Page 170 of Camp Bliss
The walkway to her friends’ cabin wasn’t paved like hers was so they should get a discount. Yes, she actually complained because her pathway was nicer!
And then, after I thought I’d said goodnight to my guests, she called, losing her ever-loving mind because there was a spider in her bed.
Okay, so, admittedly, therewasa spider in her bed, but it was a harmless Wolf spider. The size of a water droplet. At least it probably was before she smashed it with her flip flop.
What’s wrong with people?
Don’t they know you shouldn’t kill spiders? Spiders are God’s gift to the planet. They eat flies, cockroaches, and even mosquitoes.
May all those uneaten critters and their progeny plague my Camp Bliss South guest for the rest of her days.
Those were the thoughts that kept me company while I changed the sheets in her cabin. That andwhy the hell would you stay in a nature resort if you can’t handle spiders???
So, I’m not expecting a five-star review from her. I can’t imagine her saying anything good.
And that thought triggers my curiosity. Ignoring Josh and his beer-swilling, I climb the steps to my end of the camper and shut the door. Russell hops onto the bed while I open my laptop. As soon as I click on my guest’s profile, I cringe.
Uh oh.
Clearly, I have not done a very good job of vetting our bookings. This woman has trashed almost every place she’s stayed. I don’t know if I’ve ever looked at a guest’s review history, but with this one, it’s like slipping down a rabbit hole.
Each review of hers I read, I find myself wincing for the poor hosts. And, maybe I’m biased, but it’s obvious to me what a spoiled twat she is. I’m hoping any future guests who read her unflattering review of Camp Bliss will see that.
But jeez!
When I finally close my laptop, more than thirty minutes have passed. At least I feel vindicated and maybe just a little more at peace. This was the first really negative experience I’ve had with a guest, but I suppose it’s bound to happen in this business.
I push off my bed with a sigh. Wind still whips the walls of the camper, but there’s no more lashing rain. At least not right now.
I send up a prayer that Zach’s flight is already making a smooth approach. And then my heart jack-rabbits in my chest as I think of him being home soon.
When he gets here, I’m going to crush him with my hug.
And on that note, it’s definitely time for a shower. I grab a towel, start the water, and strip off my clothes. The little bathroom steams up almost immediately, and I step under the gloriously hot spray.
I heave a muscle-melting sigh and let the stream leave me mindless for a good five minutes before I even bother with the whole grooming routine. And then I groom like nobody’s business.
Like a girl whose boyfriend has been gone for a week and is gonna make up for lost time.
Shampooing. Conditioning. Shaving. Exfoliating.
Even if I won’t get to truly make up for lost time—because my alcoholic ex is in the next room and all—when Zach touches me tonight, however innocently, I want to feel baby smooth and angel soft.
When I finally shut off the shower, the little bathroom might as well be San Francisco Bay, the hot fog is so thick. But it’s fine. I don’t need to see a hand in front of my face to dry off, rub moisturizer all over my body, and comb leave-in conditioner through my hair.
I slide open the little accordion door and step into my room in a cloud of steam and nothing else and—
“What the fuck!”I shriek.
Because there’s a man in my bed. And that man isn’t Zach.
With a beer in his hand and a leer on his face, Josh rests against my pillows like he owns the place.
Flailing naked limbs, I leap back into the bathroom, yanking the flimsy excuse for a door closed.“What the fuck, Josh!”
He walked through the bathroom?
While I was in the shower?!
