“Nice,” Kylie said. “What about you, Alice?”
Mac’s green eyes flashed through my mind for a millisecond before I shoved them and the rest of his bulky, Irish self out of my mind. “Nope,” I said. “Maid of Honor. I have too much responsibility.”
Kylie waved me off. “Come on. You did all the work before you got here. That’s the whole point of having a wedding at a resort. They will literally set everything up for you.”
I shrugged, moving out of the way for a couple of young kids, running with boogie boards toward the beach. “You never know what’s going to happen. I gotta keep my eye on the prize, and that prize is peaceful marital bliss for Beck and Sam. Trouble could pop up anywhere, and I’m going to be ready for it.”
“Babe, what you ‘gotta’ do is revenge-fuck Daniel out of your system. It’s just the natural order of things and resistance is only going to hurt you.”
“I’m not revenge-fucking anyone,” I insisted. “I was the one who broke up with him. It’s not like I have something to prove.”
“All I’m saying,” Kylie continued, oblivious, “is that the universe has served up a beef buffet in Sam’s friends and you’d be a fool to ignore it.”
“Ew,” Sarah and I harmonized at the words ‘beef buffet’.
“I suggest Henry,” she continued, ignoring us. “The things that man can do with his hands…” She kissed her fingers like remembering a particularly delicious meal.
“Eh. He’s a little scrawny for me.” Mac’s dumb face kept leaning into frame and I wished we’d move on to a different topic.
“Try shredded. He has an eight-pack. And come on, it wasn’t like Daniel was some bodybuilder,” she said, sounding a little annoyed that I dissed her conquest.
“Hey if you’re so into Henry, you go after him,” I said. I nodded to Sarah. “Or introduce Sarah.”
“Maybe I will,” Kylie said. “Introduce Sarah,” she clarified. “I’m going a different route this trip. Maybe Twain?”
“Who’s Twain?” Sarah asked, looking between us.
“It’s actually Twain Conrad,” I told her.
Her eyes widened. “Wait, not Twain Conrad. The author? I literally read that series eighty times in high school.”
“One and the same,” I said. “But try to keep an open mind meeting him, and don’t let his personality affect your memories of his books.”
“What’s wrong with him?” she asked.
“I’ve never actually met him,” I admitted, thankful for the change in topic. “But Alice has told me stories…”
I regaled the both of them with tales of excess (the time he had an actual tiger in his penthouse for his twenty-sixth birthday party) and of a wild, unpredictable personality (that same birthday when, after one of his Hollywood starlet guests worried over the danger of having a live tiger prowling the apartment, he fed it raw steaks dripping with blood from his own hands).
“I’ll bet he’s a crazy lay,” Kylie said.
“Is that all you can think about?” I asked, though I wouldn’t disagree. But before I could comment further, I got that urge, the one that comes way too frequently when drinking champagne.
“I need to pee,” I groaned.
“Just wait a minute and use the pool,” Kylie said. She pointed at a sign. “It’s just up there.”
“Dude. Gross.”
“Everyone does it.”
“Yeah, but if I do it too then I have to acknowledge that fact,” I said. “No, I’m using the bathrooms like a civilized person. Don’t wait up.”
I diverged from the path and headed toward a worker who was trimming the hedges.
“Excuse me,” I said. “Where’s the nearest bathroom?”
“There’s one just down the path. But it’s a bit out of the way so look carefully or you’ll miss it.”
I walked for almost ten minutes before realizing that I must have missed it. Reluctantly, I doubled back around, resolving to tell Kylie and Sarah that I’d found it and just hope they pumped a hell of a lot of chlorine into the water. But right before I rounded the bend that would reveal my friends, I noticed a small building tucked back in the hedges. That had to be it.
I walked around it, finding the little woman in the dress, and pulled at the door. There was a slight resistance, one I later recognized as the door catching on a poorly-closed lock. Regrettably, in the moment, it didn’t occur to me that this closed door should stay that way, and I pulled harder, forcing the lock aside and revealing a scene so surprising, my body locked into place, mouth open, hand frozen in the act of opening the door.
A dark-haired woman rode a man with her legs wrapped around his waist, his powerful arms holding her off the ground as he thrust into her. Her back was to me, but as she threw her head back in lust, she noticed the open door or maybe just my bug-eyed face as we made terrible, horrible eye contact.
I only had a moment, not even a second, to take in the familiar face and discarded bleached-white power suit before Mariana gave a shriek and dived off the man like a Olympian on the dismount into an open bathroom stall.
While, I would admit, it was nice to no longer be watching people actively bang, this left me in a position somehow even more exposed. Because now, like cowboys in an old western, I stood locked in a stand-off with an utterly surprised and completely naked Mac Walsh.
What a way to start the week.
3
Mac
In my defense, I’d gotten quite drunk on the plane.
After Mason plopped his disapproving words in my lap and left me alone to join the fun, I cracked another bottle of scotch and got to work.
When there was nothing else left for me, I could always count on Lady Liquor. It was a mindset I’d developed at the ripe age of ten, and, after building my own label, it’d turned out to be accurate in more ways than one. Unfortunately, like most women, she also carried the bite of regret, embarrassment, and potential loss of life or limb if you didn’t treat her with respect. In that regard, I did my best, though I wasn’t above admitting to a mistake or two along the road.
Mexico Day One was looking like it might be one of those times.
Honestly, I had no intention of banging the wedding planner, least of all in a women’s bathroom. But I also hadn’t anticipated how good she’d look — deeply tanned skin, thick black hair, and large dark eyes set off by bright white clothing that didn’t seem to have ever felt dirt’s breath on its purity. She’d greeted us as we’d stepped out of the limo (or, in my case, staggered).
I kept control of myself though I was nursing a pretty heady drunk. Control was key in these situations. Control of the limbs, of the face, and, above all, of the mouth.
I wore dark sunglasses so I didn’t have to worry about my eyes. That was my mistake. In focusing on keeping the others from realizing I had one foot in the bottle, I hadn’t realized that… Mary? Marissa? Something with an M. Anyway, I hadn’t realized she’d stopped talking and I was still staring at her, my mouth in a firm sober line, my boozy eyes hidden away.