Was that there when I came in?
I bend down and pick it up. The thick pink paper is clearly of the handmade variety and the fancy script writing on the front leaves no mystery as to what it is.
An invitation.
Chapter Five
TheInvisibleGod
I STARE at the envelope and read.
Apologies, is what the actual word on the front is. Not You’re invited. But it’s written in a You’re invited script, so it’s easy to assume.
I take the card out and read the same fancy lettering:
All facility pools and beaches are closed for a private function. Sorry for the inconvenience. Please accept a full-access pass to the lazy river for the day.
Hmmm. The lazy river is not something that came in our package. Our free trip included the Spa Experience, so we have access to the Wellness Center and that’s about it.
Which is bullshit. If you’re on a honeymoon then you want to do the fun stuff before you f**k each other’s brains out. Not let other people pound on you and stick you in a steam room.
I stuff the invitation in my bag and leave the bungalow. The lazy river is all the way on the other side of the village, so I take every winding path imaginable and by the time I finally make it over there I’m ready for another martini.
There is no one at the entrance except some kid with a resort polo shirt on. “We’re closed,” he says in his friendly f**k-you voice.
“I have a full-access pass for the day,” I say as I hand him my invitation. “Someone just slipped it under my door a few minutes ago, so—”
His eyes get big as he stares at the paper in my hand.
“Excuse me, I’m sorry,” he says as he swings the entrance gate open for me. “Yes, you are an invited guest. Please, come this way.”
The place is empty. Like not a single other person here. Just me and the lazy river. How weird is it to have an entire river to yourself on an island that should be bustling with people but is somehow strangely vacant?
Weird.
The lazy river guy sets me up with a floating cabana. I’m not kidding. It comes with a cooler and a boarding platform. All inflatable. “Is this really necessary?” I ask him as he fills the cooler with ice and a variety of drinks. “I only need one for a single person. This… thing looks like it’s built for a party.”
He points to the invitation I’m still clutching in my hand. “The cabana raft comes with that invitation. VIP.” He winks at me the same way that Dewain did back at the bar.
Hmmm. “Who’s rented the resort anyway? Where did this invitation come from?”
He smiles at me and waves me towards the cabana. “You get in and I’ll give you a push out into the current. Holler if you need anything.”
Obviously they have been told not to talk about the event, whatever it may be. Hint taken. I throw my bag into the floating house and crawl in after it. There’s a mesh sunshade that stretches out over my head and a peek hole that lets you see the water underneath.
Lazy river guy pushes me out of the loading pool and the current floats me along at a nice relaxing clip.
My eyes close automatically and my whole body relaxes back into the inflatable cushions. I relish the hot sun beating down on my body and take off my wrap so I’m just in my bikini and before I know, I’m drifting off…
“You’re gonna burn,” a familiar husky voice whispers into my ear as the raft rocks to the side.
I flail my arms in surprise and end up clutching onto a pair of muscular broad shoulders. “What the hell!”
“Hold still,” the man laughs. “You’ll tip the raft and get all wet.”
I push off him and scoot away, my heart racing from the shock of having a strange man so close to me. “What the hell do you think—”
Oh. My. Fucking. God.
And I mean God. As in the god that is… “Vaughn Asher?”
His eyes crinkle a little at the corners when he smiles at me and the sunlight plays off his bright blue eyes and dark hair in a way that makes him look ethereal and brutish all at once. He hoists himself up onto the raft, dripping water all over, and then plops down next to me. His perfectly toned and tanned shoulders brush up against mine, making us cling together from the water. He flips a pair of sunglasses down over his eyes and stretches his arms out and clasps his hands behind his neck.
And then I look down. Not at his… package, which I also see because it’s in my line of sight. But at his swim shorts. Which are a limey shade of green.
“Oh my f**king God,” I say again. Only this time it’s out loud. “You’re the guy from the bar?”
“That drink was perfect and you know it.”
“The bar?”
“I know, because you bought another one. Already got the tab. So don’t bother fighting me on this.”
“And you read my—”
“Tweet?” His smile is devilishly wicked. “In my defense, it was hard to miss.”
My mind is racing as I watch his lips as he talks. I have no idea what he’s saying because I’m too preoccupied with mentally calculating how many filthy tweets I’ve written about him over the years. Hundreds? Thousands? It has to be in the thousands.
“—name?”
My attention snaps back to the movie-star god sitting so close to me my whole body is tingling. “What?”
“I said, what’s your Twitter name? I know that tweet was to me, but I didn’t see it online, so you didn’t post it.”