them.
"Chuck! There you are!" It's the blonde from breakfast, somehow materializing in front of me. "I was thinking we could hit the hot tub. I've got a bottle of champagne with our name on it."
"Sorry," I mutter, sidestepping her. "I'm, uh, allergic. To hot tubs. And champagne.”
And women like you.
“Gotta go!"
I duck behind a large potted plant, heart racing. This is insane. Where the hell is Ruby? And why did I ever venture out of our room alone?
I need a goddamn bodyguard.