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“No, thank you. No men for me. Just sun, surf, and sangria.” I use my most firm tone even though I know it will have no effect on her whatsoever.
“Oh, I’m getting you laid, or I’ll die trying.”
I’m about to protest when the car slows and pulls into a long driveway leading to our resort. “Holy crap. This place is huge.”
“And fabulous,” Gina says, staring at a group of men without shirts. “I think you may have picked the best resort on the island.”
An hour later, we’ve checked in and gotten settled into our room. It doesn’t have the view of the ocean I was hoping for but instead overlooks the ‘garden,’ which is really a nice way to say that they’ve planted some shrubs to hide the garbage cans.
“Well, for $299 for the week, I guess we can’t expect the best view,” Gina says, shrugging as she shuts the curtains. “Let’s go get wasted.”
We get into our swimsuits and I throw on a knee-length, light blue coverup with a hood. Gina, however, is in the tiniest bikini that barely contains her ample bosoms. She’s got the deepest spray tan you can get at Glowtan and her teeth gleam white against her slightly orange skin.
“What on earth are you wearing?” she asks, wrinkling up her nose at me.
“A coverup. I’m not going to prance around the resort in a bikini.”
“And why not?”
“Because I’m not exactly bikini-ready and I never will be.” I toss my sunscreen and my Kindle into my beach bag.
When I look up at Gina, she’s shaking her head at me. “Lila, you seriously need to start loving what you’ve got going there. You’re really pretty and you’ve got some kickass curves. Own ‘em, girl.”
I roll my eyes and open the door. “You own yours, I’ll hide mine, and together we’ll be like a woman with a healthy confidence level.”
Gina follows me out the door, saying, “I'm fine. You, however, need to work on feeling good about yourself. But don't worry, by the time we leave here, I’m going to have you strutting your stuff.”
“I’m not interested in strutting. I want to read by the pool, suck back some neon-colored drinks with umbrellas poking out of them, and eat lots of desserts.”
So, reading by the pool isn’t exactly in the cards for me. Turns out, this is a total party resort, which means there’s a DJ pumping out tunes so loud that the empty lounge chairs are vibrating their way across the pool deck. Not that there are many empty ones. We manage to find two side-by-side and I get myself set up while Gina hops into the pool and makes her way over to the swim-up bar for drinks. The late-day heat is seriously intense, so I put on my oversized straw hat and start slathering on the 50 SPF sunblock. No burns for this girl. By the time I’m settled on the chair, Gina is back with four drinks and a hot guy who is carrying them for her.
She waggles her eyebrows at me and shouts over the music. “This is Bryan.”
“Ryan,” he corrects her.
“Right. He invited us to a party down at the beach bar tonight.”
I smile at Ryan. “Thanks. That sounds fun,” I holler. “Is there a quiet pool at the resort, by chance? I'm trying to read.”
He gives me a look of confusion. “What?”
“Nothing!” Gina shouts, handing me a bright blue drink. “She’s just kidding around.”
I have a long sip, letting the cold liquid slide down my throat. Before I know it, the whole drink is gone and I lean back in the lounge chair, feeling a lot more relaxed about being here. Gina and Ryan go for a dip and it only takes about five minutes for flirting in the water to turn to a full-on make-out session. I grab the next drink and suck it back, trying not to notice the show they’re putting on. I wonder if I could ever be as free as Gina. To just go for it like that in a pool surrounded by hundreds of people.
An hour later, Gina is gone. She left with Ryan so he could ‘show her something’ in his room. I'm pretty sure what he's going to show her rhymes with the word 'block.' I’ve polished off all four of the fruity dri
nks and am now very drunk. I’m also very hungry and would give my left ovary for a big plate of French fries right now. I collect my things and start across the wet pool deck and down the tile stairs toward the beach hut restaurant. My foot slips out from under me and I fall down the three steps and into the sand, twisting my ankle and screeching like a parrot.
When I try to stand, my ankle gives out and I land on my butt. If I weren’t so tipsy, I’d be totally embarrassed right now. A waitress spots me from the restaurant and hurries over to help. “Are you okay, Miss? That looked like a bad fall.”
“It was. It really hurts.” I touch my ankle, then wince as pain shoots through my leg.
“I’ll call for help. We can arrange to take you to the hospital to get that looked at.”
Oh great. My first day of my first vacation since I was a child and I’m about to spend it in the ER. I thank her for her help and when she walks away, I let my shoulders drop and wish I had never heard of St. Lucia.
Four
