Victoria’s Secret Wish(40)
And that was one of the things Trish had bitched about–how he was always looking out for everybody’s safety. She, of all people, thought he needed to mind his own business. So maybe he would. Let the cruise director or somebody in charge worry. His job was right back here behind the bar, enjoying Close Encounters of the Unacquainted Kind. Not that they hadn’t been fun. Well, all except with that dude. That had been…unreal. He’d rather not think about it again.
Hmm. Peyton came stumbling–literally–onto the deck. He’d looked for her earlier in the lounge. She’d been sending come-fuck-me vibes his way, and he had every intention of answering her request. But she hadn’t been around when he was looking–not in the lounge or up here at the cabanas. From the looks of her now, she’d been somewhere getting bent. Holy shit. What was she doing? She’d sat smack in the middle of the table where the four drunkest guys were sitting. He hadn’t seen a skirt that short since the guys at work had rented Girls Gone Horny. He’d bet those guys weren’t on her roster for a fantasy encounter. She was flat-out stripping for them, on her knees and shaking that awesome rack in their faces. One of the guys helped her down and she shimmied out of her skirt too, bent over to give them a good eyeful–Griffin got to see the front this time–and then called, “Let’s skinny-dip!”
Great. Four drunk guys and a drunk girl in the pool. Not so safe. And where the hell was the lifeguard? Nowhere in sight. When the guys started stripping, Griffin turned back to the bar patrons. He recognized several, but didn’t see the guy from earlier, the one with the Married Woman Problem. Maybe he was off scoring again. Funny, about that guy. He sported beard stubble and a ball cap like he was hiding–in a shipful of celebs, no less–but it couldn’t be more obvious he was a pro swimmer. Dumbass. Whatever, though. Everybody was entitled to privacy, if that’s what mattered.
Fuck. The Drunk Four had formed a circle, and Peyton was in the center. He couldn’t see much between the bodies, but it looked like she was giving head. Nice. Well, she knew what she wanted, he’d give her that much. Too bad he’d been so slow making his move. A girl with that kind of energy would be a tiger in the sack.
One of the four sat down at the edge, or sort of fell down to a sitting position, and then another. Nobody else seemed to be paying much attention to the scene in the pool, because three really hot chicks were going at it up on the platform. And the lifeguard was…where? Damn it. How was he supposed to mix pitchers of margaritas when all those inebriated idiots could drown?
He’d go clear some tables and check on the pool action. Who was he kidding, though? He had to find the lifeguard or he’d be stressing all night. Man. Was she blowing that guy underwater? How long could she stay down there? Seventeen...eighteen… How long had she been down already? He moved closer.
“Hey, bro. Is she okay?” he yelled at the drunks. “Hello?”
Peyton wasn’t going down on the dudes–she was just down. On the bottom. “Fuck. Watch out!” He shoved past the two standing guys and jumped in. The water was clear enough to see her eyes closed. He grasped her by the waist and pulled her up–not a hard job as small as she was–and hefted her to the decking. Out cold. Not breathing, but she had a pulse. Airway seemed clear. Time for mouth-to-mouth. “Somebody get the lifeguard, or doctor, or whoever the fuck is in charge around here!”
Her chest spasmed and she tried to cough, so he turned her to her side. Thank Christ.
“What’s going on here?” Cruise director Shawna knelt beside him. “Oh my God. Is she all right?”
“I think so. Somebody get me a towel so I can cover her up?”
Snickers from the group of guys. “Like it matters,” one of them called.
“It matters, motherfucker. You’ll be lucky if she doesn’t press charges.”
Shawna nodded at two late-to-the-scene security guards. “Help those guys back to their berths, please. Time for them to sleep it off. And who the hell is the lifeguard tonight?”
Peyton kept coughing and puking up water, and finally moaned. “Oh God. Helllp.”
Somebody pressed a towel into his hand and he covered her with it. “Shhh. It’s okay. Just breathe. Real slow.” He looked up at Shawna, who was on her radio trying to track down a lifeguard. “I’m gonna take her to the infirmary. Can you hand me her clothes from that table over there? Somebody should probably stay with her, for when she starts puking up the booze.”
“If you’d like to, that’s fine. I’ll get somebody else at the bar for the night. You’re kinda…wet, anyway,” Shawna said. “Thank you for being there. I mean, if something had happened–”