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I suck in a deep breath and filter it through my lungs slowly, reminding myself that sex doesn’t solve anything. It’s not going to straighten my issues back home, and it’s definitely not going to fix my current problem, which I haven’t even told Margo and Lexi about. Not to mention, I’ve been conditioned to believe that intimacy and emotion equal sex. And when intimacy is something you’ve craved since childhood, sex becomes a scapegoat. At least that’s what my therapist told me. I probably should’ve kept up with our sessions, but I couldn’t afford her.
When my lungs have emptied, I drag in another breath, taking in the hibiscus in the air. It’s soft and sweet, almost like berries, but there’s more. Behind it is the scent of something expensive. A musky, woodsy cologne that sets my clit to throb. I push the knee-jerk reaction away and stare into the bar, scanning the bottles for labels that look unique enough to draw my mind into another place, but it’s hard to see in the dimly lit space. The sun went down hours ago and while there are a few torches lit and a few overhead fans shining light around the bartender, it’s not enough to see much detail. That hasn’t stopped people from being out, though. There are at least fifty people in the small hut drinking. Their voices are a combination of drunken laughter and sarcastic chatter, which has only gotten louder in the last few minutes. One bit of laughter in particular draws my eye to the wood block overhang where a man sits hunched over with a short glass of dark liquor buried in his paw. He’s laughing at a joke the pretty bartender seems to be telling the group of men she’s serving to.
My stomach clenches and I feel lightheaded. I’ve seen that man before, and there’s absolutely no reason he should be here. In fact, I know he had board meetings this week he shouldn’t have missed.
I shake my head and run my hands through my hair, pulling a nearby glass of water to my lips as I try to figure out what the hell is happening.
I’m imagining it. This island is littered with silver haired men, a lot of them. But as the man raises his stout, amber filled glass to his lips, the dim light catches a glinting off his bellytanker bronze watch and I know without a shadow of a doubt that it’s him. It’s Kemp. He was the reason I tore out of San Francisco with the little bit of money I had.
“Everything okay?” Brad asks, noticing how I’ve affixed my eyes ahead. “You know that guy?”
I look back at Brad, my eyes wide, my heart thumping hard against my chest as I think back to my last interaction with the man at the bar and his large, heaving body bent over me as he leaned me into his desk and gripped my jaw hard.
“That’s him. It’s Kemp,” I stutter, probably making zero sense. “I need to get out of here.”
Chapter Two
Brad
I look around the bar and fixate on the man that Sara is now trying to avoid. Apparently, his name is Kemp, but I can’t gather why he’d be a threat. He’s older, and seemingly innocuous. I’d guess he’s in his late forties, maybe early fifties, and he carries himself as though he has old money, the kind that’s been handed to you over the ages. Though, when he twists to the side and flashes his bright white teeth to a woman at the bar, I get the feeling he’s some kind of doctor. Like one of the one’s you’d see in some high-end office by the beach in Miami giving girls that don’t need boob jobs, boob jobs.
“I need to get out now,” Sara says, her hands cupped around her face, her eyes wide. I try to imagine what’s gotten her so worked up, but only weird scenarios come to mind. Like how maybe she’s tied to the mafia, or this man is the paparazzi and he’s digging up dirt. Sara is quite beautiful, and I’d totally believe it if she told me she was a celebrity.
“You both want to get out of here?” I ask, trying to interject Margo, who’s in the middle of a full-fledged dissertation on single versus double hulled catamarans and which one is better for deep sea diving.
I glance back at Sara, her big honey brown eyes now dripping tears, her lip quivering.
What the hell is going on?
She stands from the table and her legs wobble. I rule out the idea that she’s a celebrity. I have a feeling that would’ve been more a hide and run sort of reaction. This seems more scared and angry. Maybe it is the mafia. Either way, I can’t let her run off alone.
Moving to her side, I grip her waist, helping to steady her as she stumbles out of the bar. It’s not a heavy stumble as though she’s drunk. It’s more aholy fuck, there’s a mafia man following mekind of walk. Maybe I’ve seen too many Robert Dinero movies for my own good.
“Where are you guys headed?” Colin asks, standing with me.
I look toward Sara and gauge her expression. I’m not sure what she wants me to say, so I let her take the lead.
“I just need some air,” she says, a quiver in her voice. “We’ll be back in a second.”
Colin eyes me as though he wants an out away from chatty Margo, but I beg him with widened eyes to give me a minute.
He relents and sits back on the stool, crossing his arms in hesitation to Margo’s long-winded thesis as my attention goes back to Sara, who’s wiping away her tears with speed as they drip down her face in quick succession.
Damn, it’s been a while since I’ve seen anyone cry this hard. It’s sort of hard to watch.
“So who is that guy?” I ask, as we step outside the tiki hut.
She lets out a sigh and wraps her arms around her body, trying to keep herself from shaking. For a second, I let her do it alone, but it only takes a moment for me to reach out and wrap her as well. It’s instinct more than anything, and really very selfish, as my own chest was getting tight watching her suffer.
“Are you in some kind of trouble?” I ask, holding her in place as the shaking begins to subside.
She shakes her head, then steps away from me and down onto the sand, tucking behind a green grape bush. “It’s just… he’s a guy I know from back home. I wasn’t expecting to see him here.”
I nod and lower myself onto the sand next to her, reaching my hand behind her back. “Is it okay if I—”
She glances toward me and nods, wiping another tear. If she doesn’t want to tell me who this guy is, that’s okay. I can just hold her here until she feels better.
In the near silent rush of waves crashing against the sand, a warm breeze pushes past us and a hint of whatever floral perfume she’s wearing surrounds me. Then again, maybe it’s honeysuckle. I’m not sure, but it’s something sweet.
