Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
I recognize her from the welcome reception in the observation lounge. She has pale-blonde hair and piercing blue eyes that seem to leap out at you. Shannon, her metal name tag reads.
“Would either of you care for a cocktail?” she asks.
“Absolument,” Sienna teases in French, all too happy to skip off to the bar.
Shannon looks to me, and I smile. “I’m all set for now.”
My stomach feels a little off after I’ve been baking in the heat all day. Ricardo wasn’t the best driver behind the wheel of the golf cart either. My insides feel like slush, and I’d rather not tempt fate by adding alcohol to the mix. Shannon points toward the water.
“If you’re interested, we’ve arranged surf lessons.”
Now that sounds fun.
I’ll take any excuse to slip out of this sundress and get in the water.
“I’m game,” I say excitedly.
“You can stow your things over there with the attendant for safekeeping and then head down to the water.”
I see a row of surfboards set up in the sand, six of them lined up one after another. Though we’re early to the beach—most of Aurelia’s guests have yet to arrive—two of the surfboards are already being claimed. One by a girl I don’t immediately recognize and one by Sienna’s Spanish lover (or soon-to-be lover, that is). I claim the surfboard beside him after slipping out of my sundress and applying a quick spritz of sunblock.
I’m eager to help facilitate a wingwoman situation, so I introduce myself with a little wave.
“Hi, Casey Hughes, Bon Voyage.”
Sienna’s man turns to me with an easygoing smile. “Javier Mendez, freelance mostly.”
Oh, his accent is heavenly. Sienna’s going to melt.
“Pleasure to meet you,” I say before turning to the girl.
I realize she’s one of the influencers Sienna told me about yesterday, the ones she wanted to steer clear of. I can see why. My welcoming smile is met by a sour expression.
“Avery,” the girl says with a snooty tone. And that’s all, no last name, no job title. It’s like she’s on par with Beyoncé or Madonna. One name, and we should damn well know it.
I can’t help myself. “And what do you do, Avery? Are you a writer?”
She gives a little pitying laugh, like she feels sorry for me that I don’t already know the answer to my own question. “I’m in digital marketing.”
I scrunch my nose like I’m confused. “So you’re in advertising? Client side or . . . ?”
“No,” she says more sternly now, her cool gaze slipping to Javier for a moment like she’s worried about his opinion of her. Oh. Oh. Maybe that’s why she’s giving me the cold shoulder. I wonder if I’ve interrupted something she had going with Javier. “I’m an influencer.”
“Like Sienna,” I say, pointing over to where my new friend stands at the bar. Javier follows my finger just in time to see Sienna laugh with the bartender and then look over at me. She wiggles her pineapple cocktail beside her head, pointing to the drink and mouthing, “It’s huge!”
I laugh and peer over to see Javier inspecting her from head to toe. For the moment, he’s forgotten that Avery and I exist. I have a hard time suppressing my satisfied smirk.
“I recognize her,” Javier says.
“Oh yeah?” I say, wanting to press the subject.
“We run in the same circles,” Avery says quickly, trying to remain relevant.
“She didn’t mention that,” I say before deciding it’s probably time to reel it in. I’ve done my job. I’ve ensured that Javier’s aware of Sienna. There’s no need to rub Avery’s nose in it. “So . . . have either of you surfed before?”
Today will be my first time attempting it. Bold, considering I’ll have an audience watching me make a fool of myself. More guests arrive by the minute. Other tours are wrapping up, and everyone’s converging on the beach. The last few surfboards fill up, and our instructor starts the lesson.
It will come as a shock to no one that a girl who grew up surrounded by books and nowhere near a beach (unless you count the less-than-pristine beaches in the greater NYC area) isn’t all that great at surfing. I try my hardest. The instructor walks me through the motions—paddle hard, plant your feet, pop up, keep your knees bent, and stretch your arms out by your sides for balance as if you’re walking a tightrope. Logistically, I understand it. Physically, my limbs won’t cooperate. I tip over into the water time and time again, crashing through the waves, plunging under the refreshing blue surface. I don’t even mind. It feels good to get soaked, though the competitive spark in me grows annoyed that I can’t quite figure it out. Somehow, Avery’s even worse. She takes up most of the instructor’s time, but Javier sticks close by me, trying to help coach me as best as possible. He’s a natural, though he’s admitted to surfing a lot.