Page 42 of Promise Not To Fall

2 parts Ron Matusalem® Clasico rum

½ part St. Germain elderflower liqueur

1 part passion fruit juice

½ part fresh lemon juice

½ part simple syrup

1-2 jalapeño slices

Muddle jalapeños with lemon juice. Add remaining ingredients. Shake 2-3 times to blend. Strain over ice into a double rocks glass. Garnish with a jalapeño slice.

Tuesday morning, I spend it by the pool—one of many pools they have at the resort.

Jake leaves, again, without saying anything, only a forehead kiss, and Rylee and Wesley are off together doing who knows what, so I decide it’s time for me. At the pool. Not to mention, I can barely walk, so lounging by the pool is perfect. I can lay here, and the cabana boys keep me supplied with drinks and, thankfully, water. I think the two nights I’ve spent at that bar have finally caught up with me and I’m extremely dehydrated.

After a while, I realize I don’t like sitting by the pool, for the simple reason that these Amazonian women have taken over my quiet corner of the resort, and I feel ridiculous trying to look even remotely sexy around them. I’m not even joking when I say there’s not an ounce of fat on them, and their skin is so golden it’s like it’s been airbrushed at birth.

The sun disappears behind a figure and someone says, “Nice bruise,” near my ear.

I know that voice. My body knows that voice. I smile, feeling all warm and gooey all over. “Thanks. A dirty bartender got rough with me. Best night of my life.”

“Who is he?” Jake takes a seat next to me on the empty lounge chair. “I’ll kick his ass.”

Lifting my hand, I attempt to block out the sun and look at him. He’s smirking over at me. The humidity creates a light dusting in the air, like smoke around him. The sight makes me giggle.

“How the hell did you get in here? I nearly got strip searched when I forgot my key card earlier.”

“I’m a local.” He shrugs. “I got friends everywhere.”

“I don’t doubt that. Since you have friends, talk to the front desk and apologize. I received a nasty message on my phone in my room about that headboard you broke.”

Jake throws his head back and laughs, like it’s funny to him they want to charge my credit card for a headboard I didn’t break.

“I’m being serious. That sucks for me,” I tell him, applying more sunblock to my arms and legs, Jake watching closely as I do so. “How much are headboards?”

“Hell if I know. That’s the first one I’ve ever broken.”

Sitting up, I push my sunglasses up on my nose so I can get a better look at him. He looks different in the morning and without the lights of the bar on him. Or maybe it’s because he has clothes on and isn’t telling me to scream his name or put my legs on his shoulders like he did last night.

“What’ya say we get outta this fucking resort and I show you what the locals do?”

He’s asking me out someplace? With him? Alone? No bar? Am I dreaming? Did I spend too much time in the heat and I’m hallucinating?

But I’m not hallucinating. He really did ask me out. And he doesn’t have to ask twice. I nearly jump at the chance. Not really. I limp at the chance. Slipping my sundress over my bikini, I take Jake’s hand as he leads me from the hotel.

I’m assuming you know this by now, given my lack of carefreeness, I calculate risk. Always have. So when Jake makes his way to the parking lot of the hotel and points to a street bike saying, “Hop on, City Girl,” that’s a risk. In Phoenix, as well as the Bahamas, they don’t require helmets on motorcycles. Seems ridiculous to me that someone would willingly get on a bike when they know the dangers andnotwear the safety equipment designed for keeping you alive on said risk. That’s like jumping out of an airplane and choosing not to wear the parachute. Death sentence, if you ask me.

And then there’s Jake. This crazy bartender living on the edge in paradise. Naturally he rides a motorcycle.

“What are you waiting for?” He motions to the all-black bike with the silver Yamaha logo on the side.

“Umm, yeah. Not happening.”

My denial means nothing to him. I’m not getting out of this one. “Live a little. Some risks are worth it.”

“Damn it.” I sigh, closing my eyes at the thought of becoming roadkill today. “Of course you have a street bike.”

---