Feel the Heat: A Contemporary Romance Anthology (74 page)

“
Y
ou come here often
?”

So much for not strapping on a buzz and sidling up to the bar. I’d been sitting there for over an hour with only my slide printouts to mutter at. They weren’t becoming any clearer as the time passed. Since I didn’t think sobriety would change that fact, I figured it wasn’t necessary. If I was going down with the ship, I was going to party like a rock star the whole way. Besides, bars weren’t really the problem. It was men that were the problem. If I just stayed away from the opposite sex, I could make it out of this life rut in one piece, I had no doubt.

“I doubt people who live in Hawaii hang out in resort bars,” I said to the middle-aged man who was standing way too close. “And since most people don’t vacation year round, it’s doubtful that I come here often. Or was that rhetorical?”

“Uh oh. Bad day?” The stool next to me groaned. His butt
kushed
into the leather seat.

I sighed in an extremely aggressive sort of way. An obvious bad mood was the first line of defense against would-be pick-up artists.

“Can I get you a drink?” he asked. I barely saw a finger edge into my line of sight, pointing at my half-empty glass.

“No, thanks. I don’t want you to think I’ll sleep with you.” Boldness was the second defensive technique I’d learned, and it usually did the trick.

“Whoa.” The stool creaked as he shifted. “Slow down, little lady. I’m not after anything at all. I saw a beautiful girl sitting here all by herself and figured she needed someone to make her smile.”

That sounded nice and all, but his suggestive lean and the soft stickiness of his voice made my skin crawl.

Luckily I was armed with Snark and Crazy. Usually those weapons used in tandem would chase even the most determined guys away.

“There are two women sitting at this bar,” I said in a strong, confident voice. It was my Creepy Man-deterrent voice. “One is a hot mess that is all out of fucks to give. She’s sunburnt in patches and surly as hell. The other is wearing a muumuu made out of something resembling a curtain. Both of us have our resting bitch faces on. Not even a saint would sidle over and try to turn these frowns upside down. So what is it—you looking to sell your testicles on the black market? Because I know a guy. He’d set you up, good and proper. Two hundred K, and that ain’t no bathtub full of ice, know what I mean, Vern?”

“What?”

“No, huh?” I drummed the bar as though I was thinking. “What about this—a big coupon pack. Eh? Who can say no to a big coupon pack? Big savings, tiny fee…”

He laughed in a weirdly intimate way that told me he wasn’t buying my crazy. A real drunk girl bloodhound, this guy. He took the nonsense as it came.

Dang. I had to pull out the big guns.

The bartender walked over with a blue uniform posing as a Hawaiian shirt. He gave the tick of his head that said, “What are you having?”

“I’ll have a daiquiri. And get my friend here a—”

“No.” I slashed the air with my hand. “
Nada.
”

His voice softened. He leaned a little further over the bar. “Just get her—”

“Nope.” I connected eyes with the bartender and said seriously, “I’ll continue to get my own.”

“You want one right now?” the bartender asked, undaunted.

“No, thanks.”

He nodded and walked down the bar to get the guy’s drink.

“Okay, okay,” the guy said. “Don’t want a drink. I can take a hint.”

“Clearly not.”

“So what are you here for?”

“I’m training to be a monk of the silent variety, constantly fighting against my natural impulse to answer annoying questions.”

“Are you here for business or pleasure?”

“A journalist type, huh? Asking the hard-hitting questions, I see.” I sucked my margarita through the straw. “Well, I’m all about the business. Minding my own mostly…” To accent the terrible pun, I turned to him with a scowl-smile—a terrifying version of the real thing, I was sure.

A forty-something man with a ruddy face and greasy hair grinned back at me. He was about fifteen years older than me, and judging from the gut bulging over his belt and peeking out of his shirt, he was also a hundred and fifteen pounds heavier.

He rested an elbow on the bar and leaned toward me. “There you go. See, it ain’t all that bad.”

I could feel my brow crumple. “I feel like we are having two very different conversations.”

I turned back in time to see an ancient geezer hobble over to muumuu lady. She shifted so her back was mostly to the stool he heaved himself onto. It didn’t stop him from trying to start a conversation, though.

