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We try the eleventh-floor pool first. Kiddie pool. No James.
“At least I know he has no children,” I say. There you go—now I know three things about him.
We try the tenth-floor pool next. It’s the fitness pool. It’s long and rectangular, and there are a whole bunch of hard-core workout buffs swimming laps.
No James. No sun either, since it has a roof. I flip my sunglasses to the top of my head.
“I like this pool,” Hailey says, ogling the pumped-up guys hard at work. “Can we come back here later?”
“Watching them is too tiring,” Liz says. “Next!”
Last pool—ninth floor. We step out of the elevator and—
Omigod. “There he is!” I say, pointing. James! In the flesh! In the hot tub! Oh! Even though there’s a roof, he’s wearing aviator sunglasses, and he’s holding a beer and he’s just as gorgeous as I remember and he’s sitting next to a girl and—
A girl. Who is this girl and why is she stalking my man? I’m the only one who gets to stalk my man.
The girl is giggling at something James is saying: a high, tinkling, annoying giggle, a giggle that makes me want to kill her.
His hand is resting on her shoulder.
“Booooo,” I moan. “I think my boyfriend already has a girlfriend.”
I stomp my sandaled foot against the deck.
“You’re cuter,” Hailey says.
Liz nods. “You can take her.”
I shake my head. “I can find a single guy. I don’t need to rob someone of her boyfriend.”
“It’s not a girlfriend,” Liz says. “It’s some random girl he’s flirting with. I saw her last night at the casino with a whole other group. She’ll be history by dinner.”
“You think?” I ask hopefully.
“I promise,” she says.
We all split up in the late afternoon: Hailey claims she needs a nap, Liz hits the gym, and I check out the spa. We all meet for dinner and a little YMCAing at the disco. Later we find James Bond back at the casino bar.
The good news: Liz was right—the girl from the afternoon is nowhere to be found.
The bad news: He’s with two new girls. He’s smiling at both of them, his teeth gleaming against his pale skin.
Sigh.
“Next,” Hailey whispers.
“But he’s so perfect,” I say. “Look at him.”
“Kristin, you can’t just hook up with someone who’s already hooked up with two people in as many days,” she says, shaking her head. “That’s skanky. No offense, Liz.”
“None taken,” Liz says cheerfully.
“It’s not like I want a deep, meaningful relationship,” I mumble.
“But he’s a creep. What happened to the girl in the hot tub? Has he forgotten all about her already?”
His arm is gently brushing against the back of one of the girls, the one in a pink halter top. The other girl, wearing her hair in a tight bun, is twirling on a bar stool, looking bored and annoyed. She whispers something to Miss Pink Halter Top and then takes off.
