Page 26 of From Wink to Kink

Bring it on, Pura Vida. Chuck Newcomb is ready for whatever you've got. After a nap and some ice packs.

12

RUBY

I stormout of Chuck's bungalow, my face burning hotter than the jungle heat. Of all the people to run into here. For God’s sake. Chuck Newcomb, my brother's teammate and probably my least favorite friend of my brother’s.

In fact, I’ve often wondered why Tyler pals around with him, but I think I know the answer if I were to ask him. My brother is nice—too nice—and probably felt badly for the rookie player, new to town and all that.

And now I’ve seen the man practically naked. Because the universe hates me.

What the hell is he doing here, at a librarian retreat? Why the hell is he wearing nothing but a pair of boxers? And why the hell is he in my room?

I march toward the front desk, my old suitcase rattling behind me like an angry pet. The humidity wraps around me like a thick, wet blanket and within minutes, I'm sweating profusely. I make the mistake of bringing my hand to my hair and just as I expect, its already voluminous shape and size has doubled,transforming me into a petite woman with a tumble weed on her head. Some unfortunate tendrils are plastered to my neck, adding to my misery as perspiration dribbles down my back and lands on the waistband of my khakis.

As I trudge along, I spot a monkey perched in a nearby tree. It cocks its head at me, as if to say, ‘What's your problem, lady?’ For a brief, hysterical moment, I wonder if monkeys can carry rabies. Knowing my luck today, this one probably does, and it's about to launch itself at my face.

That could put an end to my problems.

San Francisco woman succumbs to wounds inflicted by insane monkey.

"Don't even think about it," I hiss as I pass. It chitters in response, sounding suspiciously like laughter. Aimed at me.

By the time I reach the front desk, I'm beyond sweaty and frazzled. The clerk behind the desk, a cheery man with a perpetual smile, looks up as I approach. His smile falters slightly as he takes in my bedraggled, pissed off appearance.

"Can I help you,Señorita?" he asks in a cautious voice.

I slam my hands on the desk, immediately regretting it as the impact sends shockwaves of pain up my arms.

"Yes," I say, straining to keep my voice level and forcing my lips into a twisted smile. "There seems to be a problem with my reservation."

The clerk's smile returns full force. "Ah,sí! You areSeñoritaBrooks. We've been expecting you andSeñorNewcomb. My coworker Dharma must have greeted you when you were dropped off by the resort van."

If Dharma is the woman in the flowing pants and flowers in her hair, then yes, we are talking about the same person.

But this man just said something strange.

“What do you mean, expecting meandSeñorNewcomb?"

"Your reservation," he says, tapping at his computer. "It was made for two people. You andSeñorNewcomb."

I laugh, but it sounds more like a strangled cry. "Oh no. There must be some mistake.He’shere on his own.I'mhere for the librarian retreat. I have a single reservation. For a single room. As in by myself. All by myself. Alone."

The man’s brow furrows in confusion. "The librarian retreat? Oh,señorita, I'm so sorry. That isnextweek."

No, no, no.

I’m going to kill my brother. That’s all there is to it. I love him, but I must kill him.

Hegot the wrong fucking week.

"Nextweek? As in notthisweek?" I stumble.

He nods sympathetically. "Sí,and it will be lovely. We have librarians coming from all over the world. The USA, of course, but also France and Japan..." he clicks his keyboard, “and Russia, and Kenya?—"

I wave at him to stop. I don’t need to hear about the fabulous retreat I’ll be missing, thanks to my generous but not-detail-oriented brother.

"How… ?" I ask, my voice dripping in the last bit of patience I can muster.

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