Island Girls (and Boys) (3 page)

I
loved being on the island as dawn hovered, not quite there yet, still only a promise in the dark. There was something magical and romantic about it.

I crawled out of bed and powered up my laptop. I�d set it up the night before on a little rickety desk that I think my grandma picked up at a garage sale. I liked to start each day by checking out my horoscope online�one of my little guilty pleasures. It seemed contradictory for someone as business-minded as I was to turn to the stars for advice, but I liked seeing how close the predictions were.

Today�s was a bit disconcerting, though.
An important relationship will not go in the direction you had hoped.

What did that mean?

It had to mean a bad direction, because I would only hope for a good direction. So was I going to have a falling out with someone? With whom? Chelsea? Amy? My employer? My summer list of important relationships was short.

The house was quiet as I crept down the stairs in the dark. I went into the kitchen and flipped on the light.

For some reason, I was always more hungry on the island. Maybe it was the fresh air. I opened a can of cinnamon rolls, arranged them in a baking dish, and put them in the oven.

I made a cup of green tea and took it to the table. The kitchen didn�t have a traditional table. It had a booth set against the window. I opened the blinds. I could see the lights twinkling on the mainland. The sky was beginning to lighten. I crossed the room, turned out the light, and returned to the table. Sitting, I lifted my feet to the opposite bench and cleared my mind of horoscopes. I heard a foghorn blast.

This is the life
, I thought. Going to bed when I wanted. Getting up when I wanted. Cooking what I wanted to eat for breakfast. Every
decision mine to make.

Another foghorn sounded. It was such a lonely isolated sound. I could see the silhouette of a barge moving sluggishly through the canal between the island and the mainland.

The timer went off. I took the rolls out of the oven and slathered all of the icing on half of them. I went back to the table, the aroma of cinnamon wafting around me.

The sky was growing lighter. I could see four sleek, beautiful dolphins, leaping out of the water.

What a fantastic way to begin the day! It promised to be the best.

 

I�ll also have to add a five-dollar pain-in-the-butt charge to your bill.

That�s what I was
thinking
as I smiled at the customer standing in front of me at the campground registration counter. What I actually
said
�with a sickeningly sweet smile�was, �Enjoy your stay with us, Mr. Warner!�

With a grunt, he picked up his copy of the registration form that I�d filled out for him. He trudged to the door and opened it. The bell
above it tinkled. As the door closed, I could hear Mr. Warner still grousing about the absence of shade trees.

Hello!
I wanted to shout after him.
We�re on the beach! Fun, sun, sand! It comes with the territory! If you wanted shade, you should have gone camping in the woods!

But I didn�t shout at him. I kept smiling.

This morning, after Chelsea and Amy joined me for breakfast, we�d discussed our budget for the summer. We were making minimum wage, only working thirty-six hours a week. We didn�t have to pay rent. But we did have to pay for food, utilities, our cell phones, and gas to get us back and forth to work, since the campground was on the opposite side of the island from where we were living. And, of course, we wanted to be able to party a little.

Which was the reason that I�d smiled at Mr. Warner instead of telling him to drive his thirty-four-foot travel trailer into the gulf. Honestly, sometimes I didn�t understand campers. Camping to me was a tent, in the wild, away from civilization, roughing it.

Although I probably shouldn�t talk. Working
at Coastal Campground Resorts was actually the closest I�d ever come to camping. I�d given Chelsea and Amy the grand tour when we arrived this morning. Then Mrs. Plackette had given us our assignments and our uniform, which we dutifully changed into: tan cargo shorts, a red polo shirt with the CCR logo, and a name tag.

She and her husband owned and managed the campground. What she lacked in height she made up for with energy. Even I had a hard time keeping up with her.

The main building where Chelsea and I worked housed the registration area and a couple of cash registers at the front. But most of the building was a store that stocked just about anything campers and beach buffs might need: groceries, tackle equipment, snorkeling equipment, souvenirs.

