There’s no shortage of dudes walking along the lucky narrow strip of sand in front of my beach chair. Most of them are like insanely hot as well.

Especially this guy—I only see his abs at first, then his wet black speedo with that bulge, and finally as he’s walking away, showing me a toned ass that dreams are made of.

Anne’s sitting on my left, and I give her a quick look. Did she see that?

Anne’s already looking at me. She lowers her sunglasses a little with her index finger.

She’s thinking the same thing I am: even in the parade of hotness that is Cancun today, that guy is a beast.

I smile, feeling spoiled with all this luxury surrounding me everywhere. It’s not quite noon, and we’re enjoying some pre-brunch time on the beach.

Considering the alcohol-soaked nature of our trip so far, we’re all still feeling great when we finally sit down for brunch at the Omni. The view is also fucking incredible here—swaying palms, light-colored sandy shoreline, and endless blue sea and sky; no words or Google image searches could do it justice.

I see another table drinking piña coladas from enormous hollowed-out coconuts. I kind of want one—that is, until the waiter gently clinks a champagne glass holding a fizzy mimosa in front of me. Yep, I’ll take that.

This is paradise.

“Aren’t we supposed to be eating, I don’t know, fuckin’ eggs or something?” There’s no way that Lana’s being serious. She’s trying not to laugh while she tips back her mimosa.

“More like quesadillas. With pork. Or mushrooms,” Anne responds, actually studying the pineapple-shaped menu.

“Those both sound good to me, for various reasons.” That’s my sole input while I finish my first drink.

Oh my god, there’s the speedo guy, just waltzing past our table and looking around like it’s nothing.

“What are you doing here?” Anne’s almost slurring, probably from giddiness more than alcohol.

I see the speedo guy’s face for the first time. He takes off his aviator shades to look at us. He has slicked-back black hair, like a stereotype of a Wall Street dude. He’s even more gorgeous without his sunglasses.

“I’m just looking for a friend.”

Oh my god, what kind of accent is that? Italian? Whatever it is, it’s so working for me.

“Who you meeting wearing that?” Anne doesn’t point at Speedo’s speedo as much as thrusts her finger at it.

“What? This?” Speedo pulls on the elastic waist of his swim briefs and lets it snap back. If this continues, I’m going to need to change my fucking panties.

“Yes! That!” Lana’s now joining in on the fun.

“You are all being, how do I say this, uptight? I’m just a human body, close to the beach.”

This sends us all into fits of hysteric giggles. Speedo looks perplexed, almost a little hurt.

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Lana explains, still laughing. “Nothing wrong at all.”

Another sexy European-looking dude, strangely wearing a full tailored suit, grabs Speedo’s shoulder and gives it a short, rough rub.

“Salve!” The suit guy doesn’t talk to us. He just goes to sit at an empty table after greeting his friend.

I try to look into Speedo’s European eyes without getting too excited, and I offer him an observation.

“Your buddy there, now he seems uptight. Isn’t he also by the beach or whatever?”

Speedo scrunches his face up slightly.

“Ah, he go to business meeting later.”

“In Cancun?” Anne, Lana, and I all nearly scream this in unison.

Speedo doesn’t miss a beat. “There is business in Cancun. He’s in talks to buy hotel. I set up deals for him.”

“Show us your cock!” Anne’s voice goes up a couple octaves with her request.

“Yeah, don’t be uptight,” I offer, smiling seductively.

Speedo doesn’t seem bothered, and he also seems to realize we’re not interested in his life story.

“Okay.”

Speedo pulls his cock up over the waist of his speedo and just lets it hang there. It’s like a ridiculously impressive length, even flaccid. He’s not shy about it, standing there with his hands on his hips.

I start giggling. Oh my god, this is so fucking crazy. And fun.

Like, who does this? Me and my friends, bitches. That’s who.

We don’t go totally crazy or anything. We just study it silently for a few moments. After finishing our study, we all clap politely, and Speedo takes a bow.

I laugh again. This is seriously the best vacation ever.

But if that’s true, then why does it feel like something’s missing?

Ugh, I don’t want to think about it, so I drink another mimosa.

After brunch, I retake my spot on the beach. There aren’t as many dudes around this time, so I look at the Caribbean for a while. I can only take that for so long before turning to Lana, who’s sitting in the next chair.

“I should be having the best time of my life.”

“You’re not?” Lana has her sunglasses on, face pointed straight up at the sky.

“I should be, but I feel empty. It’s weird. But now I realize why: WineBar. Like, I really miss him for some reason, Lana.”

Lana takes off her sunglasses and sits up.

“Em, come on. Don’t let that ruin Cancun. It’s over. Otherwise, he would’ve called you by now. It sucks, I know, but it’s time to forget about that shit.”

I look at the beach behind me, and there are actually a lot of people out—and a lot of men.

I sigh. “When you’re right you’re right, Lana.”

Lana goes back to sunning or whatever she’s doing, and I get up to wander the beach. I venture farther and farther from the water, and without thinking, I end up back in my hotel room.

I guess the partying is catching up with me. I probably need a nap.

I sleep for a couple hours, until late afternoon. I’m almost ready to give up on this vacation. Almost.

I throw on a bikini and find my way to the poolside bar, hoping to get one of those pineapple piña coladas I saw earlier.

The bar and pool are annoyingly crowded. Maybe it’s time to go back inside and just order room service.

“That’s some tan you’ve got there.”

I jump a little and turn around to see who the hell just said that to me.

I’m greeted by a surfer-looking guy, wearing nothing but a pair of neon swim shorts. He’s tan himself, and cute. Really cute.

“Excuse me? Who are you to judge my tan?”

The surfer-looking guy laughs. He has very well-defined muscles and very carefully maintained shaggy blond hair.

“I’m acquiring mine slowly, but you look like you’ve only been here a couple days, right?”

Why the hell am I blushing?

“Yeah, you guessed right.”

“Do you have any sunscreen with you?”

“No, it’s back in my room.”

I’m not sure why yet, but I’m starting to really like where this is going.

“I can help you out with that.”

My heart begins beating faster as I watch this guy—let’s call him, oh, I don’t know, Sunscreen—lean over and rummage through a tote bag next to a beach chair. He pulls out a white plastic bottle.

“I guess I should use some of that?”

“Yes. This is the good stuff, high SPF.”

“Whatever you say, Sunscreen.”

Sunscreen laughs again.

“I don’t consider myself that, yet, but maybe I am. Either way, I think you need some help getting full coverage. There are some more chairs a little farther down.”

Yes, I do like where this is going very much. Sunscreen leads me to the other end of the pool.

We don’t say a word. I lie facedown on a lounge chair, and Sunscreen starts working his SPF 70 enchantment. He rubs the lotion in gently yet firmly, and the longer it goes on, the better it feels.

So good I can almost get WineBar out of my head.

Almost.