Page 10 of The Tropical Romance Test

But just as I’m sending up a prayer to whatever forces brought this strapping hunk of delicious man to my literal doorstep, his gaze slips lower.

Just for a moment. A split second, really, before he drags his gaze back up and fixes those brown eyes firmly on my face again.

And I realize, I’m standing here soaking wet in front of him, my white T-shirt clinging to my chest.

At least, it used to be white. But I’m guessing it’s pretty much transparent by now.

Embarrassment slams through me, but I force myself to hold my head high, and give him a dignified nod. “Yes, that’s Minnie Mouse printed on my bra,” I announce airily, like I’m not dying inside. “The same as the panties you saw. It’s a matching set.”

Josh makes a strangled sound, like he’s trying his best to be a gentleman and not laugh.

“Now, since you’ve had a chance to admire my underwear for the second time in twenty-four hours, I’m going to leave you,” I add, still formal. “Goodbye.”

I flee for my room– and my dignity. How is it even possible to make a worse impression than the Minnie Mouse Pants Incident?

With the Wet T-Shirt Debacle, that’s how.

I slam the door behind me, and hurl myself onto the bed with a humiliated groan. So much for that wild vacation fling; I’ll be lucky if Josh doesn’t request a room change, just to get away from me and my peculiar love of white noise machines!

Except…a little voice filters through my shame.He didn’t look horrified, did he?

I sit up, replaying the encounter over in my mind again– minus my shock and general rambling, this time. Josh seemed happy enough to run into me again: giving me that charming, boyish smile, and cracking jokes. And if a man stares at my chest…

Well, that doesn’t mean a passionate fling is off the table.

The opposite, in fact.

I’m still in the game.

Heartened, I go run a shower, and rinse off under the warm spray; letting the expensive jasmine body scrub wash away the stress and embarrassment of my day so far. The week is just getting started, I remind myself, and minor pool-related embarrassments aside, it’s shaping up to be a fun trip. A gorgeous resort, fun wedding events, and now a potential vacation romance sauntering onto the scene.

This is exactly what I’ve needed. And what all my friends and family have been bugging me to do: have a little fun.

I just need to pull it together, that’s all. Less flailing, more flirting.

A lot less flailing.

I cringe. I know I should be more confident when it comes to men by now. I mean, I’m a grown woman in my thirties. I’ve dated. I’ve definitely had sex. And, yes, I’ve also given birth to an eight-pound bowling ball of a human being, before the epidural even kicked in. I should be in the ‘mature seductress’ phase of my life, like Renee Russo in that ‘90sThomas Crown Affairremake I love so much: sauntering around with a fabulous (faux) fur coat slung over her shoulders, effortlessly smoldering at every hot man around.

Instead, I wind up drenched and dripping like a drowned rat, in a saggy Disney sports bra.

But this is what I get for spending my twenties dealing with potty training andFrozenmarathons, instead of having reckless romantic adventures and falling in love a dozen times over, like all my old friends from college. They all learned practice, training.Skills.

I learned every verse from ‘Let it Go’.

Don’t they say you need 10,000 hours of experience before you can become an expert in your field? I’m not anywhere close to that in the man-seducing department. Hence the flailing and gasping, and general making a fool of myself in front of Josh.

Twice now.

I groan. Moral of the story? Always wear the good underwear.

So, after I dry off, I dress in the luxurious, silky lingerie I got from the resort store, and top it off with the least flashy outfit I managed to find: a pair of cool navy silk pants, with a matching airy shift top. At least all my makeup and accessories were in my carry-on, so I throw on some gold jewelry, slick back my damp hair, and add a red lip.

You clean up good, Hazel Donavan.

Surveying my surprisingly-polished reflection, I’m startled to see myself so glammed up. I haven’t made this kind of effort in… a long time. My life is usually heavy on the grocery runs and 14-hour production shifts, and light on Hollywood soirées. I tell myself it’s to blend in, the way Avery wanted, but who am I kidding?

Now I know that Josh is here, it’s nothing but La Perla and Mac Red Dragon lip pencil for the rest of the trip.

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