Page 20 of The Last Sunrise

“Ah.” A light bulb goes off in his head. “The hotel. You always pick up strays,” he tells her.

I have the urge to knock him across the back of his head, but I restrain myself. Something about his personality digs under my typically thick skin. Being raised by a statue of a mother who has zero qualms about sharing her opinion on any and every choice I—or anyone around her—has ever made has conditioned me to be this way. I choose to be thankful instead of resentful, and it’s come in handy a few times. Like now, when I want to tell this asshole to fuck off, that he thinks he’s way cooler than he is, and that I don’t give a shit if he likes me, but he better stop being rude or I’ll—

“We’re all strays, Julián. Even you,” she tells him, cutting off my mental lashing at him.

Her fingers dance on Prisha’s open palm. “And strays should stick together, not act like children on a play yard.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re usually better at picking friends than this one.” He nods toward me, and I reach for another shot.

There’s a humor and softness behind his teasing that keep my usual temper at bay. “Clearly she’s not or she wouldn’t be your friend,” I reply, full of immaturity.

The corner of his mouth turns up into a half smile. The hint of a dimple forms in his cheek. Damn it, why does he have to beso hot? I can’t even blame the alcohol because I was instantly attracted to him at the beach, and I’m clearly desperately longing for some sort of adventure.

“Touché.” He picks up a water bottle and takes a drink, wiping his mouth with his loose T-shirt. It lifts at the bottom, revealing a sliver of sun-kissed skin. The alcohol in my body makes me want to tell him about the cool reusable bottle my hotel gave me, but I get the feeling that would prove his point about me even more, so I zip it.

I start to tune out the small talk again, Prisha telling Amara about her siblings in a low voice that I can barely hear anyway. I watch Fabio behind the bar. He spins and twirls liquor bottles, uses his torch to impress the patrons, dances a little when the song changes. He’s a pro.

“You know his name isn’t really Fabio, right? It’s a tourist trap of a fake name,” Julián leans in to tell me, his breath touching my ear.

I shiver, jerking away.

“How do you know?” I ask him, not admitting that I assumed that already.

Julián licks his lips. “I know everything. Just like I finally know your name, Ry. Though I will miss creating new ways to annoy you.”

Amara’s Instagram post must have given it away. “It’s Oriah, so you don’t know everything.”

He studies me so intensely that I shift in my seat. “Oriah,” he says slowly, as if each letter deserves its own moment. “Your name suits you perfectly.”

If I keep having to be around this man, my eyes are going to roll out of my head.

“Right. The name Fabio also suits him.” I pull the conversation back to the bartender and away from the burn in my chest and the racing of my heart. “He kind of does look like Fabio.” I laugh, noting his long hair and thick build, like the shirtless muscleman on the cover of many classic romance novels.

“Do you know who Fabio is, the romance guy? I’m sure your mom has a book or two with him on the cover,” I joke, trying to keep the tension between us away.

Something changes in his posture at the mention of his mother. His grip on the bottle tightens and the plastic crunches in his hand. He purposely looks away from me and stares into the distance. I can physically feel him putting a wall between us.

“What’s your—” I start to ask, but then decide I don’t care.

If he wants to be an asshole, more power to him, but I’m here to have fun, not bicker with him, so I stand up. The room spins a little, but I stabilize myself quickly.

“Anyone want to dance?” I ask Amara and Prisha, who are now only an inch away from each other, lost in their own little world.

Julián smirks, points at his chest, and shakes his head. “Not a chance.”

“I wasn’t asking you.” I snort, grabbing one last drink and slamming it before making my way to the small, tiled area where there are a handful of people dancing.

It’s mostly couples. The live band begins a new song, the beat slow, sensual, and jazzlike. My mind is on cloud nine, my hips following the rhythm of the music. I close my eyes, shutting off the last bit of uncertainty of dancing alone, and let the music control my body. Dance has always been my first love since I was a child. Out of all the things Ican’tdo,this is one that I can and happen to excel at. Music has a way of crawling under the flesh over my bones and taking over, moving my body without thought. Blossoming, expanding, awakening something inside me. It’s been too long since I’ve felt this, since I’ve had the energy and excitement to relax enough to let my desire for dance take control and my mind shut off.

The passage of time doesn’t exist as one song ends, and another begins, again and again. A pair of hands on my waist pushes through my haze. The corners of reality are blurry, dancing and warping, pulling me further into a pulsing, addictive rhythm. The body behind me is solid. I feel it pressing against me, knowing by the mere size and scent of cologne that it’s a man. I don’t care what he looks like or who he is; so far, he’s a great dance partner. I keep my eyes closed as I turn around to face him, lifting a thigh onto his, our bodies melting together perfectly. The stranger moves his hand to my hair seductively and even in my mildly hallucinogenic state, it becomes clear how long it’s been since I’ve been touched this way. I haven’t felt desired in so long, just lethargic and bustling around hospitals, classrooms, doctors’ offices.

The music picks up in tempo and I have yet to open my eyes. I don’t want to or need to, not yet. I want to soak this moment in, that tiny crevice of rarity that comes when you move in sync with someone else. The connection of two people while dancing is incomparable, speaking the same language without saying a word. He twirls and whirls me, I push my ass against him and rub my hands down his arms, stopping at a thick piece of metal—a watch, I realize—and grab his hands, letting them roam my body. Down my thighs and back up. Atthis point, I’m so intoxicated, and not just by Fabio’s shots, that I don’t care what he looks like as long as he’s not a creep.

When I blink them open and turn to face him, he’s a little older than I expected, but I’m not disappointed by what I see. His black hair is cropped short like an American soldier, but I can tell he’s not American. The shape of his jaw is wide, his smile bright, revealing perfect, toothpaste-commercial-level teeth. He’s tall and wide, and strong, I add to the list, as he lifts me off my feet, spinning me around.

I laugh, my head falling back as something flashes. A camera? I ignore it for a second, keeping eye contact with my new dance partner. Another flash. And another. I close my eyes, steadying myself. Not now… not when I’m having the time of my life.Please, universe, I beg,let me have just one night…

The flashing continues and I pull myself away from the man, trying to explain to him that I need to sit down. Looking around the room, I can’t figure out where the table with Amara and Prisha is. I can’t remember where the bar is. With confusion in his eyes, the man starts to speak to me in a language that doesn’t sound like Spanish.

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