The Do-Over(4)
As I stretched out on the cool crisp sheets, trying to get the pillows just right and stop my mind from its high-speed voyage, I kept wondering what feelings he had just come away with, what was he thinking when his head hit the pillow in those moments before finally surrendering.
I know what I was thinking.
I liked him.
I really, really liked this guy.
Chapter 2
It was nearly noon, and we were tendered off the island of Nevis, when I finally emerged from my cabin, ready to face the day, despite my rip-roaring-lack-of-proper-sleep-and-too-much-alcohol headache. The dining room, with its panoramic ocean-view windows, could only be accessed via the deck, so I had to brave the blaring sunlight to be rewarded with a seriously needed caffeine fix.
My sunglasses didn’t feel dark enough or big enough the moment I stepped out onto the deck. Heavy with humidity, the sea air immediately began wreaking havoc on my irreverent freshly-washed curly hair, which gleefully frizzed with each step I took toward my first cup of Joe. I could feel the panic of bad hair settling around me like a dark cloud, ready to rob me of all my self-confidence. Face it, when your hair looks like crap, you feel like crap. I was going to need to learn to get over it quickly - at least for a week - or make my way over to the gift kiosk pronto for a baseball cap.
Breakfast was long over and the dining room was mostly empty, save for a few occupants. I assumed most guests were off the ship exploring or dining at the toney Nisbet Plantation, one of the island’s famed historical landmarks. I perused the scant self-serve pre-lunch choices trying to decide which were the least offensive.
Seating myself in a dark corner where I hoped the dim light wouldn’t reveal that I looked as bad as I felt, I sat down with a steaming mug of coffee and a plate of crackers, cheese and fresh fruit, hoping to enjoy them in solitude, while I reviewed everything I’d previously highlighted in my Nevis guidebook. I had already purchased a ticket for a mid-afternoon bike tour around Charlestown, the capital, that included visiting Alexander Hamilton’s birthplace and the Admiral Nelson Museum. If I caught the next tender to shore, I’d have plenty of time to walk around town on my own first.
Slam. My coffee actually sloshed in its cup, waves slamming against the porcelain shore and cresting onto the tablecloth. Looking up, I was surprised to see Wes’ sister, and assumed her own coffee mug must have slipped out of her hand, causing it to land on my table with such a crash.
“Hi.” I smiled at her. “You’re Wes’ sister.”
“I know who I am.” She looked at me like I was an idiot.
Trying to maintain my smile at her odd response, “Well, I’m Tara.”
“You know, Wes has a girlfriend.”
It was at that moment that I realized, from the glare in her squinted eyes and the thin line of her mouth, that her coffee cup probably had not slipped.
Shrugging my shoulders, my palms flipped up in the air and I know the look on my face was very clearly stating, what the f*ck?
She went on. “He has a girlfriend in California. She’s an actress. She’s tall and blonde. She looks like Sharon Stone with long, straight hair. And he’s crazy about her.” She spit out her speech in a staccato delivery as if she’d been practicing her lines in front of the bathroom mirror until he returned at dawn. “Like totally crazy in love with her. So just stay away from my brother, because he’d never leave his girlfriend for you. Ever.” And with that, she picked up her coffee mug and strolled across the dining room to a table clear on the other side.
Well, alrighty then. I took a careful sip of what remained in my coffee cup. What the hell was that? Actress girlfriend? Sharon Stone? He’d never leave her for you. Seriously? I had just spent one night talking to the man. Ugh and Sharon Stone. Yeah, that one hurt. I was maybe Meg Ryan on a good day, cute and a little goofy. But a sex goddess. Ummm. No.
The lack of sleep and the assault slammed me and suddenly, I had to fight back tears. But they were tears of anger. Intense anger at being assaulted for no reason. Grabbing my sunglasses off the table, I quickly covered my stinging eyes. My appetite was suddenly gone. Pushing the cheese away, I grabbed my guidebook and slipped the highlighter into the book’s metal coil spine. I did not want to be in a room with this bitch and her hostile energy.
Just as I was about to get up, he walked in. His unruly curls were still wet from the shower. A faded Ramones tee-shirt clung to his chest and I closed my eyes for a moment behind my sunglasses, just knowing from the night before the scent of his laundry detergent. His beautiful full lips slowly spread into that magnificent smile that I longed to taste, and for a moment his sister’s ugliness dissipated, and all felt right. This was the guy my energy soared with last night. And from the look on his face, seeing me again was a good thing. A very good thing.
And then I heard her voice, “Wes, over here.” His head snapped in her direction, stopping him in his tracks, he gave me a quick wave and another smile that said, the queen beckons, before pivoting and heading toward her table. She moved her seat as he approached so that he had to take the chair where his back would be to me. What a bitch.
I sat for another moment, took a deep breath and reminded myself of the reason that I came alone – to worry about my own enjoyment and not have to worry about anyone else. This woman was a stranger to me and I was going to be damned if she was going to ruin my fantasy cruise through the Leeward and Windward Islands.