Chapter Six
The One Night Stand…Sort Of
When I board the plane, I discover that flying first class is a lot like applying the perfect swipe of liquid liner to your lid when all you’re doing is going to the store to buy maxi pads. You feel like a douchebag for being that fancy, but at the same time, you want to revel in the glory because you never know when it will happen again. As I sit in my plush leather chair, I look around at my fellow travellers and wonder if anyone else feels like a giant asshole. Kyle couldn’t get me a seat on his flight so while he left Chicago yesterday, I’m a day late and flying solo. I am not the best flier.
This is the third time I’ve been on an airplane and can already feel my imagination beginning to cook up a smorgasbord of potentially life threatening/embarrassing situations. What if we crash? What if I get motion sick, which has been known to happen from time to time and I barf all over this fancy carpet? I’m starting to sweat.
I’m lost in my own little mental world of what-ifs when I realize that the entire plane has boarded and the flight attendants have already gone through their safety procedures. The fasten seatbelt sign comes on, but I already have mine buckled. I try to hide my panic, cursing my inner good girl for refusing to accept Bell’s well intentioned offer of a dose of Xanax when she dropped me off at the airport. I can feel my insides begin to flip flop as the pilot turns the plane and we head down the runway. Taking off is always the worst. I might not be able to turn my brain off but at least once we are in the air, I won’t feel like I’m about to toss my Eggs Benedict. I grasp the armrests of my seat as we take off. I squeeze my eyes shut and think about things that make me happy. Lemons. Lemon-scented cleaning products. Wiping smudges from windows. Organizing the cupboard under the bathroom sink. Ahhh. Yes.
I slowly open my eyes. That wasn’t so bad. Ten minutes down, seven hours and fifty minutes to go. You can do this, Poppy, just order a cocktail. Relax.
Three screwdrivers and a Kevin Hart movie later, I’m reclined back in my chair. The voice in my head telling me that I should remain alert quickly becomes a whisper and I begin to drift off to sleep. You can totally do this, Poppy.
*
“Miss. Miss, please wake up.”
I can feel someone poking me. Why is someone poking me? My eyelids feel heavy…my mouth feels icky.
“Miss. We’re about to land,” the voice says.
“Land what?” I ask sleepily.
“The plane, Miss. Please wake up.”
I blink my eyes open and look up at the annoyed face of a flight attendant. I wipe the drool from the corner of my mouth like a lady and slowly sit up.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
She pats me on the shoulder as if to say “that’ll do pig,” and continues on down the aisle. I pull out my compact and touch up my sleep-creased face as best as I can and run my fingers through my hair. Luckily, my fellow first class passengers seem to give little to no shit about my live action recreation of Sleeping Beauty: The College Years.
After the flight attendant gives her final spiel, we exit the plane and I scan the waiting crowd for the driver that Kyle said would pick me up. I inhale the sweet, fresh island air, my lungs constricting for a second while I adjust to the humidity as I walk carefully down the stairs. The hectic crowd around me soon jars me from my peaceful appreciation of my current surroundings and I don’t even have time to thank the lovely woman who just placed a fresh lei around my neck before I’m thrust forward.
My eyes flash over to my left and I spot an older man, dressed in a pair of crisp khaki’s and an equally wrinkle free, soft blue button-up shirt. He’s holding a sign with my name on it and when his eyes meet mine, he offers me a tight smile. Poor guy, he must be sweating like crazy.
“Hi, I’m Poppy,” I say, extending a hand as I approach.
“Hello, Miss Kramer, my name is Arnold and I’ll be driving you to your accommodations,” he says with a crisp English accent, taking my carry-on from my other hand. “Let’s get your suitcase and be on our way, shall we?”
“Sure thing, Arnold,” I reply with a smile. “Um, do you happen to know where Kyle is?”
“The younger Mr. Edwards and his family are spending the day at sea,” he says. “He thought you might like to have a rest at the hotel and get settled. They should be back later tonight but he suggested you relax and enjoy your dinner via room service. You can meet the rest of the family over breakfast tomorrow. I’ve got your room number and key.”
