…
Why did life hate Carrie so much?
She showed up to the hula lesson, and of course, there were several other women…including Wendy. She was starting to hate package vacations.
What was even worse was that Wendy, like most women there, was tall and lean and “perfect.” Carrie was the only one under five-foot-ten by far and had the biggest butt there.
She inhaled deeply and took a spot in line, as far away from Wendy as possible, but Wendy felt the need to gravitate toward her.
“This will be so much fun,” she said to Carrie, stretching. Although, Carrie was certain she was deliberately bending over for the sake of it. Poor yoga pants… She’d never seen anything so tight on a woman before.
Carrie glanced down at her sensible sneakers and slightly baggy T-shirt and tried not to fidget.
“Yeah, fun,” Carrie said.
Wendy leaned in like she was going to tell Carrie a secret, but she spoke at a normal volume, as if wanting everyone to hear what she was going to say. “I took a stripping class,” she said.
Carrie frowned. “I wasn’t aware strippers had to take classes.”
Wendy scoffed and tossed her hair like she was half amused and half pissed. Carrie hoped for the latter, since she really didn’t want to fake a friendly relationship with this woman. She already had enough fake stuff going on in her life.
“No, it was an exercise class, but you work out with a pole and learn to strip and dance. It’s all the rave. I can’t believe you haven’t heard of it.” Wendy looked over Carrie as if assessing her outfit, but Carrie felt the scrutiny all the way to her soul. “It brings out femininity. You should try it. There are classes in Denver all the time.”
Carrie felt heat rise in her that was equal parts rage and embarrassment. This woman had been cheating with her fiancé for the past year and now she had the nerve to discuss femininity with her? On her honeymoon? No, not her honeymoon. Not anymore. Carrie was in a tight spot, literally, that involved keeping a brave face and salvaging her pride. She might not know much about stripping classes or overly tight yoga pants, but she knew what decency was. And Wendy didn’t have it. But Carrie would be damned if she let her make her feel small.
Carrie did her own stretch and shrugged. “Blake has no complaints about any part of my femininity,” she replied happily, as if it were true.
Which could be true, but Carrie had no idea. The whole relationship was fake. She couldn’t trust that Blake wasn’t pretending to like her, to adore her, in order to help her play her part. But she had to gain footing somehow in this conversation with Wendy, and giving in to the fantasy of being with Blake was surprisingly easy.
Wendy just gave her a sideways glance.
If only Blake were here. This was so much easier with him. His eyes on her. His mouth on hers. His body—
Stop. Stop. Stop.
Thankfully, the instructor came in.
“Welcome, everyone, I’m Miss Luna,” a short, plump woman in her fifties said, walking to the front of the room. The term “room” was used loosely, since there was only one wall and the backdrop was the ocean. Fortunately, no one was out walking the beach at the moment to witness this lesson.
“We are here to learn the art of hula dancing. Now, this is a lovely expression of a woman’s body, and so with that in mind, follow my guide and flow, but find your own rhythm.”
Carrie nodded and tried to concentrate, and Miss Luna went through various motions of the dance.
“Oh yeah, my stripping class was kind of like this.” Wendy leaned and whispered this time, as if Carrie cared about the topic. “You have to be sensual.”
Wendy was moving and working her hips like a pro, and Carrie tried not to pay attention to her. Her self-esteem could only take so much.
So she did her best to follow along to the instruction as Miss Luna went around the room and chatted with each woman individually.
That’s when Carrie heard a soft whistle. A whistle that wasn’t meant for her.
Wendy turned around and saw Kevin hovering nearby, pretending to take a walk along the beach but giving an exaggerated appreciative look at Wendy bending over.
Wendy blew him a kiss.
Carrie’s whole stomach twisted. God, the simplicity of the gesture. He’d never shown her such a casual love. The closest she’d come in all her years was Blake, starting with that fake kiss she’d planted on him when they’d first seen Kevin here.
She took a deep breath and refocused on her dancing. Maybe she’d show Blake these moves later. All in the name of practice. Like their time under the pineapple tree. Or last night, when she’d run his length between her legs until—