Page 48 of The Trouble with Love and Ink
Hailey: Tell me you got waxed!
I glanced over to make sure Beck couldn’t see my screen, but he was too focused on adjusting his headrest.
Me: You are way too invested in my pretend love life.
She had, of course, been elated when I’d told her about fake dating Beck. When she learned about the trip to Costa Rica, she practically transcended to a higher plane. She thought Beck and I would have our kids’ names picked out by the second day. I’d let her know, many times, that she was delusional.
Hailey: Just want to make sure you have your business taken care of before the analyst slips in.
The potent mental image set my cheeks ablaze.
“Everything okay?” Beck asked.
My phone slipped out of my hand like a wet fish, but I managed to catch it after a few fumbled attempts.
“Fine,” I said. “Everything is fine.”
I mashed the airplane mode and slipped it into my pocket.
“Are you sure?” Beck pressed. “Because your whole face is red.”
“Yeah. It’s just a little hot in here.”
Beck reached up, twisting the vents in my direction. I tried not to notice the way the sleeves of his T-shirt hugged his biceps. And I tried—really hard—not to picture those arms around me. But they were mouth-wateringly masculine for such a mundane task.
“Better?” Beck asked.
“Much,” I croaked.
After the plane ride, we had another three hours in the car driving from the San Jose Airport to Manuel Antonio. The view was breathtaking. Jungle plants looked ready to overtake the road at any moment. At one point in the drive, it started pouring rain. The leaves and branches bounced with the drops, dancing to the rhythm of the rainforest.
At the tail-end of the trip, the sun began its descent. Leaving the resort to shine like a beacon in the night. The property looked massive from what I could make out in the dim light. I counted five stories for the building in the forefront, and it sprawled out in either direction until it seemed to disappear into the jungle.
Attendants opened our doors, politely asking for the name on our reservation. Beck dropped his last name, and they snapped even further to attention, quickly guiding us toward our room and taking our bags.
Beck seemed uncomfortable with the five-star service, and I wondered if that was why he didn’t use his last name in his email address. What must it be like living in the shadow of someone so successful, tethered by a name? I’m sure it had its perks, but it also had to be suffocating.
However, as we crossed the lobby into the lounge area of the resort, the tightness in Beck’s shoulders seemed to loosen. And I felt it too. My anxiety about the trip melted away with each step. Tiki lights lit the path beside manmade waterfalls cascading into a crystal swimming pool. Palm trees towered above, and hibiscus bushes boasted pink, coral, and sunshine yellow flowers. Night sounds of the jungle gave the space a perfect white-noise effect.
If this was just the view to get to the suite, I couldn’t wait to see where we’d be staying for the trip—though I had no intention of spending much time there, not when the beaches and wild jungles waited.
Victoria and her sprawling bridal party intercepted us. They toweled off and finished the last dregs of cocktails as they clambered down the walkway. Beck had informed me the rest of the group planned on coming the day before us. So, it didn’t surprise me to see the group already assembled and a little toasted.
“Hey! You guys made it!” Doug called.
A guy with olive skin and dark hair stepped forward, giving Beck one of those dude handshakes that turned into a half-hug. As they did, the top of Beck’s head only came to the height of this guy’s jaw. I thought Beck was tall. It was a missed opportunity if Beck’s friend didn’t play basketball.
When Beck came back to my side, we fumbled for each other’s hands until we found a comfortable arrangement. It didn’t take long.
“It’s Beck!”
A platinum blonde slurred before missing a step. She would have fallen if Sebastian—the shoe store owner I’d met at Victoria’s shower—hadn’t caught her. I almost hadn’t recognized him in his banana print board shorts.
I noticed Reagan at Victoria’s side right away. If she glowed at the shower, she radiated here. Her bronze skin contrasted dramatically with her white bikini—a simple design. Because, really, she didn’t need anything drastic to show off the slopes of her hips, nor her perfect perky breasts. Her skin had an oily—I’ve been suntanning all day—kind of sheen. I suspected this was what it looked like to have all your chakras aligned.
Though I’d dressed for comfort in my stretchy shorts and a frumpy Buc-ee’s shirt, she still could have drilled holes the way she stared at my hand, enveloped in Beck's.
Victoria smiled at the attendant who’d been guiding us, sending him away with a few twenties before turning back to us. “We are going in for the night. Need to be up early for our first beach day.”