“Okay, sure.”
I spot my suitcase on the carousel and lunge for it only to have Arnold take that too from my hand. He manages both of my bags as we make our way toward a shiny black SUV. He’s already got it running so the interior is cool and comfortable. I’m not sure how far the hotel is but the scenery on the way is absolutely breathtaking. The view from the back window looks out at the massive ocean to my right as it sways and sparkles beneath the beaming sun. I roll down my window and breath in the mist as a soft cool breeze drifts off the surface. To my left, a vibrant green landscape cascades into steep and jagged mountains. Wild tropical flowers pop up sporadically among the differing shades of green. The scent drifting up from the lei around my neck makes it feel as if I’m standing in the middle of the blooms.
After fifteen minutes of doing nothing but appreciating the passing scenery, I begin to feel awkward in the silence of the car. I scoot forward and poke my head between the two front seats, resting my arm across the back of the passenger seat.
“So, Arnold, where are you from?”
I see the corner of his mouth curve up slightly before he speaks with the same formal tone he greeted me with on the tarmac.
“I am from Surrey,” he says. “But I have lived in America for nearly twenty years.”
“My mom was born in Camden,” I say.
“That’s a fine area indeed,” he tells me.
“So, the Edwards just bring you along wherever they go? That must be nice. I mean, free vacation right?”
“Indeed, Miss, I am very lucky,” he replies.
“What do you do when you’re not driving people around?”
“Pardon?”
“What do you do for fun, Arnold?”
“Oh, well, I enjoy playing cards,” he says. “Things of that nature.”
“Are you married?”
“No, Miss. My wife passed away several years ago,” he says. “She was a secretary at Edwards, Peters and Moore,” he says proudly.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say. “So tell me, what are they all like?”
“The Edwards are a fine family. I suspect you’ll fit right in.”
He offers me a curt smile in the rear view mirror and I take that as my cue to sit back like a well behaved passenger. I get the impression that personal conversations are not typically part of the deal. I lean into the cool leather behind me and close my eyes, opening them with a start when the car stops and Arnold opens my door. I accept his offered hand and look up at a beautiful hotel surrounded by the hustle and bustle of employees and tourists. Arnold wheels my suitcase to an attendant and turns back to me with a nod.
“He will take your bags and show you to your room. Enjoy your evening, Miss Kramer,” he says.
“Thanks, Arnold. You too.”
I follow the young man, who carries my bags through a set of glass double doors. A large ceramic fountain is placed in the centre of the lobby, water cascading peacefully from the top of a marble sculpture. The entire room smells like fresh flowers and Hawaiian Tropic sunscreen. Artificial or not, the heavenly scent of coconut is nirvana to my senses. Every surface in the entire lobby is sleek, white and trimmed with gold. People filter in and out, but in a relaxed fashion, as if they don’t have a care in the world. We reach a bank of gleaming chrome elevators, entering one as a couple leaning affectionately into each other steps around us. We head up, nearly to the top of the building it seems, when the bell dings and we make our way into an expansive hallway.
I follow my escort straight to the end, my flip flops cushioned against the soft dark purple carpet. The décor up here is similar to the lobby: minimal, clean and modern. When we reach a set of double doors, the attendant swipes my key and opens the door, wheeling my suitcase just inside and turning to leave.
“Oh, wait, here,” I say, digging through my purse for a tip.
“Not necessary, Miss, you’ll be staying in one of our deluxe suites with Mr. Edwards and he’s informed the front desk that gratuities are to come from him only.
“Oh, that’s silly, here just let me fin- “
“Miss, really, Mr. Edwards is very generous,” he says with a smile. “Enjoy your stay and please don’t hesitate to phone down if there is anything we can do for you.”
I remove my hand from my purse and close the door behind him. When I turn to face the room I nearly -- in the most ladylike way possible -- shit myself. The entire main room is soft and inviting with light turquoise walls and creamy white over-stuffed furniture. Several bright and bold paintings hang on the walls and each large loveseat is decorated with vibrant pillows. Past the sitting area is a balcony with sliding glass doors and when I approach, my breath catches as I look out at a gorgeous view of the hotel grounds and beyond, all the way to the ocean.
