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He was exasperated with me by this point. Trying to get me to see reason, he asked, “What would you do if the situation was reversed? IfIwas the drunk one?”
Easy. I’d tend to him like my life depended on it. Sponge bathe him if I had to. Feed him like a baby bird.
“Leave you out there on that path to die” is what I told him.
He closed his eyes like he was holding back the urge to laugh. When he opened them again, he’d regained his composure and pointed to the shower. His eyes were the most magnificent shade of brown I’d ever seen. “Charming. Get in.”
Then he walked out of the bathroom and pulled the door shut behind him, affording me as much privacy as he possibly could without leaving altogether.
I did as he instructed, trying to avoid looking down at my clothes as I undressed, knowing it would make me feel sick all over again. I was far from sober, but at least my stomach had settled down some in the last few minutes. Undressing proved ... difficult. It was hard to figure out the thin straps of my dress, and the zipper was rooted in rocket science. I have no doubt that I would have been a comical sight had Cole not been safely on the other side of the door.
“How’s it going in there?” he asked.
“Uhh . . . fine,” I lied.
“I’ll be right here if you need me.”
I blew out air, like,Pfft, yeah right.
Only I did need him—almost immediately—because just as I was stepping into the shower, I slipped on a pool of water. In slow-motion horror, I simultaneously screamed, reached out desperately for something to catch myself with, and managed only to grab ahold of the curtain; then I yanked it free from the curtain rings—ping ping ping ping ping—on my way to the ground. I landed hard on my butt, a heap of drunk limbs barely concealed beneath a wet shower curtain. The shower spray rained down on my head just as Cole ran into the bathroom, horrified.
“Shit!Are you okay?”
I was okay. Unfortunately. The only thing bruised that night was my ego.
Cole averted his gaze and helped me stand up. While I huddled in the corner with a towel wrapped around me, he fixed my shower curtain the best he could and then demanded I try again. This time,he didn’t leave the bathroom as I started to rinse off, but he turned around and faced the wall. It was deeply intimate.Insanelyintimate. My hands shook the entire time I tried to squeeze out dollops of soap and shampoo.
I thought everything would change then. Our relationship as we knew it was officially kaput. But the next morning Cole did the nicest thing he’s ever done for me: he pretended like it never happened. Not in the sense that he wasn’t going to bring it up. He was.
“Rough night?” he asked the moment he saw me.
I just mean, he didn’t coddle me over it. He went after me just as hard as always, the way I preferred it. Our little game was preserved, alive and well for a few more months ...
Chapter Six
COLE
I lied to Paige at bingo night. I didn’t go out on the town on Friday. I playedCall of Dutywith two scuba diving instructors until midnight, at which point I decided to punish myself by doing a slow walk by the bonfire. It was still going strong when I got there. I scanned the crowd, not that surprised to see the usual suspects. Paige sat on a towel with her friends, laughing, and she was so beautiful, the scene was so enchanting—it looked like it could have been a commercial for the brand of beer she was holding in her hand.
The thing about Paige is that, yes, she’s obviously beautiful. There’s not a soul alive who wouldn’t notice that immediately upon meeting her. She has this vitality about her, like she’s the physical embodiment of a sun goddess. Bright-blonde hair, warm tan skin, expressive blue eyes, and a smile that she shares equally with everyone (present company excluded). But her beauty isn’t her personality or her persona. She doesn’t stare in the mirror and admire herself because of the way she looks; she appreciates her body for what it can do for her: hiking, biking, singing, dancing, acting totally insane for the sake of entertaining hotel guests.
She intrigued me right from the start, if only because we’re so different. I can’t imagine taking her home to Ohio. I mean, Ihaveimagined it plenty of times, and I know my parents would sit in shocked silence, staring at her like she was some rare exotic bird they had no idea how to tame. Picturing her perched in my parents’ monochromatic living room is almost painfully funny. Paige would charm them, though, the same way she charms everyone.
I remember standing in the lobby waiting for her the first day she arrived at Siesta Playa. It wasn’t shaking out to be the best morning. I was annoyed because one of the golf pros just quit on us, and we were expecting a VIP guest who’d specifically requested private lessons withthatgolf pro. It was a shit show, and we were working around the clock trying to find a replacement, and fast. I didn’t have time to wait on new hires, but it’s hotel policy. So there I was, checking my watch, clearing my throat, adjusting my tie, ticking seconds off in my head, when Paige stumbled out of the turnstile door and graced me with her presence for the very first time.
I don’t remember our conversation from that day; I was so flustered by her.
I still am, unfortunately.
Growing up with ol’ Sue and Pat didn’t equip me with stellar people skills. I’m good with numbers, computers, inanimate objects. Sometimes I worry I have robot DNA, too, but then I look at Paige and I know for certain I’m flesh and blood, capable of feeling everything all at once whenever she walks into a room.
I see how effortlessly other people flirt and carry on, and I’m envious. It just doesn’t come naturally to me. I want to be that way with Paige, but I know I’d make a mockery of myself. If I tried a pickup line on her, she’d burst out laughing and ask me if I’m feeling okay. Maybe at the beginning, before we tangled ourselves into this complicated mess, I could have been honest with her. I could have put myself out there and asked her on a date, plain and simple. Now, it just seems too late for simple. I can’t get out of my own way. I have every intentionof befriending her, of trying a smile on for size, but the biting banter is our autopilot. The barbs are all we know.
We’re stuck.
It’s the day after bingo night. Things are going well this week with the Nifty after Sixty crowd. The water-aerobics classes have been a big hit; last night, the late-night karaoke extended an hour later than usual to accommodate the line out the door (“Do you guys happen to have anything by the Who?”); and Dr. Missick has only had to send for an emergency medical helicopter once, and that was because of a fluke shrimp-cocktail choking incident. It could have happened to anyone at any age.
I’ve already been at work for hours. I’ve cleared my email inbox, checked in on reception, gone through the excursion schedule for the day, inspected the lobby and the lobby bathrooms to ensure they’re clean and orderly.
