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“Damn. Don’t forget to use protection.”
“Wow.”
He runs a wet hand over his face. “It was a joke. I didn’t mean to upset your delicate sensibilities.”
“Do I strike you as someone with delicate sensibilities?” I raise a hand. “Actually, don’t answer that.”
“I won’t,” he says, and it sounds like he’s smiling. “But I meant what’s next on your grand tour of the island.”
“Oh. Well, during the day tomorrow I’ll be on the beach again. But I’m considering going to the fish market later. It’s Friday night.”
There’s skepticism in his dry voice. “Fish market?”
“Yeah. It’s a pretty famous thing on the island, apparently. You can get grilled fish and drinks, there’s live music… It’s down past Bridgetown.”
“How are you getting there?”
“Well, I haven’t really figured it out yet. I read in the guidebook about taxi-buses. So, I’m considering that.”
“Taxi-buses,” he says. “And you’d go alone?”
“I was planning on that, yeah. Unless you have a taste for fish? I don’t think they serve steak at the fish market, buddy.”
“Buddy?”
“Yeah, it felt wrong the second it came out of my mouth. I take it back. I un-buddy you.”
“Thanks,” he says and turns back toward the stars. “Want company?”
“Sure, if you want to go. But don’t feel like you have to. I know it might not be your scene, you know.”
He pushes off the edge and swims to face me. “No, I don’t know. What do you mean?”
I give him an apologetic smile. “I mean, bungalow twelve? Exclusive itinerary? You probably had a lot of things planned that were golf courserelated or involved private tours,and not buses and fish markets.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know what I hate more, that you think that… or that you’re right,” he says. “But count me in for tomorrow.”
My smile widens. It had been something I very much wanted to do, but I’d been reluctant to try it on my own. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, perfect. We can meet in the lobby?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m not sure how we’d—oh.” I look across at the security guard approaching with a flashlight. He shines it toward the pool, and I fall silent. My rebellion was short-lived, and I’m instantly filled with regret. I hate breaking the rules.
The guard sighs, the sound audible across the quiet pool area. “I’m sorry, but I’ll have to ask you two to get out of the pool,” he calls. “No swimming allowed after 8 p.m.”
The flashlight flicks across the water until it illuminates us. Me—arms crossed over my wet bralette. Phillip—calmly treading water close by.
“Please,” he repeats.
“I’m sorry!” I shout, swimming as fast as I can toward the ladder. “We won’t do it again, I promise.”
“Good,” the guard says. He looks pointedly away from me. “Have a good evening now, ma’am. Sir.”
“Thank you, you, too.” I pull myself out of the pool to the man’s rapidly disappearing back.