I could look through the floor-to-ceiling plate glass windows and see the Beach Hut�the snack bar and arcade�where Amy was working. Campers parked between the two buildings while they came in to register. Mr. Warner was just now pulling his monster trailer through
so he could take it to his designated site.

And with no one in line behind him, I had to return to the grunge work. You�d think working at a registration desk was easy, but I wasn�t paid to stand around and wait for customers. I crouched beside a large box. Our summer souvenirs had arrived. I had to verify that we�d been sent exactly what we�d ordered. This box was supposed to have forty-eight �Beach LVR� T-shirts. I had counted thirty-six when I heard the bell tinkle.

I shoved myself to my feet�and stopped breathing.

Suddenly I wasn�t thinking about souvenirs or camp guests who complained about too much sand, not enough shade, or too many mosquitoes. All I was thinking was that I�d never seen eyes so blue. They were the color of a deep ocean.

Framed by long, dark lashes, they were set beneath thick, dark eyebrows. And they were smiling. As much as his mouth�which had a crooked smile. One side a little higher than the other. Surrounded by dark stubble. Sexy stubble that matched the color of the hair falling
forward over his brow.

�Hi,� he said.

His voice was a deep rumble that made me think of sharing secrets in the night.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew CCR policy was to greet each customer with a bright smile and a �Welcome to Coastal Campground Resorts. How can I help you?� But all I could manage was �Hi.�

Totally wrong. I hoped no one reviewed the security tapes later.

�We were wondering how much it costs to camp here,� he said.

We. We. We?

I snapped to attention, broadened my vision, and noticed the guy standing beside him. But his blond hair and brown eyes barely registered with me. I turned my attention back to Blue Eyes. �What kind of vehicle?�

�Motorcycle.�

I shook my head. I�d been asking about recreational vehicle. RV. Camping vehicle. �What do you sleep in?�

�Our boxer shorts,� his friend said.

Blue Eyes laughed. �Come on, Zach. That�s
not what she was asking.�

He dropped his gaze to my chest. I wondered if he was hearing the hard thudding of my heart and wanted to watch when it burst through my ribs. He lifted his gaze back to me.

�Jennifer��

My name tag. He�d been reading my name tag.

��we have a tent.�

I swallowed hard, cleared my throat, and went into sales speak. �Uh, for a tent, we have several options. We have the actual campsites that are blacktopped. You could park your motorcycle on the blacktop and pitch your tent on the sand between the sites. You�d have access to an electrical outlet and a water hookup there. It�s twenty dollars a night.�

He grimaced. �Ouch. You said several options. Let�s skip right to the cheapest.�

�That would be the beach.� And truly the only other option. I couldn�t figure out why I�d said �several� when there were really only two: paved campsite or beach.

�How much is that?� he asked.

�Actually, the beach is free.�

�That�s what we want,� Zach said.

�Not so fast,� Blue Eyes said. �What�s the catch?�

�It�s ten dollars if you want to use the camp facilities.�

�Does that include the showers?�

I nodded.

�What else does that ten bucks get us?�

�The pool, mini-golf, shuffleboard��

�Yeah, like I want to spend time playing shuffleboard with someone�s grandpa before I go into the army,� Zach said.

�Are you going into the army?� I asked Blue Eyes.

�At the end of the summer. We�re camping along the coast until we leave.�

�That�s awesome.�

�Yeah, so far it�s been great. If we camp on the beach and pay our ten bucks, when do we have to stop using the shower?� he asked.

I was a little disappointed that he�d gotten right back to the business at hand, when I wanted to know more about him. It was so strange, because I was never curious about the campers. But then most of them weren�t this hot.

�Noon tomorrow,� I told him.