“Oh holy Jesus, clearly there is something in the water.” I shook my head, finished my drink, and slid off my stool.

“Oh no, where are you—”

“See ya, Ralph.” I snatched the slide printouts and raised them to the bartender in a salute. He gave me a wave even though it was very likely his name was not Ralph. I’d just made it up, after all. It felt cooler to know someone who belonged to the establishment.

I half-stumbled out into the Waikiki night, immediately embraced in warmth. I took a big breath and just stood for a moment, relishing the pleasant summer evening as the heat started to fizzle away.

Things could be worse. I had to own that fact. Not many jobs paid for a girl to go to a lovely resort in a sought-after location. They’d even lined up some fun things to do, like a booze cruise and a hike up to Diamond Head. The job wasn’t great, and the coworkers were Satan’s helpers, but there were definitely perks.

I took one more deep breath and weighed my options. While I could head back to the hotel and see what was on TV, my room overlooked a concrete roof of some sort. I was in paradise—I wanted to experience it.

Without another thought, I walked forward to seek another place to hang out, preferably outside. It wasn’t long before the sound of a toe-tapping band riding the breeze caught my attention. I walked around the building in front of me and then met a courtyard with an outdoor check-in desk. The wisps of music called me in the other direction.

About-facing with confidence, even though I had no idea where I was because the resort was a maze for even the directionally proficient, and I was a long way from that, I stalked back the way I came.

More buildings confronted me, sentries guarding the treasure of good music.

Did they not want people to find the band?

An elbow poked my back. A shoulder knocked into me.

“Oops!” I untangled myself from a woman’s camera strap. It was like I’d just stepped into a roller derby of some sort. “Sorry. Yup. There we go. Okay.” I veered to the side and let the group of intense tourists hurry past. Why the rush, I had no idea.

Undeterred, I randomly went right and followed a little alleyway around a pearl store. The Louis Vuitton shop sneered at me from across the throughway, its window filled with expensive handbags I’d never be able to afford.

I flipped it the bird. Why not. I was in an expressive type of mood.

After circling another shop, I passed the outside check-in desk again. The music still wafted on the breeze. I’d done a circle.

How the hell had that happened?

“Lost?” a woman asked with a smile. She had a suitcase and was standing in the line waiting for a cab.

“No, I’m okay—actually, yes. Can you tell me how to get to the music?”

“Oh, uhhh…” She looked in the direction of the sound before pointing back the way I’d come. “Yes. You just head that way, and you’ll run right into an outdoor bar area, I believe. There’s a band there, usually.”

“Awesome, thanks!” Feet starting to blister, I did exactly what she’d said. When a large path led veered right, I resisted the urge to follow it, and instead kept walking straight. A large seating area nearly full of people greeted me, with a bar in the middle and a band, as promised, positioned on the far end. It was all open to the world, with couples and groups drinking and listening to the music.

Not wanting to be bothered like in the other bar, I spotted a seat at the bar between two couples. Fifth wheel, coming right up. No way would those guys hit on me, let alone talk to me. Their women would probably punch them in the face if they tried.

“That’ll do, pig,” I muttered to myself.

A woman who was passing me started, and then glared.

“Oh no!” I hastened to say. “Sorry. Not you. It’s just…” I let the words trail off as she walked away with a stiff back.
Oops.

A moment later I swung myself up onto a barstool with a back. This sucker had lounging in mind. Two bartenders worked the rectangular bar, open on all sides and making the liquors in the middle their own island. I waited for the blue-shirted woman to approach. “What can I get you?” she asked.

“Margarita, please, on the rocks. No salt—can I put this on my room?”

A lively tune started, drowning out her words. Her nod was good enough, so I threw her a grin and stared through bottles and past faces to see the distant two-man band. It wasn’t a moment later that she came back and said, “Here ya go, honey,” and deposited my drink in front of me.

I patted the slide printouts and then sucked the tangy liquid. Not as strong as the last one.

That was definitely a good thing.

Time passed as I listened to the music and enjoyed the balmy night. My slides sat beside me, imploring me to go over them one more time. But just as I was about to reach for them, the guy on the right nudged me with his shoulder. I leaned away so he could get up then help his girl up.