I investigate the kitchenette next and find that, thankfully, it’s clean. There are several items in the fridge, so I take a bottle of water and sip as I continue to wander. A large basket full of fruit sits on the counter with a welcome note from the hotel manager. There are two bedrooms, and both the doors are open but I see Kyle’s suitcase and personal items strewn about in one, so I grab my bags and enter the opposite room. A queen size bed with a white, fluffy duvet and a small mountain of pillows sits in the centre of the room. There’s a large chest of drawers, also white, and a flat screen T.V. mounted to the wall. I peek behind a semi-open door into a large en suite with a jetted tub and a large glass shower. I am never going home. Fresh flowers sit in a bright yellow vase beside the bed and, as I fall back onto the bed, their scent fills my nose and I close my eyes with a sigh.
*
As I make my way back down to the lobby, I find myself appreciating every little detail. Something about this gloriously beautiful and peaceful place has made me loopy. That, or maybe the long flight and the time change and my in- flight cocktails. Nevertheless, I am committed to enjoying myself and currently heading down to the hotel lounge. As I stand alone in the elevator, I smooth down my white sundress and use my fingertip to wipe away a tiny smudge of wayward lip gloss from the bottom corner of my lip. After failing to take a nap, I decided to freshen up and end my day with a glass of wine. I changed my dress and switched out my plain black flip- flops for pink ones. I brushed out my hair and pinned one side back and applied a little bit of makeup. The lei I received when we landed is so gorgeous and probably won’t last long so I decided to wear that too.
It’s nearly dinner time now, which means it’s after ten Chicago time. I should really get to bed but my mind is wide awake. I made up a plate of fresh fruit in the room and picked at it while I got ready. After a glass of pinot, I’ll be ready to fall into that cloud of a bed and hopefully get some sleep.
I exit the elevator and cross the lobby to where a frosted glass door marked Paradise Lounge sits snugly beside the large family restaurant, which I can tell from the noise and the amount of people coming and going, must be chaotic right now. When I open the door to the lounge and step into the dimly lit room, I see that most of the tables are full but it’s not nearly as loud as it is next door. I take a seat at the bar near a man in a slightly rumpled suit. A heavyset woman behind the bar in a boldly printed Hawaiian shirt turns as I sit down on one of the wooden stools.
“Aloha. What can I get for you tonight?” She smiles politely.
“I’ll have a glass of Pinot Grigio, please,” I reply.
She nods and reaches for a glass, presenting the wine bottle to me for approval before she begins to pour. She places the glass on top of the pineapple shaped coaster that sits in front of me.
“Thanks,” I say, raising my glass and taking a generous sip. “Christ, that’s good,” I mutter.
The man sitting two seats over from me turns slightly, as though he thinks I’m speaking to him. I’m about to assure him that I wasn’t, but my response gets lodged in my throat the minute he turns fully.
“Sorry, what was that?” he asks.
Like a proverbial Bambi, I stare wide-eyed at this stranger’s handsome face. His clean-shaven jaw is sharp and masculine. But not too masculine. His thick, reddish brown hair is cut short but slightly dishevelled, and surrounding his blue eyes are small, distinct lines. Which I am certain on any other man would look tired but on this particular man, they simply make him look distinguished.
“Were you talking to me?” he asks, a slight flicker of amusement in his eyes. Good lord, do I detect a southern drawl? Universe, I don’t know what you’re trying to do to me, but I accept.
“Oh. Right. No, actually, I was talking to myself,” I say. “I do that from time to time. Makes me feel less lonely,” I laugh. I laugh way too hard. Dammit.
I look down at my wine glass and expect him to immediately turn his attention elsewhere when instead he slides onto the stool beside me.
“I know exactly what you mean,” he says quietly as he leans his head towards mine.
Dear God, please don’t let this guy turn out to be a serial killer, rapist or general fucking asshole. Not that it matters, you’re here with your pretend boyfriend, Poppy, remember? Keep your bald eagle in her damn cage, you horned up old maid.
