Aaron
That fucking woman. She’s infuriating. She might be fucking hot, with a mouth to back it up, but she’s impossible.
I lean against the door—the outside of the door to my suite—and shake my head. Is she fucking serious?
This robe, although luxurious, does little to hide how she affects me, even if all she did is yell and accuse me of being a stalker.
Okay, so what the fuck am I supposed to do now? I need a place to stay.
I didn’t fly all the way down to St. Maarten not to have this suite. I turned down a spot on a production to be here, claiming I needed time to recharge before my next movie begins.
I might be rich and be from a privileged background, but I’m far from being fucking lazy.
I haven’t had a vacation in years. An unprecedented string of back-to-back box office hits have kept me in demand, and I rarely turn down an opportunity to rake in big bucks.
But this one time I need this damn vacation.
I put a lot on the line to be at this fucking resort, and in this suite specifically. I’m not going home, and I’m not giving up this suite.
I search for my phone, realizing quickly that I left it in my pants…in the fucking suite. I can’t go back in there or she’ll murder me. She’s feisty, and I’m slightly afraid of what that feisty might turn into if I disobey her.
Fuck. The thought of her in the bedroom doing wonderfully torturous things to me when I break a rule isn’t helping matters at the very fucking least right now.
I arrange the material of the robe to cover me—as well as it could—and walk down the hallway to the elevator. Looks like I’ll have to use the phone at the front desk. Great.
Most of the people plodding around this resort are only wearing bathing suits, though. So really, this robe is being modest.
Reaching the front desk, I’m greeted by the same tanned beauty with the visible pink lace bra, and I ask to use their phone. Her eyes don’t hide much; I know she likes what she sees.
Why can’t Macy be this easy?
I call Matt, surprised I actually know his number by heart.
I barely know my own. But desperate times call for desperate measures. I need to figure out this fucking situation.
“Hello?” he answers, uncertainty in his voice. I’m surprised he answered an unknown number. Or perhaps he could tell it was from the resort and got nervous.
I sure as hell would be on edge considering he paid a shit ton of money to be here, and now that he isn’t, things could get messy.
“Matt, it’s Aaron. We have a problem,” I say, getting straight to the point.
I’m not wasting any more time in the lobby, yammering away on the front desk phone in a terrycloth robe.
Though, I am getting some interesting looks from women passing by. Most of them aren’t doing anything for me, but I can’t blame them for feasting their eyes on the terrycloth and letting their imaginations run wild thinking about what’s underneath.
“Okay, what’s up? It looked like everything was fine a minute ago.”
“Yeah, well shit happens quickly here. Do you by chance know of a Macy? Perhaps a friend of your ex-fiancée?”
“Yeah, why?”
I roll my eyes, annoyed that this fucker is so oblivious to anything related to his wedding or past relationship.
“She’s here. So, uh, ever thought it’d be a good idea to tell me that? Or did that slip your mind?”
“I had no idea. I assumed Cara didn’t want to think about the honeymoon, let alone give it to someone else to enjoy.” He awkwardly laughs.
“Well, you’re wrong about that. What the fuck am I supposed to do now?” I’m hoping he has grand alternative plans because if not, I’ll be fucking pissed. There has to be another room he booked or something.
Knowing him, it would be for his side-chick. I never judged him and his affairs; he does what he wants to with his life. But I always called him an idiot for thinking he could settle down.
“Get her to move to another room. You’re convincing enough.”
I laugh, loudly enough to echo through the sprawling lobby. This inspires more curious, nervous looks from passersby as the lobby’s getting more crowded.
I’m sure I’m quite the sight—and sound—right now, but I could care less.
Convincing, huh?
I thought I was convincing, especially with women, until I met her. Her stubborn, spit-fire attitude that forces people to pay attention and listen to her is a challenge—one that I haven’t had to deal with…ever.
It’s frustrating, but exhilarating. I like a woman that I can spar with, even if I have no experience with that type of thing. It’s like Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? or some shit.