He looked over at his friend. �I really want to use that shower.�

�If we pay our money tonight,� Zach said, �can we stay camped out there tomorrow night if we don�t pay tomorrow?�

I nodded. �Like I said, the beach is free. You just can�t use the facilities.�

�Okay,� Blue Eyes said. �Where do I sign?�

I handed him a registration form. �Just fill that out, and I�ll give you a passkey that�ll get you into the showers.�

�Cool.�

I watched as he wrote in the information. His name was Dylan Nelson. His address was in Dallas. When he was finished, I took his registration form and his ten dollars. I felt guilty taking his money because it sounded like he didn�t have much, like he was watching his budget as closely as I was.

�I hope you�ll enjoy your visit with us,� I said as I handed each of them a passkey.

�Oh, I�m sure we will,� Dylan said.

�How long are you planning to stay?� I asked.

Dylan gave me a devastatingly sexy smile. �Definitely longer than I�d originally planned.�

I
watched as the guys got on their motorcycles, visible through the window. One of the cycles had a tiny trailer behind it, which I figured held their tent. They took off toward the beach, leaving me wishing I could follow.

�Jennifer?�

My heart nearly jumped into my throat, strangling my startled screech. I spun around. Mrs. Plackette was standing there, a speculative look on her face. Her graying hair was pulled back in a bun.

�Is everything all right?� she asked.

�It�s awesome, but I was thinking maybe I should take a park run.�

She nodded. �Probably a good idea. Make sure everyone is where they�re supposed to be.�

�Great. I�ll see to it and then finish counting the souvenirs when I get back.�

I grabbed the clipboard that dangled from a hook beneath the huge map of the campground that was hanging on the wall behind the counter. The sites were marked: those rented, those not. A couple of times a day, we did a park run, clipboard in hand, which had a miniature campground map on it.

We would mark the sites that were occupied and then come back to compare so we could make sure everything matched up. Sometimes people tried to sneak in without paying, but it usually took only one encounter with Mr. P�who was built like a tank�for people to decide that registering first was a smart move.

Since I�d worked here last summer, I knew most of the rules and what needed to be done. Mrs. P had told me that I would be the unofficial assistant manager. Wasn�t sure why it couldn�t be official, but whatever.

I had just gone around the counter into the store area when she spoke again. �Jennifer?�

I looked back at her. �Yes, ma�am?�

�A word of advice. Campers never stay long,
no matter how cute they are. We don�t need any broken hearts over the summer.�

Was I that easy to read? Had she been standing there when I registered our latest guests?

�A broken heart is not in my plans,� I reassured her.

�It never is,� she said. �Don�t be gone too long.�

�Yes, ma�am.�

Checking out the campground was hot work, so I stopped by the cooler at the back of the store to grab a bottle of water. I opened the door and welcomed the blast of frigid air that Chelsea was cursing. She was inside, wearing a coat, and placing drinks on the shelves.

�I�m going on a park run,� I yelled into the cooler.

She rubbed her nose. �Lucky you. You forgot to tell me that I�d be spending my summer in Antarctica.�

I laughed. �Only a couple of times a day.�

�That�s a couple of times too many.�

�You�ll get used to it. Later!� I said and closed the door.

The building had doors on both sides of it that led to the outside. The main door faced the area where people drove through with their campers. The back door faced the marina. I went out the back door and walked to the marina where the golf cart was parked.

�Hey, Mr. P!� I called out.

He waved from the dock, then went back to looking into a bait well where live shrimp were waiting to be dipped out and handed over to anxious fishermen. The marina had everything the store didn�t: gasoline pumps, bait, a boat ramp, and a large blacktop area off to the side where people parked after backing their boats into the water.

In addition to being on the far side of the narrow island, the campground was on the back side, the bay side. There was an inlet that formed a lagoon. It led into the bay, and the bay�between the island and a jutting portion of mainland�led into the Gulf of Mexico.

I climbed into the golf cart, started it up, and took off. I drove around the lagoon side of the campground, marking the few sites that were occupied. Then I headed toward the other side,
driving along the far edge that ran along the length of the bay.

I stopped when I neared the area where Dylan and Zach were putting up their tent. I didn�t really have a plan. I just felt like I had to do�
something
.