“So, what brings you to Hawaii?” I ask casually.
He hesitates and takes a thoughtful sip of the amber liquid sitting in front of him before he clears his throat and responds. “Business,” he says. “And you?”
“Here with friends,” I say diplomatically.
He raises his glass to mine and as we clink them together, our eyes meet and hold as we pull our glasses apart and drink.
Flirt, Poppy. Flirt like you’ve never flirted before. Orgasms Poppy. This man could potentially give you orgasms. Wait, am I thinking about orgasms with a guy I literally just met? Is this how people do one night stands? What’s happening?!
“I’m Will, by the way,” he says.
“Poppy,” I say slipping my palm into his.
“That’s an interesting name.”
“My mom has a thing for gardening so she named my sisters and I after flowers,” I explain. “My dad agreed as long as he got to choose our middle names.”
“Oh?” He grins. “And dare I ask what your middle name is?”
“It’s Thursday,” I say.
“No, today’s Monday,” he offers.
“I know. My middle name is Thursday,” I say smiling.
His grin turns into a full- fledged smile and -- be still my horny little heart -- it is magnificent.
“Your sisters?”
I take another sip of wine. “Tulip Wednesday is the oldest and Bluebell Monday is the youngest. I’m in the middle,” I say.
“And are these favourite days of the week for your dad, or do they represent specific historical events?”
“They’re the days we were each born on,” I wink.
“I’m kind of scared to ask what your parents’ names are,” he says.
“Jeff and Susan.”
I’m startled by the deep bellow of sexy laughter as it rumbles up from his chest and escapes his perfectly full, but not too full, lips. If I were an army commander, now would be the time I’d say something like the eagle is ready to land or in my case, the eagle is ready to open its neglected jaws and likely bite off this poor guy’s penis.
He waves the bartender over and orders us each another drink.
“So, what kind of business brings a person all the way to Maui?” I ask.
He smirks and takes a long sip, emptying his glass. “To be honest, that’s the last thing I want to talk about,” he says quietly.
“I can respect that,” I say. “I’ve recently found myself in a major life rut. I’m hoping this trip is my first step in the right fucking direction.” I cringe as I take a sip of my wine, Todd the fucker’s voice like a megaphone in my head. You curse too much Poppy. Todd hated it when I used the word fuck. I glance at Will from the corner of my eye and find him grinning. Not backing away with repulsion. Suck it, Todd.
“Well I hope you get to enjoy the sights while you’re here,” I say. “It would be a shame to miss out.”
“Cheers to new beginnings, Poppy Thursday,” he says, raising his glass to mine once more. “And to seeing the sights.”
“Cheers.”
Say something cool. Be cool. Do not ruin this, Poppy.
I take a large sip and decide to throw my tits to the wind. Be positive, Poppy. Say yes to life. I am going to seduce this man and have wild, uninhibited sex with him. In thirty-one years I have not once had a one night stand. I’m thinking of the most eloquent way possible to ask this man to fuck me when he leans his head close to mine just as he did earlier.
“Thursday happens to be my favourite day of the week,” he says.
“We should sleep together,” I blurt out. “I mean, I didn’t mean that. I think I’m tired. I’m really tired, I should go to bed.”
What am I doing? I can’t do this. Obviously. I take a final sip from my wine glass and place it back down on the bar, grabbing my purse and moving to stand. I’m surprised when he stands as well. Of course he’s tall. His clearly expensive suit fits his broad chest quite well. His tie is loose and crooked, which I am finding very charming at the moment. I tilt my head back and look him in the eye, trying my best to not look like a desperate sex leprechaun about to dive ass first into a pot of gold.
“Do you want to come back to my room with me, Poppy?”
“Yes. Yes, I do,” I answer a little too quickly but with measured certainty.
