As I walk out of that hotel lobby, I feel like I’m on top of the world. I can’t even remember the last time I have felt so good. Still, that tiny little word isn’t enough to describe the emotions that are swirling through me. I have had a few one-night stands in my life, but none of them resembles this one. My lovers have been much too selfish; not to mention the awkwardness that has followed after the sex. Michael has been the exact opposite of that. And, for some reason I don’t understand, there was nothing awkward between us. Instead, we acted as if we had known each other for months. Yes, there is chemistry between us, which somewhat frustrates me. We are both on vacation. I doubt if we’ll get to spend a week or so together. What happens next? He lives in New York, and I live in Miami.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, Stacy. This is a just a summer fling.

This thought provides the answer for which I’ve been looking. Okay, we’ve gotten off to an incredible start, but we are both taking a break from reality. It cannot evolve into anything bigger.

I stroll down the beach, the taste of his kisses still strong in my mouth. Unfortunately, however, the moment I spot Emily pacing up and down in the front yard of our hotel with her hands on her waist, I have to put that beautiful thought aside. Only when our eyes meet, do I realize just how angry she is. The usual green of them has disappeared altogether. In its stead is some off shade of brown, and the skin on her face is stiff.

“Where the hell have you been?” she shouts, tossing a ferocious glare up at me.

“Em, I’m sorry, I…” I falter. “I met someone on the beach.”

“What?” she squeals, her brows shooting up. “What are you talking about?”

“Black hair, blue eyes, chiseled jaw, 6’3”, huge chest, washboard abs,” I explain, a wicked smile bursting upon my lips. “He was just delicious.”

“I don’t care how hot he is,” Emily rants on in a stern tone, furrowing her brow. “You should have called. Whoa!” she exclaims. “I’m sorry; did I hear you correctly? Was delicious? You…”

“Fucked him?” I finish her sentence; “Yeah.”

“Holy crap…” she sighs, running both of her hands through her black, curly hair.

“Why are you acting like this?” I wonder, a hint of surprise in my tone.

“Can you even hear yourself?” Emily answers my question with a question of her own. “I mean, you ran into him and you fucked him? Just like that?”

“Em, we’re on vacation!” I retort, my jaw tightening. “We didn’t come here just for the nice weather, did we? What am I supposed to do, play hard to get?”

“That wouldn’t be such a bad idea,” she grumbles, stepping closer to me. “Is he a local?”

“Nope,” I shake my head sideways, once. “His name’s Michael. He’s from New York. And my guess is you’ll meet him soon. I gave him my number before I left.”

“You guys knew each other for like twenty minutes and you put out. Let’s see,” Emily raised her face to look up into the sky, tapping her index finger on her chin in mock reasoning. She then stated skeptically, “There’s no way in hell he’s going to call you.”

“Something tells me he is,” I disagree, my smug smile coming back. “He’s a romantic soul. I found him on the beach, playing the guitar.”

“I thought you didn’t like romantics,” Emily comments, her gaze shooting back down to meet mine.

“I don’t,” I affirm. “But, like I said, we’re on vacation, and he’s just smoking hot. His kiss had me swooning. I just had to have him. We went to his suite and he just…” I pause; “worshipped me like no one’s ever done before.”

“Worsh…” her surprise doesn’t allow her to complete her sentence. She stares at me, her mouth partially open, unable to utter a word.

“That’s right, he did all the work,” I go on, nodding at the same time. “He didn’t let me do anything. And he’s huge…”

“Keep talking,” she urges, her annoyance turning into sheer curiosity in the blink of an eye.

“Well, he was very nice to me,” I declare. “He was a gentleman, up until the point I convinced him to stop being one. I teased him a little too much in that bar. I practically gave him the green light. We kissed and we couldn’t keep our hands off of each other. Then, we went up to his suite. He was patient; he didn’t rush things. He went down on me, and even paid me compliments throughout our whole time together. I’m getting wet just thinking about it.”

“Two more minutes of that and I’ll start getting wet,” Emily chuckled. “That still doesn’t change the fact you didn’t call.”

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” I utter, my voice coming out mellower. “I know I should have called, but…”

“Yeah, yeah, he’s gorgeous, I got that,” she interrupts, sauntering off towards the sandy beach behind me. “Does he have a friend?”

“Two,” I reply, walking alongside her. “They must be pretty close.”

“Why do you say that?” Emily asks, her voice picking up volume.

“Well, he brought them up almost immediately, and even said a few things about them,” I explain, gazing out over the sea.

“You’re a lucky girl, Stacy,” she states, assuming a serious tone, throwing a quick glance up at me. “You meet someone hot, he lets you in right from the start, and he’s not selfish in bed…”

“Please, don’t do that,” I request, dropping my gaze down to the sand.

“What, pointing out what’s good about him? Why?” Emily wonders, her voice rising up an octave.

“Because I can’t take any of it seriously,” I claim, while a powerful gust of wind tosses my hair about. “I want to have fun with him and then go back home, without thinking about any ‘what ifs.’”

“In that case, I really hope he turns out a lot different than you’ve described him to be,” she states, her tone firm. “Because if he’s the guy I think he is, you won’t be able to forget him. Screw the ‘romantic’ part. You know as well as I do that there’s ‘romantic’ and ‘hopeless romantic.’ I’m sure Karlie would agree with me if she were here.”

“Please; don’t mention Karlie,” I request, recalling our mutual friend who couldn’t join us on our vacation, because Tony Stinson – her boss at the shoe shop – wouldn’t give her some time off in August. “Look, can we go back to our hotel room? I want to go take a shower and go out with my bestie,” I tell her, in the hope she will stop talking about it.

“Fine,” and a wave of relief washes over me when she agrees. Emily’s advice has been precious in the sixteen years we’ve known each other. Yet, this time, another one of her rants is not what I need. She is being too analytical about a simple situation, and that situation doesn’t need to change. Keeping it simple will work out for both Michael and me. That way, neither of us is going to get hurt.