Must Love Otters (5 page)

“’Nother shot over here,” I slur. I should probably stop soon. This is gonna hurt like hell tomorrow, but the place is almost all mine, the music is good, and the bartender is hot.

“Hollie, you want me to call Keith for you, hun?” Ridley the bartender—he is so adorable.

“Rid, why do you have to be gay? I want to get naked with a man who looks like you.”

“They all do, sweetheart.” He starts to pull my glass away.

“No. I want another one. Pretty please …” I bat my eyelashes at him. Or, try to.

“Maybe something besides schnapps, then?”

“What d’you recommend …”

“Something nonalcoholic.”

“That is totally not what I had in mind.” I slurp the last drops out of the highball.

Rag in hand, Ridley lifts my phone from the counter, wipes underneath it. It’s been chiming at me all night. It does so again.

“You gonna answer that?”

“Why? So Keith can try to guilt me into coming home?”

“Lovers’ quarrel?”

“No. That would mean we were lovers. We’re nothing but roommates. And he’s a lousy lay. I’d have better luck with—”

“Stop right there. Some secrets are best left unshared.” He slides a glass of water with lemon in front of me. I stick my tongue out at him. The phone chimes again.

“Answer that, or I will.”

“God, you’re so bossy. Why is everyone always bossing me around?” I slide a sticky finger across the phone’s face. About twenty text messages from my dad are awaiting response:

What happened?

Keith just called. He’s worried about u.

Where r u?

Should I come into town?

Why aren’t u answering?

If u don’t answer within the next hour, I’m coming into town.

Shit. I text him back. “Dad, I’m fine. Rough day. Will call tmrw. Don’t worry. Luv u.”

“Keith looking for you?” Ridley says.

“Nope. Dad. He’s freaking out. Prolly thinks I’m face-down in a ditch somewhere.”

As I scan through my emails, my drunk eyes crossing from the tiny screen, one subject line catches my attention. “Rid, Rid, c’mere. I need you.”

He refills another patron’s beer and returns to my perch. “Can you read the fine print on this for me?”

“What am I looking at?”

“My dad—he bought me an early birthday present. A weekend at a resort in O Canada.”

“Sounds swanky.”

“Can …” A slight wave of nausea flits by. I sip water. “Can you see if it says anything about me having to take Keith with me?”

Ridley pulls reading glasses out of his shirt pocket. God, he’s like a gay sex god. “It doesn’t say much of anything about rules. Is this place really up in Canada?”

“Yup. British Columbia. And I’m goin’ there. I gotta get outta town for a while.”

“When you going?”

“Dunno. Soon. Gonna get drunk and run away. Just what the doctor ordered.”

“Some doctor. Give me his number.”

I swallow more water, wondering if I should try to go pee. I really have to pee. “I gotta go somewhere far away from this stupid place. No offense—I don’t mean your lovely bar. I just mean … here.”

“I know what you mean, darlin’.”

“Yup. I gotta do some soul searching. Find me some otters and whales and maybe a bear and definitely some men because
that
is what I need right now. A real man who doesn’t talk about stupid shit and who doesn’t wear his stupid stethoscope all the time—seriously, Ridley, would you ever have sex with a guy who wore a stethoscope, even when he wasn’t working?”

“Depends on if he’s wearing only the stethoscope,” Ridley smiles.

“You say that now, but unless he looks like you or Johnny Depp, it’s jus’ gross. Keith’s gut hangs over his pants and he’s got this weird hairline thing going down into his boy parts. Like when an Asian tries to grow a beard.” The Asian gentleman down the bar gives me a dirty look. “Sorry, man. No, really.” I lean closer to Ridley, boobs squished against the wooden bar. Hurts. “And even his penis—seriously, he acts like it’s some gift from the gods, but it’s nothin’ special. He’s not circumcised, which is weird.”

“TMI, Hol.”

“Sorry, man.”

“Last call for you,” he says, sliding another shot in front of me. I blow him a kiss and try to wink but only one eye cooperates. Not sure which one.

“Yeah, I’m going up north. I gotta take a floatplane to get there. Can you believe this—Keith wanted to take the dogs! Dumb guy just doesn’t understand what a woman needs.”

“Me, either.” Ridley places a bowl of nuts in front of me. Ew. Gross. Nuts. Thank God they’re not Cheetos. I hate Cheetos. I hope Keith remembers to take all the Cheetos. “So what’s your plan?”

“Dunno. But I ain’t goin’ with him because, well, I kicked him out. We’re done. Finito. He and his stupid little runt dogs.”

“No more Keith, huh?”

“Nope. No more Keith. Did I tell you that he burned my nipples? He totally did.” I clamp my hands over my boobs. They’re still sore. “And—I got in trouble at work. Some dude with a heart problem dressed like Batman and had crazy sex with his wife and it killed him. So that’s my fault? I didn’t spend years shoving cheeseburgers into this guy’s arteries. How is that my fault?”

