Page 39 of Promise Not To Fall

2 parts tequila

1 part orange juice

2 dashes grenadine syrup

Pour tequila in a highball glass over ice and top with orange juice. Stir and then add grenadine by tilting the bottle vertically and then pouring down the side. You want the grenadine at the bottom of the glass and then to rise up slowly through the drink. Garnish with cherry and orange slice.

After changing into another simple sundress, this time white—always a bad idea—I go to dinner at a restaurant inside the hotel called Chop Stix by myself. I asked Rylee and Wesley to come along, because I don’t like eating by myself, but they decided to head into Nassau and go to a restaurant they heard about. And I gotta say, something seems completely off about them, and there’s a drastic difference in their behavior from the way they were on the plane to now, but the ever-avoiding confrontation Rylee blows it off and tells me to go have a good time. Pun intended.

The food at Chop Stix is delicious, but the drinks are awful. They’re too strong, which is usually a good thing, but I miss the perfectly crafted ones I had from Island Boy.

Once I finish dinner, I suddenly find myself walking up the beach at sunset, heading back to his bar.

I try to think of something I should do, other than return to the bar, but I only have one thing I want to do.

Jake.

Over and over again. He has that effect on me.

It annoys me I can’t stop thinking about him. I don’t know this girl I’ve become in just one day. Jake doesn’t know me at all, and there’s something exciting about that to me. It’s like he’s drugged me and made me into this new, more exciting version of myself.

My nerves are all over the place when I approach the bar for the second time today, and Jake seems irritable. Inside, a handful of people are scattered around, some at the bar, some sitting at the tables. The tiny white lights strung up are once again creating a tropical mood that fits the bar and the atmosphere.

I take a seat at the bar, same spot as last night. I notice a woman at the end of the bar to my right, her appraising stare on Jake.

He places her drink in front of her, and without saying anything, he walks away. The lady takes one sip and then spits it back into the glass. Flustered, she wipes her napkin over her lips. “What is this shit?”

Jake glances over his shoulder, his body tensing as he raises an eyebrow and presses his lips together. Turning around, he walks back over to the woman. They speak for a moment, and then he yanks the drink back toward him and throws it in the sink behind him. The glass shatters, but nobody says a damn thing.

“Hey, City Girl.” Nash winks at me, leaning over the bar. “Good night last night?”

“Shut up.” I push his face back with my palm smacking his forehead. “Who is that woman?”

Dramatically, Nash touches his forehead. “So violent. Now I understand.” He laughs, smiling suggestively at me. “I would say it was a good night looking at the bruises on you—” He pauses, touching my shoulder where it’s black and blue. “—and the fact that dude was four hours late to work because he fell asleep on the front porch.” Nash glances at the woman, and then back to me. “Ex-girlfriend’s mom. Bitchy. She comes here every so often to treat him like shit.”

Ex-girlfriend? Who in their right mind would break up with Jake? Are they crazy? I want to know every detail, but I decide to be subtle about it and go with, “What’d he break her daughter’s heart or something?”

Nash gives me a look, a lot like some of the ones Jake gives me. The ones that let you know you’re not going to get the answer you want. “That’shisbusiness, sweetheart.”

Nash walks away, and I watch Jake a little closer. With annoyance radiating off his every move, he makes the woman another drink, hands it to her, and makes her take a drink with him standing there.

“Much better.” She smiles, approving the alterations, and then turns back to her friend who’s sitting beside her.

“It’s the same as before,” Jake mumbles, coming back my way. Knocking his knuckles on the bar, he sighs. “What’ll it be?” he asks me, his voice sounding off. Maybe he’s having a rough night. I’m sure the interactions with the woman at the end of the bar isn’t helping his mood, but I’m not about to press the issue.

“Tequila sunrise.”

With his eyes on the bar, he nods and begins grabbing bottles. I watch closely as another guy, maybe mid-thirties, sits down beside me in a pair of board shorts and no shirt. He’s definitely American by his appearance, which matches Wesley’s frat-boy style. Out of the corner of my eye, I glance at him, sensing him looking at me.

He smiles. “I’m Liam Sharp. What’s your name?”

“Kendall.” I twist just enough to make eye contact, and then back to staring at the drink Jake hands me.

“You from the States?”

“Yeah, Phoenix.” I’m being polite. I don’t exactly want to talk to this guy, but I don’t want to be rude.

Jake watches us closely. Even when he’s helping another customer, he keeps his rapt attention on us, as if we’re those shifty patrons getting ready to reach over the bar for a bottle or something.

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