Surviving Us (5 page)

“Are you two on your honeymoon?” he asks, pulling my attention from her.

“No. Definitely not,” I snap out, not meaning for it to sound as harsh as it does.

Bristol’s body stiffens and she not-so-subtly scoots away from me, so far that her head is nearly hanging out the window.
Shit.
I didn’t mean to make her feel bad, but I’m a fucking mess right now. After the flight and then this whole airport fiasco, it’s a wonder I haven’t completely lost my mind. Whoever the hell said the best way to get over a fear of something is to face it head-on needs to be shot in the face.
I still can’t believe I let my mom talk me into getting on that fucking plane.

“We met on the flight, found out we’re staying at the same place, so we decided to catch a ride together,” I explain, a modified version of the truth.

Dr. Secret catches my eye again through the mirror and lifts his brow. “Well, man, you never know what can happen while you’re on the island,” he chuckles, “especially if you drink the local rum.”

“The local rum, eh?” Drinking legally is one of the few perks about the trip, even though I partake regularly at home, despite not being twenty-one until the end of next month. The flight attendant hadn’t even bothered checking my ID.

“Yes, dark rum here makes you strong like bull.”

I stifle a laugh, glancing over at Bristol, who refuses to look over at me, ignoring our entire conversation as she stares at the open land of nothingness we’re driving through. Even with her face tilted away from me, I’m in awe of her beauty. She’s one of those naturally pretty girls who doesn’t need makeup or fancy clothes to make every guy in a room notice her when she walks in. Hell, the minute she strolled into the gate area at the airport, my eyes were drawn to her, nearly making me forget about the hell I was about to put myself through.

Her long, wavy dark hair looks soft to touch and perfect to pull, her big, brown eyes remind me of liquid pools of creamy caramel
—
my absolute favorite food in the world—and from what I can tell, she’s got a smokin’ body with killer legs. My dick twitches at the thought of them wrapped around me.
Fuck.

I shouldn’t have talked to her earlier, shouldn’t have offered to help her when we got off the plane . . . I shouldn’t have even fucking come on this trip in the first place. The last thing I wanted was to make any friends while I was here, especially not any girls. Sure, I was open to hooking up with a random hottie,
maybe a local if the opportunity presented itself, but I honestly expected all the females at this retreat to be well over the age of thirty-five, with a big fat zero in the sex appeal department.

“Is that country music I hear?” Bristol asks as we enter a small town, her tiny nose scrunching up in what can only be described as adorable.
I must still be drunk if I’m thinking of words like ‘adorable.’

Dr. Secret laughs hard, bobbing his head up and down. “Yes, girl, it’s the favorite music of the locals, and we all love to go line dancing. It’s actually where I’m going tonight.”

“Line dancing and country music?” She snickers, echoing my thoughts. “I thought St. Lucia was known for its jazz music?”

“Yeah,” I pipe in, “don’t y’all have some world-renowned jazz festival?”

Again, he nods. “We
play
jazz better than anyone, but we
listen
to country music. In the 1950s, there was a US army base here; most of the soldiers were from Texas and they brought their music with them. It was a big hit here, and it’s stuck around ever since.”

“Wow,” she and I say in unison.

Finally, she looks over at me, a timid smile curling up at the edges of her mouth. I grin back, uncertain why I care if she’s mad at me or not. Everything in my brain is telling me to stay far away from this girl for the remainder of this trip;
the fact she’s attending this retreat tells me she’s got more baggage than any chick I want to mess with . . . and I’m not talking about the zebra print with hot pink tags kind. Pair me up with anyone as fucked up in the head as I am, and it’s bound to be trouble.

I HAVE NO IDEA
what to make of D. He shifts from hot to cold faster than I can blink, and to be quite honest, I’m not sure why I care. He may be hotter than any guy on the OU campus, but hot guys are
not
why I’m here.

About forty-five minutes into the car ride, we finally pull off the main roadway
, if you can call a gravel road that, onto an even bumpier surface surrounded by lush tropical vegetation. D and Dr. Secret—I was afraid to ask the origin of this peculiar nickname—have been discussing the difference between baseball and cricket for the last half-hour or so, and as much as I’ve wanted to jump into the conversation, being the sports enthusiast I am, I remain quiet and soak in the passing sights.

The only other form of human life we’ve seen is a small village we passed through a while back. The houses were barely more than shacks; I’m not even sure if they had electricity and plumbing, but everyone was outside, appearing to be having a good time. It kind of reminded me of a block party back home—lawn chairs, coolers, and grilling over an open flame as everyone chats it up out in front of their houses. It made me remember my parents and all the other people on the street I grew up on, all the people who’ve been gone for over twelve years now.

