Forbidden Surrender(6)

“I’m not really interested in the male species right now. Between Richard’s chauvinism and Vincent shooting us down today, I think I’m a little burned out on testosterone.”

“Fair enough. It’ll just be us girls then. Get in that sexy bathing suit you brought.” Riley untied her robe to reveal her bikini, its thin straps and enhanced bust leaving little to the imagination. “I’m all ready to go.”

Having vented to Riley, I felt better about the situation this morning. I slipped into my bathing suit and left the hotel with her.





When we arrived at the aptly-named Bikini Beach just before noon, the shore was packed. There was a nice mix of tourists and locals, with lots of people both in and out of the clear blue waters. We laid our towels down on the heated sand and relaxed in cheap folding chairs we got from a nearby beach store. Once we were settled, Riley went to get us some drinks. I stared out at the waves and thought about how picturesque the scene looked. This kind of experience was rare when you lived in Manhattan and I took the opportunity to soak it in. As the afternoon wore on, the stress of the morning seemed to melt away like the ice cubes in our mojitos.

I spotted a few surfers in the distance zig-zagging along the water. I’d never been surfing before and didn’t have much of a desire to change that. I understood the appeal, but I was afraid of the danger—I just didn’t think the risks outweighed the benefits. A few thrilling moments versus the possibility of getting my arm bitten off by a shark or getting stung by a jellyfish . . . yeah, I’d be happy with just tanning—with sunscreen of course.

Vincent, on the other hand, loved risky activities. His whole business was based on extreme sports. I didn’t really get it but it clearly made him very successful.

A few toned men with olive skin passed by and Riley directed my attention to them. I had to admit they were attractive from a purely physical perspective but that just didn’t do it for me.

“Maybe your standards are too high,” Riley said.

“Just because they have abs and a penis doesn’t mean I want to sleep with them.”

She laughed. “Keith had more than that. You never told me why you turned down my offer to set you up with him.”

“He just wasn’t my type.”

“What is your type, Kris? I’ve hardly seen you date since I’ve known you, and don’t say it’s because you’ve been too busy with work.” She nudged me with her elbow.

“I’m not sure I have one.” I was only vaguely aware of rubbing my own pinky finger.

“Oh come on. Every girl has a type, some just aren’t willing to be honest about it.”

Now I was the curious one. “What’s your type then?”

“Let’s see . . . tall, strong, handsome, smart, dark, dangerous . . . oh and let’s not forget rich.”

“Sounds more like a fantasy than a real person.” Actually that sounded a lot like someone I met this morning. “Why don’t we just say I like the ‘nice and caring’ type.”

“Basically boring then, huh?”

“Boring to you, satisfying to me. Why would you want someone dark and dangerous? And if he’s so hot, wouldn’t you be concerned he’d cheat on you?”

“I’d just have to blow his mind.” Her mischievous wink made it clear what she meant. “But to each her own.”

We spent the rest of the afternoon bathing our skin in UV rays and trying out the local food. Fortunately, there were enough tourists streaming through Cape Town that the restaurants provided menus in English. I thought chicken would taste the same no matter where you were but whatever special sauce they used made it exceptionally delicious. We explored the area, stopping periodically to point out unique architecture or unusual occurrences. Although I’d told Riley I wasn’t interested in dating, I couldn’t help but indulge in idle thoughts about Vincent. Maybe I’d spent way too much time memorizing his files.

It was evening by the time we were hungry again. Despite wearing comfy sneakers, our feet were killing us from all the walking. Riley suggested we rest at a local bar to relieve our weary legs and grab some grub. We were off the beaten path by this point and the bar she picked looked sketchy.

“It’ll be fun. Don’t you want to get an authentic experience? We didn’t fly thousands of miles just to go to some bar we could go to back home.”

“Yeah, but we’re two American girls in a foreign country. There are horror movies based on this situation.”

“What’s the worst that can happen?” Her grin made me ill at ease.