He chuckles.
“What about you? What do you do?” I ask, keeping up the ruse that I don’t know who he is.
He clears his throat. “I’m, uh…I work with an organization in Vegas. Lots of traveling involved.”
That’s one way to put it. I let him leave it vague. There’s some reason he’s being dodgy, and maybe I’ll never know what it is, but he deserves the right to privacy, I guess. Or the right to my honesty that I know who he is.
“Nice. That’s how you ended up here?” I ask.
“Something like that.”
I want to ask how long he’s here, but I’m not sure how to field that question when it comes in return, so I don’t ask. “Do you like to travel?”
Henods. “I do. You?”
I nod. “It’s my favorite thing in the world.” I leave out the part about trying to turn a hobby into a business. It’s a long story, and sometimes I sort of question whether it’s the actual right path for me. But it’s all I’ve got. Either this or bartending, and while bartending is fun since I’m doing it with my friends, it’s not the type of career I dreamed about having.
I’m not exactly sure this is, either. Being told what to do on a trip is different than planning a trip for yourself.
Sometimes I miss the days of traveling for myself and making a quick blog post about where I went.
“Where’s your favorite place to travel?” he asks, interrupting my thoughts.
I lift a shoulder as my eyes twinkle at him. “I don’t know, but I’m enjoying Paradise Island so far. You?”
“Same, but I haven’t seen much of it yet.”
I sip my drink nervously, the liquid courage not quite kicking in yet. “I haven’t, either, but I just got here about an hour ago.”
He leans in a little conspiratorially. “So did I.”
“Want to explore together after dinner?”
“I’d like that,” he says, and there’s just the slightest rasp to his tone that makes me think there’s a potential for more than just exploring the resort.
We order another round while we chat about the resort, mainly. We talk about the things we want to see and do while we’re here. It’s surface stuff, but it’s enough to keep the conversation flowing, and with no food in my stomach, I’m tipsy by the time my second drink is empty. And tipsy is my favorite territory.
“Have you ever had a vacation hookup?” I ask, shooting my shot.
He shakes his head.
I gasp, definitely surprised by that. Has this guy looked in a mirror? “You haven’t?”
“Nope,” he admits. “To be fair, I was in a relationship on and off for the better part of the last seven years.”
“And now?” I press.
“Single. In fact, the ex I was off and on with is married now.”
“Oh,” I say quietly. “I’m sorry.”
He shrugs. “Don’t be. She ended up where she was supposed to, and time and whiskey have both helped.” He holds up his glass before tipping it to his lips again. “What about you? Single? Taken?”
“Single. So single, in fact, that my boss sent me with a vacation sex bucket list.” Oh my God. I can’t believe I just admitted that to Archer Bradley, whose eyebrows are quirking with interest in my sex list.
“I’m going to need to take a look at that. But first…yourbossgave you that?”
I laugh. “When you work at a bar, these things happen, I guess. Technically his wife gave it to me.”
