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“What’s the matter, Amanda?” Miranda goads.
“Ha, ha, ha,” Amanda snaps. “I’m glad you’re both so easily amused.”
“You have to admit, he was funny,” I say as we get up from our table.
“He was hysterical,” Miranda giggles.
“Okay, maybe,” Amanda concedes, smiling.
“So, ladies, where to now?” Miranda asks.
“Let’s ask where the best night spot is,” Amanda says as she walks toward the hostess stand. “Excuse me, where is the loudest bar on the island?”
“What she means,” Miranda clarifies, “is the busiest.”
“Ah. That would be Shark Bite in Turtle Cove. There is a Reggae band there tonight, and it’s right down the road.”
“Perfect!” Amanda exclaims. “Thank you,” she yells back at the hostess as she grabs our hands and yanks us out the door. Jumping into one of the many cabs waiting outside, Amanda tells the driver where we’re going. Our driver presses his foot on the gas and we speed away toward Turtle Cove.
“Are all the drivers on this island crazy?” I mutter under my breath.
“I love Reggae,” Miranda squeals, hopping up and down on the seat like a child, ignoring me.
“Me, too! This is going to be so much fun!” Amanda agrees.
“I hope it’s not too crowded,” I mumble, hating the mess of sweaty bodies grinding up against you and the rush of people trying to push through to get to the bar. It’s claustrophobic.
“Oh, stop being such a Debbie Downer. Loosen up and have fun,” Miranda says, giving me a shove.
”Sorry,” I mumble, realizing I have been a buzz kill all night. I’m just so used to Evan’s rules, I don’t know how to have a good time. He was so strict when it came to anything. I couldn’t drink, and I sure as hell couldn’t dance unless it was with him. I was essentially a prisoner, only . . . I didn’t know it at the time.
The driver makes a quick sharp turn, throwing us all to one side of the car and snapping me out of my thoughts.
“You’re right, I have been lame all night. I’ll try to be better.” I give Miranda and Amanda a tight-lipped smile.
“Hey, no problem. Let’s just have fun. I’m getting married tomorrow!” Amanda shouts as the driver makes another sharp turn, shoving us toward the window again.
“Ow! Elbow in my boob,” I gasp, rubbing at the soreness.
“Oh, sorry,” Miranda says, trying to shuffle back. As soon as we regain our bearings, he slams on the breaks, forcing our arms forward to brace for impact. I reach for the handle of the door and stumble out in front of a very busy Tiki Bar, needing out of the cab. Miranda and Amanda stagger out behind me and we make our way into the packed bar.
The view from the dock is spectacular. The bar overlooks the bay and a nice breeze is blowing off the water. Inside, there is an L-shaped bar and stone walls. Very cozy. The Reggae band is set up outside, so most of the people have gathered out there to dance. The three of us make our way to the bar, trying to find a spot to order.
“Please, allow me,” a guy sitting at the bar says to us, moving his chair slightly so one of us can lean in. He looks a little older than us, maybe early thirties. He’s cute in a surfer dude sort of way, with shaggy, bleach-blonde hair.
“Thanks,” Miranda says, jumping in between him and the wall. As she tries to wave down the bartender, Surfer Dude leans over to the guys next to him.
“Miranda, get me a shot!” Amanda yells over the crowd.
“Please, allow me,” the surfer dude says, smiling. “And what are you lovely ladies drinking?”
“I need a shot! I’m getting married tomorrow!” Amanda squeals.
“I can use a shot,” one of Surfer Dude’s friends chimes in.
The bartender makes his way over to our side of the bar. “What can I make for you?” he asks.
“Can we get . . .” he points his finger at each person, taking a head count, “eight shots of Jaeger over here.”
