“You sure about that?” he asks in his Caribbean English. “Maybe the lime is not so bad.”
“Oh, no.” I put up my hand and laugh with him. “I’m sure.” I hike my thumb back over my shoulder. “Mr. Buttinski here can order himself a key lime pie martini. I want you to choose”—I look at the name tag on his resort shirt—“Dewain.” I smile at him and then go back to my tweet, the matter settled.
“Have it your way, but I think I tried them all last night and this one is definitely the best. And I only bother with the best,” that husky voice replies behind me. He reaches over my shoulder, pressing his body up against mine in a way that creates an explosion of chills down my arms, and then places a ten-dollar bill on the bar. “It’s on me.”
I swivel around on my bar stool to see who this guy is, but he’s already turned away, so all I catch is a muscled back. It’s tan. And hard-looking. My eyes travel south to the curve of his perfect globes. He’s wearing a pair of lime green board shorts and that makes me smile.
“Nice shorts,” I call out after him.
He glances over his shoulder and I catch a smirking grin before he rounds the corner and calls back, “Nice tweet.”
“Oh, shit,” I mumble to myself. I click out of the app and blush. “How embarrassing.” At least he couldn’t see my Twitter handle and Mr. Asher’s handle was mostly covered up by my thumb, so he probably didn’t see who it was for, either. “Eek!” I say under my breath. I hope I don’t see him again.
“There you are!” Bebe says as she skips under the thatched-roof hut of the beach bar. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“Oh my God, Bebe, some random hot dude just caught me composing a tweet! I think he read it!”
“Hmm,” she says with a wide smile. “Did he frown or laugh?”
“I’m not sure, he was walking away before I knew he saw it.” I hold the phone up and she nabs it out of my hand.
“Let me see.” Her laugh turns into a squeal as she reads it. “Bare pussy, tongue, and clit all in the same tweet.” She laughs again. “Girl, no man will frown at that.”
“One key lime martini for the lady,” Dewain the bartender says as he sets the drink down in front of me with a conspiratorial wink. “This one really is the best, the man does not lie, so this is the one I choose for you.” And then he picks up the ten-dollar bill key lime shorts guy left and walks off to help a couple who just arrived.
“What’s that all about?” Bebe asks.
“That bossy tweet-stalker wanted me to try this drink but I shot him down.” I take a sip of the drink and minty freshness invades my mouth. I swallow and it’s the perfect combination of comforting and cool. “It’s good, I guess,” I reluctantly admit. The bartender hears me and sends off another wink in my direction.
“Well, Steve and I are going parasailing today, wanna come?”
I scoff. “Are you crazy? I will be here at the bar if you need me.”
“You can’t stay at the bar all day. At least go out and beach-bum so one of those cute cabana boys can come serve you.”
I promise her I will as she trots off to a waiting Steve. They can defy the laws of gravity at their own peril, I have a good book and tonight’s tweet contest to get ready for. I hate that I don’t get to judge the winner tonight but I was ousted in the name of vacay. Bebe thinks I have a hard time letting work go. But that’s ridic. Everyone knows judging a dirty tweet contest is not work.
I have a good chuckle with myself and sip on my drink. It is delicious and when I’m done I order another. I watch Dewain add the ingredients and shake it up like a pro. I notice the bar is almost empty now that I’m not so self-absorbed in dirty tweeting.
“Where are all the people?” I call over to Dewain as he adds a slice of lime to my martini. “Why’s it so empty?”
“Private party this weekend,” he answers as he puts my drink down in front of me. “The entire west end of the resort has been rented out for it.”
“Wow,” I say as I take the first sip. Yum. “That’s pretty fancy. Must be moneybags, huh?” I reach into my purse to pull out some cash, but Dewain puts a hand over mine.
“It’s paid for. Mr. Buttinski left an open tab for you.” Dewain gives me another one of those winks and I flash him back some suspicion.
“What’s that mean?”
“Well,” Dewain says, throwing up his hands in an I-surrender gesture. “He wants to make a good impression, maybe?”