Page 15 of On The Beach

Cato and Franco nodded.

Yeah, they remember her. She was fiiiiiineeee! And clinically nuts.

"She refused to leave the island," I said uncomfortably.

Cato whistled.

"Yeah, yeah." I took a long swig of my beer. "She's…," I paused when I saw Sam, Riri's bartender, hand over a colorful drink with an umbrella in it to Belle, "Riri, darlin', you tell Sam not to give her anything to drink. That girl goeslocawhen she gets a few…anyin her."

"She's a grown woman, man; I'm not going to stop her from drinking. And neither should you. Besides, I thought you liked your girl'sloca," RiRi teased.

"No, I didn't like them crazy. I like themeasy," I countered.

Now, one might think that Dr. Isabelle Maria Volnay wasn't so difficult since I got her into bed without too much trouble—buteasyshe wasn't. She was…unique. Nerdyandbeautiful. Geekyandsexy. Intelligentandfunny. She was like a gorgeous Frankenstein—everything I could want in one woman.

Then there was the explosive sex. No other way to describe it. I was still reeling from the shock of having had a woman without a condom for the first time in my life. Even when I was engaged, we used a condom because Mia was allergic to birth control pills or some such shit. And it was brutally brought to my attention that she was also allergic to fidelity. She was now married to a cardiac surgeon and had a big house, two and a half kids and a dog—and lived in Connecticut. I smiled whenever I thought about Mia because I was certain I had the better deal. No kids. No house. No job. No dog…though I wouldn't mind a dog. Dogs were cool!

"Next time she throws up, she's your problem," I warned RiRi.

"Nuh-huh. You brought her here; she's all yours,Babycakes."

"Yeah, what's with the Babycakes?" Cato wanted to know. "Usually, you go with babe 'cause you don't know their name."

"He's smitten.” Franco was incredulous, and he wasn't the only one. I was surprised that I was interested in a fucking scientist.

But she doesn't dress like one, her shoes are not like a nerd's,and she for sure doesn't fuck or talk like one,the devil who straddled my shoulders said. He'd long ago displaced the asshole with the halo who wanted me to be decent. Good riddance!

"Every man's time comes," Cato proselytized and then downed a shot of tequila.

"I'mnotsmitten," I protested without much conviction.

Was I?

The thing was that she wasn't my type. Eventhenwhen I was a productive member of society, my type was sleek, sophisticated, and elegant. Came from the upper crust of society. They werenotscientists—had jobs like model, editor of a fashion magazine, socialite…professions like that. They could hold their liquor, didn't throw up, and didn't lie about being engaged to me. They were classy. Like Mia. Well, maybe classy was the wrong word because she'd looked downright un-classy when I'd found her getting nailed from the back by her personal trainer. The cliché of it!

Now, I chose women for their bodies, their style, their ease. Usually, they were like that Victoria's Secret model—self-contained, experienced, and able to handle their fucking liquor. I guess I had a type and mine was vapid society types who were on Reef Harbor to have a good time and were happy to bounce on my dick.

Belle was happy to ride me, I reminded myself. But she wasn't likethem, the girls who just wanted to fuck and have a good time. She wasn't vapid. I had looked her up, and she was an accomplished scientist. She was also looking forme, which should've made herpersona non gratabut I hadn't been able to help myself. Since she walked into the bar in her fuck-me shoes, I wanted her. Lust at first sight was common enough on Reef Harbor but I could usually take it or leave it. I hadn't been able to ignore Belle. She was…fuck me, getting up on a table and dancing toShake, Shake, Señora.

Belle's arms stretched to the sky, her hips swayed with a reckless abandon that had every eye in the bar glued to her. Her laugh rang out over the music, wild and free, as she spun in a clumsy, intoxicating rhythm, kicking her sexy sandals off one by one like she was shedding the last of her inhibitions.

Dr. Isabelle Volnay with her perfect posture, every hair in place, sharp as a blade in her LinkedIn photograph—was notthiswoman. This was Belle unleashed. Hair tumbling over her shoulders, cheeks flushed, eyes blazing with a kind of joy I hadn't realized I'd been starved to see. I'd lived her life, but I'd never been this happy. I'd never let my hair down quite like she was.

"Shake, shake, Señora!" she belted out along with the song, pointing down at me, daring me, pulling me into her orbit. The whole place was cheering her on, hooting and clapping, but for a split second, it felt like it was just us, like she was dancing only for me.

And damn if it didn't make my heart pound harder than it had in years. This woman—this crazy, chaotic, impossible woman—was nothing like anyone I'd ever known.

"Get her off my table, Mick," RiRi ordered.

I grinned as I lifted Belle over my shoulder, fireman-style. She let out a squeal, wriggling and smacking my back, her laughter echoing around the bar.

"Hey! I was having fun!" she protested, her face flushed from alcohol and dancing.

I gave her a sharp smack on her ass. "I know, Babycakes. But I've got something even better lined up. Time to show you the finest entertainment Reef Harbor has to offer. Ever watched lizards race?"

I felt her go still for a second, then I heard the skepticism in her voice. "You're kidding."

I set her down and winked at her. "Franco, Cato, comin' to the races?"

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