Here I am, on the beach in Miami, soaking up the mother fucking sun. This club overlooking the ocean is banging, waitresses are walking around in string bikinis, their tits in my face and their asses hanging out. The only problem is they’re all cookie-cutter women. I want someone different.

I’m sick of the same old shit.

My friends are here, smoking their cigars, talking about their yachts, and their harem of women they've collected over the years.

I don't bother with that shit; I keep a woman for a night, no longer. I've got no interest in getting shackled. Why would I? I've seen what happens when you get attached to people. In this life, there are no fucking guarantees. That's why I play hard and fuck harder.

But damn, either I’m getting old or just becoming straight-up picky. I want something different than what I see. Work is a grind, and being a billionaire CEO of a Fortune 500 company affords me a life of luxury—but what use is it when at the end of the day I’m chasing tail?

"Hell, Dane, you need to get yourself a woman. You look tense," my friend Leo says. A waitress brings me a vodka soda and I tuck a hundred-dollar bill in her bikini top. She blows me a kiss as she walks away.

"You planning on tapping that?" Leo asks.

I shrug, knowing I’m not in the mood for her tonight. I want a woman who is one of a kind.

All week, I've been around women who are tan, with fake boobs, and nice round asses. It’s no different in Manhattan. There, the women wear all-black and permanent scowls. Maybe I’m just nostalgic today—it’s the anniversary of my parents’ death, fifteen years ago. A car accident that changed everything.

My brother Thomas went off the deep end after their death. I haven’t seen him in ten years. So, yeah, today I’m feeling lonely—and my mom would hate this bullshit-vibe here.

My mom was from a different era entirely. I remember the way she wore an apron when she made dinner, her big Jackie O sunglasses on sunny days, her signature red lips. She was a classic.

I exhale, the memories getting me all lost in the past. Leo presses me again about my plans for the night.

"I want something different tonight, a different kind of woman."

Leo laughs, elbowing me, his hand motioning over the crowd, "All these women here, you could have your pick, yet you want someone different." He laughs. "You always have to make things difficult, don't you?"

I shrug again. "I don't know, maybe I'm over this Miami scene. I need to get back to New York. I haven't worked in weeks.

"Always working for the man."

I scoff. "Leo, get your head out of your ass. You know as well as I do that I'm the man. I don't work for anybody. I work for myself.

"I hear what you're saying, but I don't think it's as simple as that."

"What do you mean?" I ask taking a drink of my vodka.

"I mean everybody works for somebody, for something. For example, you're working to prove yourself to the parents you lost—"

I cut him off. "Damn, Leo. Now is really not the time to get heavy,” I say defensively, not really interested in getting into my baggage out here in public. “Not when the sun is out. Fuck, the women in the corner of the pool are taking off their bikini tops. Everyone is lit and looking to get laid. You really want to get back to the basics at a time like this?"

Leo shakes his head. "Man, you've got some chip on your shoulder tonight. I wasn't joking when I said you need to get laid."

"Like I said, I'm looking for the right woman."

Leo laughs. "Yeah right, as if she exists. You're so fucking hard to please."

I push Leo, grinning as I call bullshit. "You're such a fucking jackass, how do you know what it takes to please me?"

"Maybe because we've shared enough hotel suites over the years that I've heard you banging plenty of ass. I know it takes a lot to get you off is all."

I run my hand through my hair. "Leo, you're a fucking piece of work, you know that? Are we seriously sitting here talking about how I fuck? Right now we should be talking about who I should fuck." That’s the only way my mind will stop living in the past.

"I hear you, man, in that case. Let me help you choose."

I give him a sidelong glance. "You want to choose my woman for tonight? You think you know what I need?"

Leo shakes his head, his eyes scanning the crowd. I snort and look away. I drop my head back, looking up at the sky, wondering why I’ve spent so long looking to fill the hole in my heart with women who are just passing through.

It’s been fifteen years since my parents died—it’s time for me to become a man.

Just then, Leo juts out his chin, and I follow where his eyes have landed.

A group of bachelorettes just came to the club. They're drunk and wearing sashes reading BRIDE TRIBE.

"You want me to fuck a woman who's engaged?" I ask, looking at the woman with a tiny veil perched on top of her head. She looks just like the rest of women here in Miami. Tan, toned, plastic.

"No, not her," Leo says. His eyes run over the group of five women, and they land on the one who isn't wearing a teeny tiny bikini.

He's pointing to a woman in a polka dot one-piece, a giant straw hat atop her head and huge black-rimmed sunglasses covering half her face. Jackie O glasses. She's as pale as a full moon.

She's also fucking beautiful. If I was looking for something different, Leo found it. This woman is not like the rest.

And I mean that in a good way. She's exotic, which is saying something considering we're in Miami––a tropical paradise.

This woman, though. She looks like she doesn't belong. At least, she doesn't belong here.

In fact, I have a feeling that tonight she belongs with me.

"You picked a winner," I tell Leo, realizing that maybe he does know me as well as he thinks he does.

He laughs knowingly.

I hand him my drink, I need to know her name.

I need to know her.

Now, she is a woman I could take home to meet my mom… the kind of woman who could be more than a fling.

She is the kind of woman I could make my wife.