Page 49 of Bad For A Weekend

“Come on.” We walk down the wooden deck to where the cenote is. All is quiet. “Let’s check the beach.”

“It’s so dark,” she says as we follow the boardwalk.

“If there was someone out here, I didn’t want to turn on the lights and alert them to our presence.”

“You think there’s someone out here?”

“Sure hope not.”

Our feet hit the sand, and once we clear the jungle, it’s obvious where the sound came from. The neighbors to our left have a bonfire lit. Judging by the size and the police presence, it got a little out of hand.

“I think what we heard was the whoosh of the fire lighting. You see the can of propellant?” I drop her hand and point to the gas can.

“Shit.” She laughs, sounding relieved and wrapping her arms around herself. “I don’t know when my mind will stop going to worst-case scenario.”

“I hope someday it will.”

We watch as the cops write them a ticket and thoroughly scold them, standing by as they grab buckets of ocean water and toss them onto the flames.

“Note to self, no bonfires,” she says, rubbing up and down her arms.

“Are you cold? We can go inside.”

“I’m too worked up for sleep now. Can we stay out here a little longer and just talk?”

This is a bad idea, Owen. Tell her no and walk her back to her room. Then take the coldest shower you’ve ever had and go the fuck to bed.

“Sure.” We walk back to where the loungers are, but Baylor chooses to flop down on the sand. Taking her lead, I sit next to her. “What do you want to talk about?”

“You.” The light from the moon reflects off the ocean, giving me just enough light to see her bright smile.

“What about me?”

“Have you been to Mexico?” She draws her legs to her chest and hugs her knees, resting her cheek on them.

“Twice. The first time, me and a couple buddies went to Tijuana. The second time, we leveled up and stayed in Cancun at a resort. Obviously, neither of those trips was as cool as this one.”

“What were they like?”

“We went to Tijuana to”—I stop to think about how much I want to share about what an asshole I was at eighteen—“basically get loaded and find prostitutes.” I cringe because there’s no sugarcoating that.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.” I chuckle.

“Did you make it happen?”

“The ‘get loaded’ part? Yeah. The ‘prostitute’ part? No way.”

She’s laughing now too. “Why not?”

“We’d just graduated high school, had zero game, and when we got to the red-light district, we basically froze up.”

“I can’t imagine you like that.”

“I woreStar WarsT-shirts and played the tuba. College changed a lot about me.”

“Oh my God, please tell me there are pictures. I need to see this nerdy Owen you speak of.”

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