The Do-Over(5)

And as far as her brother, I would’ve loved to have every single night of the trip be a night like I had just shared with him, getting to know him and seeing where this thing could go. But if he was already involved with someone, and from his sister’s missive, it was serious, then I probably didn’t want to have a fling with this guy. Because to this one, I was going to get attached. I liked him. We clicked. And obviously, devil-sister had seen that. I wondered if he had said anything to her.

Oh well, it wasn’t meant to be. I tried being philosophical, but the disappointment was welling up. The vacation had started with such a stellar first night, but by the light of day, the feel-good was rapidly dissipating and I was beginning to feel like a fool. A romantic little fool who still believed in soulmates and happy endings.

Pffft.

And with that, I left without a backward glance, gathered my daypack from my stateroom and took off to discover Nevis.



He was a Marine and he was big, adorable and very southern. I just wanted to touch his arm muscles. Seeing him working out in the ship’s health club in the mornings was a sight to behold. It appeared that the single women on the ship had figured out his schedule and the gym became overly crowded during his workouts. Between those delectable arm muscles and a true six-pack stomach, the man was causing quite a stir. Pile on some southern charm, mix in those sweet gentleman manners, add the word Marine to that and this guy had quickly become very popular.

I’d found myself on multiple sightseeing tours with him all week long. Every time I turned around, the Marine was there, and it was a most pleasant sight, one that was helping to distract me from looking for Wes (who seemed to have disappeared) and wanting back the energy we shared the first night.

“You’ve gotta stop following me,” the Marine teased when I was standing behind him in line at the bar.

“The view from behind is really good,” I kidded back.

Why I was able to flirt with guys I wasn’t into was an absolute mystery to me. Yes, the Marine was handsome and hot, but he was from rural Alabama and I was a Brooklyn girl. I had absolutely nothing in common with him. Not a single freaking thing. And yet, I could kid around and flirt with him without getting all shy and weird like I did around guys I liked.

Craning around to look at his own ass, he agreed, “Yeah, that does look pretty good.”

Slapping him playfully on the biceps, “Narcissist!”

“Don’t be using those big words on me, Tara. You know us rednecks don’t go beyond two syllables.” He smiled a dimpled smile, his blue eyes sparkling in the late afternoon sun. “What can I get you to drink?”

“I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

A moment later he turned from the bar, handing me a plastic cup filled with what looked like a pale green Slurpee. “Margarita?” I asked and received a nod and another dimpled smile. Oh shit, tequila, I thought. I’m in trouble. Deep, deep trouble.

Taking my cup, I made my way over to a chaise, with Hunter, the Marine, following closely behind and parking on the chair next to mine. Across the deck, facing us were Wes and his evil sister, Stacy. She hadn’t left his side the entire trip, except to tell me yet another time that he had a girlfriend and wasn’t interested in me. And from him, I hadn’t gotten much past a brief hello without her literally inserting her body between us. Baby sis possessed some serious cock-blocking skills.

A table away at dinner the night before, she talked loudly about how her brother had been pining all week for his girlfriend, the gorgeous Hollywood actress, and couldn’t wait to get home to her and what a lovesick drag he was being.

After having spent a few nights hanging out on deck hoping he’d ditch his sister and show up for a reprise of the first night, I gave up. What seemed so special to me had apparently just been a pleasant conversation for him. I’d probably just made more of it in my head than it actually was – such a chick thing. With only a few days left of the trip, I felt kind of pathetic. I had one great night of conversation with some guy and there I was thinking it was something. Seriously pathetic. It truly was time to forget about the guy who was pining over his girlfriend and just enjoy the rest of the trip.

With only a few days left, and having thoroughly surveyed the male opportunities, I definitely knew I wasn’t going to find love on this trip, which left me with only one option, some good old, mindless, hot vacation sex, which was clearly the next best thing. And there was a big, handsome Marine who appeared to be more than willing to make that aspect of my vacation a reality.

Three margaritas later, I was numb. Literally.

“I can’t feel my fingertips,” I shared with Hunter, shock registering on my face. We both descended into drunken laughter.

Grabbing my hand, he began to poke the end of my fingers with his nails. “Can you feel that?”

“A little, but it kind of feels like you are touching them through fabric.”

His dimpled smile took on a wolfish cast, “I’d rather be touching you without fabric.”

I clenched my thighs, feeling his words rather than hearing them.

“I’ve got to go pee,” was my drunken proclamation in response. And then I laughed, “That wasn’t very ladylike, was it?”

He shook his head, feigning seriousness and then whispered, “But right now I don’t want to see you being ladylike at all.”