Page 4 of The Man with the Knot

“Wow, I guess Icanstill shock you!” I retort in turn.

“Girl, there’s no way you can get that inside of you,” Tanya says, howling with laughter now. “Island men will be different enough. There’s no need to set unrealistic expectations.”

I look at the enormous piece once more and stick my tongue out at my friend through the phone. “I’m taking my battery-operated boyfriend. Might as well make sure I have some fun readily available.”

“Oh please,” Tanya snorts. “You’re going to have a massively good time, just wait and see.”

“Well, manifest it for me.” I instruct as I toss the dildo into my waiting suitcase.

“Jason Momoa, Jason Momoa…” she chants in a sing-song voice. “Keanu, Keanu, Keanu.”

I laugh but deep down, I struggle to believe that something that amazing could happen to me. After all, I’m plain old Morgan Latham, an average girl with average looks, a sub-average job, and a sub-sub-average apartment in New York City. Why would Jason Momoa or Keanu Reeves want me?

Here goes nothing...

2

Morgan

Istep off of the resort shuttle and into the early morning rays of the Caribbean sun. I arch my face toward the warmth, tired from my New York red-eye but finally feeling the first tingles of vacation excitement.

The other passengers shuffle out of the bus, their expressions similar to mine: equal parts excited and dazed. We’d all taken the resort’s boat over from the main island and had been in awe of the clear water and stunning vistas the entire way here.

Now that I’m standing in front of La Mirage resort, I let myself relax. I walk through the massive double doors and into a world of pampered luxury.

“Welcome to La Mirage,” a bubbly receptionist greets me as I approach the desk. “Checking in?”

“Yes,” I confirm, fumbling for my passport. “My last name is Latham. Morgan Latham.” I hand her the booklet and watch as she scans my information.

“Wonderful.” She hands it back to me and begins tapping at her keyboard, her long nails clicking noisily as she searches for my reservation. “And, there it is! I see you’re staying with us for seven nights.”

“Uh, yes, that’s right.” I smile, amused by her vivacious tone. “I’m looking forward to my stay.”

I really mean it too because the whole idea for this trip came to me in the middle of the night about three months ago. It had been a low point in my life. I’d been out on a bad date—the guy had thought it would be cute to stick a clown nose over my real nose— so when I got home, I helped myself to an entire bottle of cheap Prosecco to ease my misery.

As the night wore on, I started doom scrolling Instagram, stalking cute guys and liking every photo of my college friends. A little more than tipsy at this point, an ad popped up for La Mirage. As I scrolled through the stunning photos of the hotel and surrounding property, I realized that I desperately needed to get out of the city. Not to mention that the ad claimed there was a huge discount for the off-season. February or not, La Mirage promised sunshine, poolside fun, and all-inclusive cocktails.

So here I stand, I muse, my gaze wandering around the lobby to take in teak walls, bold colors, and sun-drenched hallways.

“And should I use the card we have on file?” the bleach-blonde asks me.

“Yes, thanks,” I confirm.

Drunk Morgan, combined with a shiny new credit card, booked the vacation almost without thinking. And a sober, slightly hungover Morgan had tried in vain to cancel it all when my memory set in almost an entire day later.

Well, there’s no going back now.

“All right, you’re all set. This is your room key—you can access the spas, gym, and media rooms with it. And before you go upstairs, the hotel manager will give everyone a quick safety brief. The island is beautiful and we just want to go over some basics.” The receptionist winks at me, clearly having used that very-rehearsed spiel many times before. “Enjoy your stay!”

I giggle and join my shuttle group in the corner of the lobby, where an older man who I assume is the manager has already started talking.

“That’s right, pile in closer please, thank you,” he says, scanning the crowd. “Welcome to La Mirage, we’re pleased to have you stay with us. Our amenities are five-star, and should you want anything, the concierge is available 24-7.”

A few people murmur, pleased with this bit of news. I shuffle foot to foot, ready to get on with my vacation and a little annoyed to be listening to details I’d already read about on the hotel’s website.

“But of course, I’m certain most of you are already familiar with our many spectacular services,” the manager continues, almost as if he can read my mind.

I stand up a little straighter and stop fidgeting, embarrassed to have been caught looking so bored.

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