He places some cash on the bar and we make our way to the door, his hand planted firmly on my lower back the entire time. We walk casually through the lobby and the minute the elevator door closes, my mouth is on his. I’m kissing a man I only just met less than an hour ago as if he’s the love of my life. If he’s surprised by my boldness, he hides it well by kissing me back with just as much urgency. His thick arms wrap possessively around my waist and when he backs me up into the mirrored wall behind me, I fight the sudden urge to rip my dress off and have sex with him right here on the floor. I spear my fingers into this thick hair and pull slightly, eliciting a deep moan as he rips his mouth from mine. He nips and sucks the side of my neck, the sound of my whimpering pleas for more echo in the small space.
Everything about this feels perfect. Everything about this feels right. He loosens his hold on me and pulls away just as the elevator chimes and the doors open. He takes my hand in his and leads me down the hallway. I’m stumbling through a pre-sex fog as he pulls a key card from his pocket and lets us into a suite similar to mine. He pulls me through the door and kicks it shut behind me, spinning me and backing me up against it.
“This is a one night stand, right?” I breathe out heavily. “That’s what we’re doing, right?”
“Yes, Poppy. I only have one night, unfortunately,” he says before sealing his lips to mine.
We pick up right where we left off, his mouth on my neck, my hands in his hair and as his lips move strategically lower he mumbles against my skin.
“What?” I pant.
“You’re really hot,” he says.
“Thanks, you too- “
“No, Poppy, you’re hot,” he says again, reaching across my heaving chest and flipping on the light switch.
What the hell?
He pulls the lei I’m still wearing up and over my head and brings me closer to the light. I glance down and gasp in horror.
“What the hell is that?!”
My entire chest is covered in swollen red patches. Very unattractive, swollen red patches. And they’re beginning to itch.
“I think you’re having an allergic reaction to the flowers,” he says, examining my chest.
“It’s fine,” I lie, as my skin begins to tingle, begging for me to scratch it.
I pull his mouth to mine and with the desperation of a woman who has not had an orgasm from the touch of a man in over a year. I try to reclaim a moment that is so far past its expiration date, it belongs in the reject bin in the shady corner of the grocery store. Mother fucker.
“Gaaaaaaahhhh, I can’t. It’s so itchy,” I whine, rubbing my palms over my chest. “Fuck.”
“I’m going to phone down to the front desk and see if they have some Benadryl,” he chuckles. “Make yourself at home.”
I curse the existence of every single flower native to the state of Hawaii and trudge with defeat into the living room, flopping down onto the couch with a significant hmph. I continue to rub my palms over my chest, trying not to scratch as my eyes wander around the room. It’s pretty much exactly the same as my suite except for the colour scheme. The walls are a soft beige and the furniture is patterned, with similar artwork hanging on the walls. The small kitchenette is identical.
Will hangs up the phone and gets two bottles of water from the fridge before sitting down beside me. I accept his offer and twist off the cap, taking a long drink.
“The concierge is coming up with some allergy medicine and some cream,” he says. “Apparently you’re not the first tourist to have this problem.”
“Super,” I say. “Not quite the way you imagined this night going, huh?”
“No,” he grins. “Not exactly. But I’d be lying if I said it hasn’t been interesting.”
“I guess I can live with that,” I shrug. “I was hoping to get some major orgasms from you, Will, but I just don’t think it’s in the cards.”
He looks at me thoughtfully before opening his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by an efficient knock at the door. As he goes to answer it, I stand and make my way into the kitchen. He thanks the concierge and sets the small white bag on the countertop while I mentally admit my defeat. A brief awkward silence settles between us before I break it.
“Well, I should get going. I should probably take some of that medicine and slather some cream on this rash before it spreads. Wow, I so did not think those words would ever come out of my mouth,” I say.
“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you,” he says, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter.
“Oh, I suspect you’ll pine for me for at least twenty-four hours,” I say casually, picking up the small bag and heading toward the door. “Not to worry, though. You’ll survive.”
I open the door and turn to face him, doing my best to put on a mature and happy face while also trying to find the humour in this seriously fucked up situation. “It was nice to meet you, Will. I hope that whatever business brought you to Maui goes well.”
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Poppy,” he says.
The door clicks shut behind me.
Mother fucking stupid fresh fucking Hawaiian flowers.