Page 23 of Harper's Holiday Romance
“I’m rude? Okay,” she scoffed.
It baffled me. She had so little self-awareness she refused to see it. I expected an apology for my bracelet. Any half-decent human would’ve apologised profusely or offered to purchase a new one, but not this human.
She stuffed her phone and her sun cream into the complimentary spa bag that only theluxuriousside of the hotel received. You had to be an exclusive member, and of course she was. Shock.
Good, she was leaving.
I sat on the edge of the cenote; the water was jacuzzi warm. I turned back to see her chug the remainder of her fresh whiskey sour like she was playing a drinking game at a sorority house.
I liked whiskey sours. They looked refreshing, and there was something around the rim, a spice maybe? It was new to me. I wanted to ask her which bar she got it from, but she was steely eyed, and I was not going to converse anymore with this woman whose name I still didn’t know. I didn’t need to know, but still kind of wanted to know.
I hated the overwhelming urge to apologise despite doing nothing wrong. I hated the urge to ask her where she got her bikini because the softness in my soul still thought she looked great in it, and it happened to be a leaf green colour that I adored.
No, stop it. She’s not a nice person.
I pretended to focus on the lizard who seemed to be observing the interaction from its perch, unmoving, and probably ecstatic that it wasn’t born a human.
“I wonder if lizards can talk,” I muttered. I did not expect her to hear me.
“Did you say something?” she challenged.
“Erm, no.” I shook my head. How embarrassing.
“Okay,” she snickered.
She turned to leave.
I listened as the shuffle of her flip-flops scratched across the limestone. Uncharacteristically, I felt the need to have the last word.
“Hey, what’s your name?” I called out.
“Why? So you can add social media stalking to your agenda?” she sassed.
“No, so I can stop describing you as rude elevator girl when I tell my friends all about this delightful conversation.” The comeback was quick; I surprised myself, but my hands were shaking. I tried to hide my confrontational discomfort, but I sensed she was the type to sniff out any bullshit.
She didn’t retaliate, but she did look puzzled. The frown in her forehead deepened.
“What’s your name?” she deflected.
“I asked you first.” I sounded utterly childish, but there was something about her arrogance and enduring annoyance that made me want to stick my tongue out andthrow handfuls of dirt like I was back in the school playground.
She paused. I watched her lips intently. She opened her mouth, closed it again, and repeated the action once more. The sun bouncing off her hair made it look golden; it sparkled. She looked down at me with arched eyebrows, contemplation etched on her brow.
“Sorry, my parents taught me not to engage with strangers.” She spun and headed for the tree covered archway. She looked back; it was brief, but it happened.
Did I imagine a smirk? The sun was behind her, so my ability to decipher her facial expression sucked.
God, she was annoying.
Like, seriously?
I wanted to jump in the pool and bury my head beneath the surface so I could let out an almighty scream. I refrained because I’d just washed my hair the night before, but I wanted to. I scanned the vicinity to check I wasn’t on a new episode ofPunk’d. Ashton Kutcher returning after a ten-year hiatus to hide in the Mexican bushes with the lizards and prank unsuspecting tourists would’ve made more sense than the three encounters I’d had withher.
I needed Billie and Sarah. Now.
5
My shoulders felt like someone had coated them in scolding hot oil and proceeded to scrape at the skin with a stainless steel scouring pad, but that wasn’t about to dampen my mood.
