Aaron
How fucking lucky am I?
Not only do I not have to be best man at the wedding, I benefit from the whole debacle with time away in this luxurious resort in the fucking Caribbean.
Wherever I look, I see possibilities.
And, right now, this week is looking very promising.
Nothing beats a good holiday fling.
Let’s face it—anyone who goes away to a luxury resort on their own isn’t looking for a permanent relationship. On the contrary, they’re looking for something quick, without strings attached. And I’m going to be just their man.
At the end of the day, relationships, commitment, and all that crap is highly overrated to put it fucking mildly. Give me a good fling any day.
The luxury resort, so far, is living up to its reputation. I stride through the massive front doors and scan the area.
From what I can see, there’s no one worthy of being picked up in the hotel lobby. It’s probably still a bit early for check in, and possibly too late for check-outs.
With a sigh, I head for the bar.
There’s bound to be at least one, if not more, hot chicks waiting for me at the bar. Where else do you got to pick up in a luxury resort? The bar or the bar.
Even if I’m out of luck there, I may as well grab a drink before I check in.
I don’t like to check in before I’ve checked out the lay of the land. And what better place to check out the lay of the land than at the bar?
As far as I’m concerned, and speaking from experience, the bar is the hub of any resort or hotel.
If there’s some lonely woman looking for a bit of holiday action, I bet I’ll find her at the bar. She may even be there right now, this very second.
I feel a renewed vigor pulse through me as I stride to the bar with ocean views. Briefly, I hover at the entrance.
It does, indeed, have those promised ocean views. White sand and a range of blues can be seen even from where I’m standing. The beach and ocean is literally a skip, hop and jump away.
I guess if I can’t find anyone at the bar I might head down to the beach.
Who knows? Maybe there’s some bikini clad model down there, sunbathing and waiting for someone to come along and help rub some sunscreen into those hard to reach spots.
No point heading down to the beach without a drink.
Slowly, I meander to the bar. I can hear voices, laughter—a woman’s laughter.
After a few more steps, I see her.
She’s absolutely fucking gorgeous. Quickly, I look around. So far so good. She seems to be here on her own. No husband or boyfriend to be seen anywhere.
I straighten up and stride toward her, confidence oozing from me. The woman who can resist my charm simply hasn’t been born yet.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
She knocks me back.
Ouch.
How could this be? How can she resist my charm and good looks? Did I mention I’ve got incredible good looks? I mean, Adonis, eat your heart out.
Speaking of hearts, maybe mine’s not in it enough, because a few witty quips from yours truly isn’t enough to stop her from almost leaving.
When she picks up her drink, and starts towards the hotel, I watch for a second, hesitating, and then make a decision.
“Now, wait just a minute,” I take off after her. “You can’t just leave, not when we’re just getting to know each other.”
Luckily for me, she hesitates, turns around and looks me up and down. It’s not the sort of look I’m used to.
It’s not the Wow, look how fucking gorgeous he is, and I can’t believe he’s talking to me look.
It’s quite the opposite.
Actually, it feels more like she’s appraising me as if I’m some beast about to be slaughtered, and she can’t make up her mind if any of my meat is suitable.
“Sorry,” she says. “I must’ve missed something. I didn’t realize we were getting to know each other.”
I shrug. “Easy mistake to make. But you know how it works. Boy meets girl at the bar. Boy asks girl questions, and you know…”
“I thought you were after an easy fuck, and I was letting you down gently.”
Ouch.
This girl is hot. Fucking sizzling hot.
My eyes can’t get enough of her. They hover at the lowest point of her V-neck t-shirt and imagine the perky delicious tits covered in a purple lacy bra. I can just see the edges of the material to know the color.
“I’m up here,” she says and points to her eyes.
“I thought I saw a stain on there,” I point to her tits and shake my head.
Lame. That was fucking lame, even to my own ears.
“A stain?”
She actually looks down and looks back up smirking.
“Is that like your best pick up line or what?”
“Come on.” Fuck, let’s try this again. “Loosen up a little. I mean looks like you’re here on vacation, and I’m here on vacation—why not make the most of it?”
As I’m speaking, I gesture toward the area of the bar, where you look out onto the beach and the water while you drink.
With the right amount of ambience, she’ll be putty in my hands, and this place has ambience for miles. Literally.
“Just look at that view. Like nowhere else on Earth, wouldn’t you say?”
She doesn’t look. Maybe it’s time to change my approach.
Nah.
“The view? What view?”
“The sand, the beautiful blue water stretching out to the horizon, the tropical skies on a perfect spring day—that view. You can’t miss it.”
She shakes her head, not even glancing in that direction.
“I don’t see any of that. There’s a giant fucking ego blocking all of it.”
“You see? I knew you had a great sense of humor. It’s another thing we have in common.”
She raises one of her eyebrows into a perfect arch.
“My bad. I wasn’t trying to be funny—I was trying to insult you.”
I laugh.
“You crack me up. Would you be interested in getting dinner later?”
“Of course. Just not with you.”
She takes a single step forward, back towards me, and crosses her arms. Her face is projecting a stern self-assurance. I bet she’s so hot in bed someone would need to call the fire brigade.
“Hurtful.”
“Look, it’s not you—it’s just everything about you. And, also you.”
She crosses her arms and smirks, slightly.
And my imagination runs away with me again. Already I can picture our two naked bodies entwined, arms, legs and bodies, tangled in wild passionate embraces and different positions.
Smoldering. I feel the flames flicker in me and grow into a raging inferno.
Fuck.
“What about lunch?”
Surely, this woman’s got to eat.
“Are you hard of hearing, or hard of understanding?”
Man, the way she’s tilting her head to the side and giving me her most sexy look is fucking driving me insane.
“So, no lunch?”
“Dinner was bad enough—don’t you dare drag lunch into this.”
“You don’t think I’m worthy of even mentioning lunch?” I put on the pout.
The one the ladies fucking fall for every fucking time.
She continues to stare at me with a growingly glacial expression.
“Were you born like this, or did you get raised with too much praise?”
“So, is this an either-or question, or can it be both? Cause I was definitely born like this, like the beautiful creature you see sitting before you now.”
“You’ve always looked exactly like you do now?”
“I’m talking about my soul, babe. My beautiful, shining soul, that my outrageous good looks sprang forth from, all creating the perfect package.”
She steps backwards, back in the direction of the hotel.
“Sounds like you’ve got a lot to unpack. Maybe I should leave you to it.”
I shrug.
“It’s simpler than it sounds, what I have to offer. It can be the simplest, purest, most beautiful thing in the world, if you want. Nothing to unpack, everything to enjoy.”
“Sounds great. Hope that all works out for ya. Bye, now.”
After those last few words soaked in sarcasm, she turns on her heels and strides to the hotel.
Mesmerized, I watch her walk away. I’m mesmerized by the way she looks in those jeans, and I’m mesmerized by everything else about her.
Yet, she’s still walking away.
Once she’s out of view, I sigh, and turn back to the bar. I may as well have another drink and start thinking about plan B.
I must fucking admit that I’m not used to this back to the drawing board stuff, not in this arena, at least.
On some of the more challenging productions I’ve worked on, that’s a different story.
But that’s Tinseltown, and I’ve got a fucking reputation that extends beyond any of that bullshit.
And at the end of the day, I’m fucking Aaron Michaelson, sex god extraordinaire.
Sex god extraordinaire who’s going to have to think of a new plan.
Maybe.
But, holy shit, what a fucking vacation so far.