“Why are men sexier than women?”
She shakes her head. “That’s not normally true . . . but let me have it, anyway.”
“You can’t spell sexy without xy.”
We both break into laughter, and everything suddenly seems right again.
“Now I know what you’ve been up to all those hours you spend in the lab at school.”
The music has stopped and the murmurs of conversations roll across the beach like a soft wave.
“Ever wonder why I approached you to be my roommate?”
I sit up straighter, surprised. “That’s not how I remember it. We bumped into each other in coffee shop off campus. We talked coffee and music and upcoming schedules. I mentioned I was looking for a roommate.” She was looking for someone to move into her off-campus apartment. The perfect coincidence . . . “What are you saying?”
The music comes back on. A popular new dance song about living in the moment. Luciana jumps to her feet, abandoning our odd conversation. I shake off the feeling that the rug was about to be pulled out from beneath my feet again. I sigh. We came to Cabo to have fun and to start the New Year off right. I’ve got to trust that things always have a way of working themselves out, no matter the problem.
She offers a hand up, her messy dark-haired ponytail bobbing in unison with my own blond one.
“That looks so much better on you than me.”
I glance down.
We’ve swapped clothing—being of a similar height and weight has its benefits. We’re both wearing floral-patterned bikini tops and the shortest of short-shorts. My pants tend to draw tight across her backside and her tops cling to my full breasts a tad too snugly. Yet who can refuse the temptation of a more extensive wardrobe?
I might be more cautious about letting anyone in, but with my friend’s help, I’m learning how to let loose.
The pocket of my shorts vibrates loudly.
It’s Brendan, my soon-to-be-official boyfriend, who’s been hanging out by the bar with the handsome bartender who has been flirting with Luciana all night.
“You know what they say when a cell phone vibrates?” Luciana says.
“No, what?”
“Nearby someone is horny.”
“Half the cells phones in Cabo must be doing a happy dance with you in town.”
“Let’s go, amiga,” she replies, grabbing my hand. “And test the waters.”
As we walk across the beach, she squeezes my hand. “What happens in Costa del Rio—”
“Stays in Costa del Rio,” I finish her sentence with a smile.
And if the night goes according to plan, I’ll be leaving my pesky virginity behind in Mexico as well.
Brendan’s everything I should want in a boyfriend. Kind. Sweet. Easy on the eyes, with his chestnut-colored hair and always earnest smile. A surfer boy with a tight, muscular body and easygoing manner. A guy more in love with me than I with him—something Luciana tells me is a good thing. I want us to work. I want my first foray into sex to be earth-shattering. I want to forget that his eyes aren’t . . . green.
“Stop,” I say, pushing him off of me.
“What’s wrong, babe?” he asks, yet does as I ask, rolling away from me and onto his back on the Mexican blanket. We’ve been making out for over an hour, kissing and caressing each other in what should have been an intimate exchange. Two young lovers on a moon-rich beach with not a care in the world. The perfect setup for losing one’s virginity. Except I’m not feeling it.
“I didn’t mean to come so fast but you get me all worked up. Let me make it up to you. Let me make you come.”
Ten strokes within my palm is all it’d taken for him to climax, which is how we started things out. Seems my surfer boy is as quick to climax as he is at catching waves. But the truth is, it’s my fault things aren’t progressing like I’d hoped.
I sigh. “That’s not it.”
“What is then?”
I reach down and tug my bikini top back up and into place. “It doesn’t matter.” I hoped the moonlight, the warm beach, exotic Cabo, and my hot surfer boy would be it. The one to make me feel things. To make me forget . . . him.
Or is it my rose-colored memory of him?
Brendan isn’t the guy for me. Best to end it with him now and not lead him on.
Break it to him gently.
“You’re a keeper, Mad. With any other girl, I’d be feeling pretty lame.”
“I better head back to my room. Luciana and I have to get up early if we plan on making our whale-watching trip.”
“That’s tomorrow?” Brendan rolls toward me. “What about the sunrise?”
I bite my lip. The whale excursion isn’t really tomorrow but the following morning. So much for being gentle. “Brendan, please don’t get the wrong idea . . .”
“Right. Wait until you see the sunrise from the deck of my beach house. Which reminds me, babe, this summer if you wanna stay in San Diego, you can move into my place. Plenty of space to store your board. We can surf every day. You’ll be riding like a pro in no time.”
“I . . . um . . .” He catches me with my pants down in an entirely different way than anticipated. Oh, no. He’s asking me to move in with him?
Two months ago, he’d commented on my stylin’ lime-green board and offered up surfing tips. I’d meet him at sunrise and spend the early morning catching waves before classes began. Out of the water, we’d slowly progressed from kissing to full-on body contact. He has both a nice package and is the whole package. Any girl would be lucky to have him. A shame she will never be me. Credulously, he smiles, unaware of the panic rocking my rapidly sinking ship.
Mayday.
“How about it?” he persists, placing his finger on my arm and running it along my skin. Nada. Nothing.
“I’ll help you find a decent summertime roommate. Maybe one of the regulars riding the surf?”
He pauses in his caress. “Babe, do I need to spell it out for you? I don’t wanna roommate. I want you. I love . . .”
Quicker than my aching heart, I roll, then scamper to my feet. Sucking in a breath, I wipe pebbles of sand off me, smoothing my palms across my legs, my arms, my stomach, over and over. Still, my skin feels covered in it. Smothered in it.
Mayday. Mayday.
“Mad, you okay? What happened, a sand bug bite ya?” Brendan might be a ten-stroke wonder but empathy gushes out of him. A standup guy. I don’t want to hurt his feelings.
“I’m going to go and shower this sand off. We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?” Without waiting for his answer, I pivot on my heels and walk away. Not looking at him—yet well aware of his reaction. The disappointment. The alarm.
Kicked to the curb. A left-behinder.
Guess it takes one to know one.
For what seems like hours, I walk along the water’s edge, watching as the clouds slowly float in to swallow up the moonbeams. Shadows shift across the sand, and I realize that there’s a strong possibility I’m not alone. Kylie would have my head for taking such an unwise risk, a woman alone on a beach in a foreign country.
Alone, not lonely.
I call Luciana with a “heads-up alert”—in case the sexy bartender lasts longer than all the other men that have come before him—but the room phone rings busy. Which probably means she’s taken our conversation on the beach to heart.