In the Cards(3)

“No problem.” Dan looks over his shoulder toward the resort. “I’ve got to get back to work. Later.”

After he takes off, I remove my shirt to let the remaining sunlight even out my tan. I’m reading Atlas Shrugged and enjoying my meal when a shadow casts over me.

“You had a good laugh at my expense today,” purrs a feminine voice.

I peer over the top of my sunglasses to find the saucer-eyed virgin-daiquiri girl standing at the end of my chaise. She’s planted her hands on her hips and shifted her weight to her right leg. Her spirited attitude forces a grin across my face. With practiced nonchalance, I admire her long enough to make her fidget.

“Thanks for that, miss. Always appreciate a chance for humor on the job.”

Her stance relaxes and her tone turns friendly. “So, how’d you know I’m not twenty-one?”

“ ’Cause you don’t look it. Plus, you were nervous when you ordered.”

She flips her silky, light-brown hair behind her shoulders and presses her glossy pink lips together in a frown. Her pert nose is sprinkled with light freckles, and her full lower lip catches my attention. She’s real pretty in a natural, girl-next-door kind of way, so I don’t mind extending our chat another minute.

“Here’s a tip: Get a fake ID or have one of your older sorority sisters buy your drinks for you.”

A victorious flash of light shines in her eyes, but I’m not sure why. I do know those eyes look like they can see through anything, or anyone.

“What are you reading?” She tips her head sideways to read the book jacket.

I hold the cover up to show her while I estimate her real age. Deciding she may be jailbait, I suspect her little victory stems from my mistaken assumption that she’s already in college.

“Do you like it?” She’s grasping for a reason to talk to me, because I doubt she’s real interested in my thoughts about Ayn Rand’s ideals.

“So far.”

I don’t offer more. Keeping quiet forces other people to do all the talking and all the revealing. Typically, this strategy establishes my power position, the only position that assures me protection. Her alert gaze warns me I need all the protection I can get.

Undeterred by my lack of enthusiasm, she seats herself in the sand alongside my lounge chair. Her face is now only a foot or so away from my chest. I shift to my left, uncomfortable with her proximity. She’s forward, though not blatantly flirtatious. She just marched over, invaded my space, and now won’t leave me alone.

Her lightly bronzed skin shimmers in the rose-colored light of a late-afternoon sky. If she were older, I might indulge in a brief fling. Unfortunately, she’s an inexperienced baby, and I don’t take advantage of the innocent. Plus, something about her knocks me off balance. I don’t enjoy the unfamiliar feeling.

“Are you working here between semesters?” she asks. “Do you go to college nearby?”

Her questions, coupled with the fact that she’s vacationing at this resort for the holiday, indicate she’s probably a sheltered daddy’s girl who gets whatever she wants, whenever she wants it. Despite her physical appeal, she’s not my kind of chick. Truth be told, I’m not likely to be her kind of guy. Fortunately, I know exactly how to make her hightail it away from me.

“I don’t go to college.”

As expected, her eyes widen even more—if that’s possible.

“Oh. Why not?”

“Why bother?” I shrug.

“For your future.” Her eyebrows furrow, framing amber eyes filled with concern.

“What about my future?” I stare at her, daring her to preach to me, which is what I suspect is coming.

“Well . . .” She hesitates. “You know, for more career options.”

I nearly choke on laughter at the image of me with an office job. She withdraws and narrows her eyes, confused by my response. I lean closer to her and am hit with the coconut scent of her skin. Mmm. Collecting myself, I soften my voice.

“Don’t you go worrying over my future. As long as there are libraries, I’ll learn whatever I need to know. Don’t need to waste time and money paying some drone to tell me what to think. And anyway, a fancy job and white picket fence may be your dream, but it ain’t mine. I’ll take a pass on the anchors and just live my life.”

There. Now she’ll lose interest and run along to find her parents, or some nice rich boy just like her. Only, she doesn’t.

“Anchors?” She hugs her knees to her chest while awaiting my reply.

I sigh and place my book across my lap.

“Anchors. Things that weigh you down and hold you in place—a wife, kids, a mortgage. Not interested.”