“You’re not fooling me or anyone else. You’re the most desperate of us all to find love, only you’re too chickenshit to go for it.” Alexis downs her own shot and places the empty glass face down on the bar, shuddering slightly. “God, I love me a good truth bomb. Always has a kick.“
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I insist. I take out my trusty clicky pen and draw a quick Venn diagram on a napkin. “I’m not even sure there is such a thing as love. I believe in friendship,” I label one circle, “and I believe in sex,” I label the other, “and I’ve even been lucky enough to experience a little overlap on occasion, here in the sweet spot.”
I tap the center of the diagram, which is very suggestively shaped if you ask me. Why doesn’t anyone ever mention this fact about Venn diagrams? Or maybe nobody else notices. Because they aren’t a big dumb, green, horndog like me. I tap the sweet spot again. “But this is just a convenient overlap, Alexis. It isn’t love.”
“Uh huh,” Alexis nods, speaking to me like I’m a toddler. “Exactly. Having mediocre sex with your friend isn’t love, Jackson. It’s settling. And that is exactly what your dumb ass app is peddling. A fucking compromise.”
“Relationships are all about compromise,” I argue.
“Bullshit. Relationships are about passion.” Alexis passes me a second shot.
“Sexis about passion,” I say, tapping the sex circle again. I doodle devil horns on the circle and give it a flaming tail.
“I’m not just talking about the spicy parts, you idiot.” Alexis does her shot, then wipes her mouth. “Though the sex part can be passionate, too.”
“You sound like Isla now.” I roll my eyes and knock back the second shot. Then I rub my hands together to reactivate the mint that still lingers there and inhale. It’s faded too much. “Got any mint behind the bar?” I ask.
“Of course. You know my mojito game is strong,” she says. Alexis hands me a few sprigs of mint leaves, and I rub them vigorously between my hands, crushing the leaves, coloring my palms with the green juice. The buzz is kicking in, making me feel warm and fuzzy.
“Is Isla what you wanted to talk to me about?” Alexis asks.
“No,” I say, taking another hit of the mint.
“So what was it?” Alexis is looking over my shoulder distractedly. I turn around to see what she is looking at and realize it’s Lacey and Ryker. They are leaving the confessional tent, hand in hand, laughing. I’d thought that they were the least likely of the three pairs to hit it off. But there you go. You never know.
You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make a jackass drink. It’s entirely up to the asshole if he wants to stay in the sweet spot. Now that I look again, the sweet spot could also be interpreted as an asshole. I scribble all over the center of the diagram.
“You are such an idiot,” Alexis sighs.
“Maybe,” I reply. “But I’m an idiot who needs your help. I need you to help me pick a really good karaoke song.”
isla
“Fate is fickle. Destiny is dodgy. How long are you supposed to wait before you take matters into your own hands? If you know what you want, you gotta go after it before someone else does. It’s only logical, right? ”
~ Jackson Porter, Playing With Matches Confessionals
There’s an olderman seated alone, drinking a can of Coke at one of the candlelit tables outside the English pub where we’re all assembling for karaoke night. A bunch of other resort guests are gathered at the tables outside, drinking cocktails and eating the fish and chips that the pub specializes in.
“Excuse me - Isla, is it?” the man stands up and calls out to me. “Have you seen Jackson Porter?”
“Cappy!” I say, recognizing him immediately.
“That I am,” he tips his hat at me in acknowledgement.
“Jackson’s told me about you,” I say.
“Did he now?” Cappy’s brows draw together. There’s something so familiar about him, “Well, what did he say then?”
“Just that you brought him here,” I say, spying Rob approaching.
“Oh good, good!” Rob says. “I see you’ve met Cappy, our watersports consultant. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t rescued Jackson from that storm. You’re joining us for karaoke, right?”
“Well it’s been a while since I’ve warmed up the old pipes, but don’t mind if I do!” Cappy says.
“Excellent! I can’t wait to hear what you’ve chosen to sing. Might you treat us to a rendition ofPlaying with Matches?” Rob asks hopefully. “I don’t think anyone else has signed up to sing our show’s theme song. It’s such a karaoke classic these days.”
“That old shite?” Cappy shakes his head. “No way. It’s been played to death. I have something else in mind.”