“Ti Kaye is at the top of this cliff here,” our animated driver announces, every minute of the trek becoming a little more turbulent as we twist and turn up the winding road. Thankfully, the online reviews of the resort had prepared me for this ascent; otherwise, I might’ve been a little freaked out right about now.

Shortly thereafter, I see the Ti Kaye sign up ahead amidst the jungle-like surroundings, announcing we’ve finally made it. My pulse speeds up as the excitement within me grows. I’ve been planning for this trip for nearly a year, and now I’m finally here!

We stop briefly at the gate as Dr. Secret talks with the attendant in a language that sounds a lot like French. They share some weird handshake and he waves us on through. A few more minutes of rough terrain, and the car slows to a stop. I glance over at D, not sure what to expect from him, but lying back on the seat with his eyes closed definitely isn’t it.

“Come on, D,” I urge as I touch his arm lightly, my enthusiasm erasing any irritation I felt towards him. “We’re here.”

His eyes flutter open and he rolls his head to the side, staring straight at me. A lazy, lopsided grin pulls at one corner of his full lips as he reaches out and tenderly brushes his thumb across my cheekbone. The startling, seemingly out-of-character movement pins me to the seat.

“You need to stay far away from me, Bristol. I’m supposed to be a good boy while I’m here, and you’re the perfect kind of trouble for me.” He taps my nose with his fingertip, then opens the door and jumps out of the car, leaving me wondering what in the hell just happened.

The gentle caress and words of warning leave a lump in my throat, my heart pounding in my chest, and quite possibly, my panties a little bit damp. This should be an interesting twelve days, if nothing else.

Dr. Secret opens my door for me and I stumble out of the car, eyes wide open as I get my first glimpse of the entrance to the understated, but luxurious main building. He escorts me up to the door, rolling my bags behind him as I move my head up, down, and all around, taking everything in.

“Check-in is right over there,” he points to where D is standing at a counter, “and when you’re ready to leave to the airport, tell them to call me, Dr. Secret, and I will come get you, girl.”

“Thank you, I will,” I smile up at him. “Have fun line dancing tonight.”

He winks. “That, I plan on, and you have fun while you’re here. Make him have fun too,” he nods his head in D’s direction, “even though he’ll try hard not to.”

I nod, laughing softly. “I’ll do my best.”

As I wait my turn to check in, I continue to soak up everything around me—the detailed woodwork in all of the furniture, the bright-colored flowers sprinkled around the room—and then I stop, my focus gluing to the breathtaking view of the sparkling blue waters of the Caribbean Sea.
Wow
. It’s even more amazing than I ever dreamed. Absolutely perfect.

“Ma’am, I can help you now,” the female behind the desk calls out to me.

Begrudgingly, I tear my gaze from the wall of glass and shuffle over to the desk. D is standing off to the side, not paying any attention to me; whether or not it’s on purpose, I’m unsure.

The check-in process is quick and easy. Lena, according to her nametag, pulls out an envelope with my name on it and hands me the key to my
N
or
Nich
cottage, which she explains are named, not numbered, after Patois words, the adopted language of the locals. I was too busy gaping at the vista to eavesdrop and hear which one D is in, but hopefully it’s on the other side of the grounds from mine. I’m here to finally meet some of the friends I’ve made online and to make new ones, while we share our different coping techniques and treatments as we all learn how to move on from our tragedies . . .
not
to hang out with a guy who unnerves me with a single touch.

As Lena steps out from behind the welcome counter, she smiles brightly, addressing both me and D. “You can both leave your things here in the lobby, and someone will take them to your rooms while I give you a brief tour of the property.”

She leads us across the terracotta-colored tile floor towards the back of the lobby, opening the glass door and motioning for us to walk outside with her. I’m careful not to get too close to him—after all, he told me to stay away—and try to focus all of my attention on what she’s saying.

“This is our open-air dining area. Buffet-style breakfast will be served here each morning from seven to ten, and lunch is available from eleven to two, both of which are very casual. At night, as you can see the staff changing the table linens now,” she motions to the two women setting out white tablecloths and nice china, “the restaurant takes on a bit more of an ‘island-formal’ feel. Dinner will be served between eight and nine-thirty, and the bar closes at eleven.”

A young man approaches us, carrying two iced beverages, handing one to me and then one to D. “Welcome to Ti Kaye. My name is Pilgrim, and I’m one of the bartenders. Anything you like, I will make for you,” his accent is the heaviest I’ve heard since I’ve been here, but I can still make out every word. “Please enjoy our signature rum runner to begin with.”