I walked between two empty blacktop sites that I knew would have trailers on them by the weekend. Then I stepped onto the beach, loose sand shifting beneath my feet as I made my way to where the guys were.

Dylan stopped working as I neared. �Did we pick a spot that�s off limits?�

�Oh, no, you�re fine.� Did he think I was the campground police or something? I nodded toward the tent. �I�m just amazed. You could give lessons on putting up a tent. I�ve never seen one go up so fast.�

Okay. I�d never actually watched one go up. It wasn�t exactly on my list of the top hundred-and-one things to see before I died.

�The quicker we get it up, the more time we have to explore,� Dylan explained.

�And find babes,� Zach said. He leaned over slightly, like someone who realizes that the
movie camera isn�t focused on him and wants to be in the picture. So all the camera picks up is his head and stretched neck. I couldn�t decide if he was funny or pathetic.

�I can�t help you there,� I said. And it occurred to me that if Zach was all about finding babes, maybe Dylan was, too. And maybe I shouldn�t show any interest in him, because like Mrs. P had said�he wouldn�t stay long.

I lifted my clipboard. �Well, I�d better get back to work. I just wanted to make sure you were getting settled in okay.�

�You do that for all the campers?� Dylan asked.

�As much as possible,� I lied. �We try to make everyone feel welcome.�

�So we�re just part of the crowd?�

I flung out my arms. �Do you see a crowd?�

He laughed. It was a really nice laugh. �Guess not. So what do you recommend for two guys passing through? Is Surf Town a happening place?�

I suddenly felt really dull. Every time I�d come to the island with my parents, I�d built sand castles, sunbathed, and played in the ocean.
Last night, we�d eaten pizza. Not very exciting. We hadn�t done all the things we�d planned and talked about for months. We hadn�t partied. We hadn�t gone clubbing. We hadn�t become absorbed in the island culture. We�d unpacked.

�There are some clubs,� I said.

�Which is the best?�

I hadn�t a clue. But I didn�t want to admit that. �They all have something different to offer.�

�We like different,� Zach said.

�How long have you been camping?� I asked inanely, trying to turn the conversation onto familiar ground.

Dylan shifted his stance. �A little over a week. We started right at the Louisiana border, and we�re working our way down to Mexico.�

�What do you do at night?�

�Are you issuing an invitation?�

I suddenly wished the sand beneath my feet would open up and swallow me whole. I wasn�t a complete stranger to flirting, but this was way out of my league. �No, just curious. Making conversation.�

�Well, then, for conversation�s sake, it depends on where we are. If we�re near a town,
we check it out, party, meet people�have fun. If a town isn�t close, we just build a fire, watch the stars come out.�

Watching the stars come out with Dylan sounded to me like the most exciting thing a girl could ever do. I wanted to stay and talk with him, but my dependability buzzer went off.

�I really do have to get back to work,� I said.

�Maybe we�ll see you later.�

�Maybe.�

I trudged back to the cart, climbed on, drove through another section of sites, then circled back around, driving by the bathhouse, then the pool. I pulled to a stop in front of the Beach Hut. I went into the building. No one was in the arcade area, but lights still flashed on the machines lining the side walls. Between the walls were two pool tables.

I strolled on through to the snack bar. A few metal tables and chairs were scattered throughout the area. Stools lined the actual snack bar.

�Hey, girlfriend!� I shouted to Amy.

She was behind the counter, her elbows resting on top, her chin in her palms.

�I am bored out of my freaking mind!� she
lamented. �I haven�t had a single customer.�

�Wait for the weekend,� I told her. �We�ll be full by then, and you�ll wish you didn�t have any customers.�

�I hope you�re right, because I need something to make the day go by quickly.�

�Trust me. The days will go faster than you can imagine.�

�If you say so.�

�Did you happen to see the motorcycles out there?� The front of the building was all glass, giving her a view of the campers coming through.

�Yeah. Why?�

�They belong to a couple of hotties who are putting up a tent on the beach.�

�So things might get interesting around here.�

�It�s a possibility.