A gaping hole had opened up beside me. Not two minutes later, I heard, “Hey.”

I sighed and slouched.
Why me?

Or was he even talking to me? He was standing close, sure, but he could’ve been talking to anyone.

I glanced up and saw a mildly attractive man with a fuzzy beard. He nodded at me in greeting.

Fine. He
was
talking to me. But that didn’t mean anything. Jeez, Ms. Ego. Think the world wants into your skivvies?

“Hi,” I said with a tight smile, turning back. That was body language for, “I am being nice, but am happily antisocial.”

“So, do you hang out here a lot?”

Damn it.

“As much as possible,” I said flatly, hiding the sarcasm. “A real barfly, this girl. I love it.”

“Oh really, huh? Is the music that good?”

“Probably.”

“Yeah.” He glanced behind him before taking the seat next to me.

Knowing what that meant, I looked in that direction. Sure enough, there was a table full of snickering guys on the outskirts of the bar area.

So, this guy thought he was going to close the deal, did he? He was probably one of those jerks who thought a man had to overcome a woman’s social conditioning to “be a good girl” in order to get laid. After his conquest, he would blab about it to all his friends while I was slut-shamed.

I wished my friend Rebecca was with me. Oh the laughs we would have.

“What are you here for?” the guy asked.

“Well…” I shifted, as though uncomfortable. Acting like the Feds might be watching the conversation, I braced my hand near my mouth and said, “Truth be told, I deal crack. A lot of buyers in this neck. They pick up a rock and a handbag to store it in. Pipes are extra. You look like a college guy, right? Like to party?”

His chuckle was forced as he looked out through the bottles. “But really. You on vacation, or…”

“You caught me. Vacation, yes. I got a dose of the herp. It kinda ruined my day. But then they went away—dodged that bullet, am I right? Got rid of that. So I figured I’d take some time to celebrate. How about you?”

The bartender paused as she delivered the guy’s drink and then set the beer on the bar with a small smile. She was the only one who seemed to find humor in my absurdity. The guy on my other side, the one with the girlfriend, jerked and looked over before turning back to his woman without a word.

The guy hitting on me had a comical expression of disbelief, but his eyes were wary. Unlike the last guy, he obviously wasn’t used to crazy. And here it was, blasting him full-on.

Chuckles started to pop through my middle like kernels of corn. I couldn’t help it. Abject terror was bleeding through his cool-guy mask. He perched on the edge of his seat while he wrapped his fingers carefully around his beer, clearly not knowing if he should stay or go. Logic probably told him I was full of it, but he was after sex, and STDs were not sexy.

I shook as I clamped down on my laughter.

He licked his lips and then carefully stood and made his way to the other side of the stool. “Okay, then. Well, have a good night.”

“Yup. I sure will. It’s like a second chance.” I threw him a smile and a thumbs-up.

“I need to remember that one,” the bartender said, giving me a wink as she took his discarded bills and moved away.

I did, too. It had worked like a charm.

A moment later, another drink landed in front of me. “On the house,” the bartender said. “There are a lot of eligible bachelors here for a tech convention. It might be a long night.”

Didn’t I know it. I worked with a few of those bachelors. But I had imagination in plenty and lively music, so as long as the guys were reasonably harmless, it wasn’t too big of a deal. Almost a sport of absurdity, actually.

“Barkeep.” A booming voice beside me accompanied a lean against the back of the bar chair next to mine. “I need some beers over here.” He held up a fistful of ones and waved them at her.

He earned a flat-eyed glance before she moved away to help someone else. Being that the other bartender was on the opposite side of the alcohol island, this guy was shit outta luck.

He must’ve recognized it, because he sighed and then moved around to sit on the chair.

“What’s up?” he asked me, leaning heavily on the counter.

With a sturdy body and slicked-back black hair, he reminded me of someone in the mafia. He even had a flowing Tommy Bahama shirt and a slightly affected Italian accent.

I wanted to ask if he was from New York or the surrounding area, but that would have required starting a conversation. I bit back my curiosity and stared straight ahead.