Now, there was a marriage that was entertaining, at least, even though it was riddled with problems as always. It’s a step closer to real life than movies usually get, at least.
“Yo, Aaron. You still there, buddy?”
I shake my head, lowering my voice so my conversation doesn’t keep echoing loud enough for the whole resort to hear.
“Matt, that woman’s ridiculous. She was going to call the security on me and get me escorted out of the resort. I think her moving rooms is a no-go.”
“Shit, really?”
“Yeah, really. Do you know if there are any other suites available? Did you book an extra room by chance? I know you do shit like that. I’ll gladly take it.”
“Nah, man. That was the only one we could find at the time. It’s crazy busy there right now—it’s spring break.”
Fuck, he’s right. I have flashbacks to the wonderful days of college spring break, with endless amounts of alcohol and women throwing themselves at me. Most of them are already naked, thanks to topless beaches and low inhibitions.
“So…what the hell, Matt?” I’m starting to have a real tough time hiding how annoyed I’m getting, and his careless, casual responses are making it worse.
And now I’m just met with silence. I can tell that Matt’s still on the phone, and I can also tell that he’s working up the courage to say whatever it is he wants to say.
So, I wait. And I wait some more.
After what would have been a couple of minutes, five minutes, ten—hey, my watch is up in the fucking suite—he finally speaks.
“Can’t you just stay with her? You guys can do all the excursions we paid for…as a couple.” He quickly slides that last phrase in.
Are you fucking serious? Closing my mouth after it dropped in astonishment at his unthinking comments, I decide to seek some clarification. I need to make certain that my friend is not that oblivious.
“So, wait, you’re telling me that I need to convince the woman who just threatened to have me escorted out of the resort to let me stay in the suite with her and then… do the honeymoon activities with me…as a couple?”
“Yeah, it’s already paid for. All you have to do is pretend to be married—be the newlyweds. That way, you can take full advantage of the honeymoon suite. Go snorkeling, get the sunset dinner, go on the yacht—get my money’s worth.”
It dawns on me that this isn’t a vacation; this is Matt making sure he didn’t waste his money.
But fuck it. I guess I’ll take advantage of it, seeing as I’m already here.
But fuck, now I have to go back to Macy. I’ll have to convince her to do this with me, and for them.
Maybe it could work. Maybe things could work out for the better.
But I can’t get too carried away thinking about that right now. For a number of reasons.
I clear my throat. “There’s no other way? Nothing else I can do?” I ask, secretly hoping he would say no, now that I’ve convinced myself there might be hope.
“Sorry, man. You’re going to have to play nice with her if you want everything the suite has to offer…and if you just want the suite at all. I’m sure you’ll figure out a way to get her in your good graces.” He chuckles.
He does know me.
“I guess you’re right. Might as well try. What else am I going to do here?”
“Exactly. Let me know how it goes.”
“Again, you owe me. I won’t forget.”
“We’ll see, my friend. We’ll see.” He hangs up without saying goodbye.
After thanking and handing the receiver back to the woman at the front desk, I saunter over to the lobby bar to order a drink—and I see a staff member I recognize from when I first arrived.
“Mojito coming right up, Mr. Michaelson.”
“You also work behind this bar, Miguel?”
Of the many things I’ve experienced in life, sitting on a barstool in a bathrobe isn’t one of them—until I take my seat at the quiet lobby bar.
“This is mostly where I work, Mr. Michaelson.”
“And how did you know what I wanted?”
Miguel shrugs as he pours a generous amount of rum.
“Guessing plays into it. But also, John told me you switched from a Bold Greek to a mojito earlier.”
“You guys talk about me?”
“Only for efficiency’s sake.”
Miguel’s a real professional, placing the drink on the coaster in front of me with a touch of panache.
Hopefully, with some liquid for inspiration and courage, I’ll figure out how I can persuade Macy that it’s in our best interest to pretend to be married.
I know damn well this’ll be quite a feat, but she’s obviously far from stupid.
If she’s able to spot a good opportunity, she’ll take advantage of the honeymoon suite and everything this vacation could have to offer.