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It wasn’t how I expected day one to go. Amy, the function coordinator, had to come and save me when things went awry, which is embarrassing. It wasn’t horrible… but for far out, they blasted me with questions about my ‘new relationship’, and it became a headache! I came to discuss my book and accept gratitude, but then, in the end, it was all about me and a lie that I had formed.
It’s been an hour since, and I’m still reeling. I finally reappeared from my hotel room where I was hiding, trying to come up with ways to explain the setback to Tiffany when it was close to lunchtime.
Now, here I stand in line waiting for my pre-booked table, with the addition of the best view in the house. As I wait, something hard bumps into my shoulder, and I almost crash into the man in front of me. I straighten myself but go still when the scent of familiar cologne assaults my nose, as the man invades my space.
“Oh, shit! Sorry,” I feel a heavy hand on my shoulder, and I turn to give him a pointed look.
Him. That man that pops up every time I want a breather.
He looks at me, eyes hidden behind black aviators, and grins.
“Oh, it’s my favorite flamingo.”
Gah, I hate that damn name. And I’m certainly not his.
I sigh, casting my eyes upward. “I’m not your flamingo.”
He chuckles and even though it sounds so sexy, the fact he’s still standing there and laughing at me, not with me, is pushing my buttons. “And I’m not a flamingo, for fuck’s sakes. Leave my hair alone!”
I sound childish, but I can’t help with these little temper tantrums around him. I’m doing my best not to stomp my foot.
He shoves his cell, which I presume is the reason he bumped into me in the first place, into his back pocket and shrugs. “Perhaps it’s what the color of your nails represents?”
Oh, that’s it. Again, with pointing out that I am sexually frustrated. Not that I am. Okay, maybe a little, but the nerve!
“Look, I don’t know you, and I can see that we are here at the same resort, so it’s likely we’ll do another one hundred and eighty. But I don’t need you annoying me like this!” I roll my eyes as I cross my arms, turning my back away from him.
“It’s like I’m being punished for catching you in the act earlier, dammit.” I mumble to myself, although it must not have been as quiet as I imagined, because I hear him clap his hands. I glance over my shoulder and see his eyes light up and he literally looks like he’s perking. That look sets off alarm bells and I turn and focus on the line, praying it will move quicker. I need distance.
“Ah, so you admit it. You watched me!” He says in a whisper, leaving goose-pimples as I feel his warm breath over my neck.
No, don’t let his sexiness distract you!
I take a deep breath and continue to stare at the back of the large man in front of me. The heat must be getting to him as I watch a drop of sweat from his neck. Grimacing at the sight, I close my eyes, and hope this line would move faster so I can get a seat away from everyone. I’m tired and just want to eat.
“You know, maybe you painted your nails that color subconsciously after enjoying a little show. Haven’t you heard no one likes a peeping tom?”
The man in front of me suddenly turns around and looks at me, then glances over my shoulder at Mr. Annoying. And I fucking swear, I saw a hint of a smirk as he looks away.
This is going to get mortifying if I don’t shut this idiot up.
I spin around and cross my arms. “Okay,” I whisper through grit teeth, “Can you please stop this? It’s getting childish.” Then I quickly re-adjust my sunglasses and continue waiting to be shown to my table.
When I hear him laugh, I don’t look back and, to my relief, the line finally moves, and the waitress greets me.
“I’ve booked under Rosens” She nods at me, but I can see her eyes slide over to Mr. Annoying behind me and makes a starry-eyed grin.
What the hell? Does everyone need to gush at him?
I clear my throat and glance towards the tables, which seems to make the waitress leaves her stupor and nod at me with a smile. “Please follow me,” she says cheerfully and turns, leading me through the restaurant and stops at a table.
To say I feel giddy is an understatement when I see a place card with my name on it, placed in the middle of the table. I can’t help but grin as I read ‘Abigail Rosens’ in bold cursive writing. They could have left it as reserved, so I love the special treatment.
The waitress watches me sink into my chair and then says, “There is coffee, water, and juices available at the buffet, but if you prefer to order something specific, then please let me know, and I will take your order. Here is a menu.”
Oh, yes, please!
“Great. For now, could I get a double shot of Mocha, please?” I ask, hoping I can consume at least one hot coffee today.