“Don’t you sign a confidentiality agreement to work at 911?”

“Yeah … but you can keep a secret, right?” He smiles. “You know what the worst part is, though?”

“Worse than a guy dying on the phone with you?”

“Mm-hmm. Way worse.”

“Hit me.”

“I have to join the party-planning committee. With Candida, the yeast infection troll lady.”

“That does sound serious.”

“You have no idea.”

“The whole day sounds pretty awful.” He’s counting the coins from the tip jar. I watch as the silver discs slide across the smooth bar top under his long, well-manicured fingers.

“Not a total loss. I did talk to this sweet old lady who had this great story about her life with her Herb—her husband is Herb—she made me really think about shit, you know?
Life
shit. Important shit. I started asking myself some serious questions …”

“Oh, that’s never a good thing.”

“Isn’t it, though?” I swallow the schnapps. The peach tastes too sweet. Maybe I should switch to whisky. Get drunk like a grown-up.

“What are you going to do, then?”

“Dunno.”

“World’s your oyster, kid. If you hate working at 911, quit. Find something new. You’re still young. Everything’s still perky and firm.”

“So I should be a stripper?”

“Or you could go back to school.”

“God, you sound like my dad.”

“Should I be insulted?”

“Nah. My old man’s good. Just a nag. Thing is, I dunno what I wanna be when I grow up. I can’t do the medical thing. Even if my dad thinks that medicine is where it’s at and he’s a nurse—”

“Your dad’s a nurse?” Ridley’s smile is so familiar. Everyone smiles like that when they learn about my dad’s job. Once the kids at school figured out that, despite his scrubs, he was the one who cleaned up their grandmother’s puke, not the one who stitched up her broken hip, the shit got thicker every year. And Dad’s last short-lived marriage was to a doctor, but she was a wicked-crazy naturopath who read people’s auras and accepted chickens as payment.

“Shut up.”

“No, sweetie, that’s awesome. But just because he’s a nurse doesn’t mean you have to follow suit.”

“I faint at the sight of blood.”

“Then nursing probably won’t work out for you.”

“But what else
is
there? I don’t wanna suck anymore, Ridley.”

“You don’t suck, sweetheart.”

“That’s what she said,” I giggle at him.

He leans onto the bar, picks up my phone, and looks at the email from Revelation Cove. “You should call them. See when you can go up.”

“Ya think?”

“Sure. Why not? What have you got holding you here? Call in sick for a few days. Go clear your head and figure some shit out.”

“That’s a good idea. You’re a really smart guy, Rid.”

“Nah. I’ve just been where you are. I left my old life and came here to get away. Never looked back.” He tucks a soft hand against my cheek. “Change of pace will do you some good. Get out of the city for a while.” He spins the email around again and looks down at it. “They’ve got an 800 number. Call ’em.”

“What time is it?”

“Just after ten. What have you got to lose?”

“Dammit, damn right. Here I go.” I try to get the numbers into the screen but I’m wobbly. Ridley sees me fumbling and dials for me.

“It’s ringing …” He passes over the phone.

“I’m gonna give you a huge tip tonight, Rid—hello?” Someone answers. “Yes, um, hello. Hi. My name is Hollie. My dad, he bought me a gift certificate to stay at your establishment, and I’m wondering about your next availability.” I hope that word came out of my mouth right.

“What’s the name on the gift certificate?” It’s a man’s voice. Deep. Rugged. He sounds sexy.

“Would it be under my name? Hollie. Hollie Porter. It was supposed to be for me and one other person. I’ll need to change that.”

“Hang on just a moment, Miss Porter. Let me pull this up.”
Tap tap tap
of a keyboard. “Okay, yes, your dad bought you a four-day, three-night stay with floatplane transport for two people, queen, Jacuzzi tub. Our Sweethearts’ Spa & Stay package.”

I start laughing. “No. Dude, seriously. Cancel that. If there’s no sweetheart, can I still use the package?”

“You can. It’s already paid for, so the room rate is the same whether it’s you or you and a guest,” Sexy Phone Man says.

“Wait a sec—what’s your name?”

“I’m Ryan, the concierge.”

“Hi, Ryan. I’m Hollie. Oh. Wait,” I laugh. “I totally already told you that, didn’t I.” I’m trying really hard not to slur. That last sip of schnapps is bouncing behind my eyeballs. “Okay, so I don’t want the sweethearts’ package because my boyfriend is now my
ex-
boyfriend. He’s a total putz who always wears his stethoscope. And he has these reeeediculous dogs.”

“Is he a doctor?”

“You know what, Ryan, that’s the funniest part. Nope. Not a doctor. Just a dipshit who drives an ambulance. I mean, he’s a nice guy, yeah, and maybe someday someone will love him, but not me.” I cup my hand over the phone. “Do you know what he
did
last night, Ryan?”

“Do I want to know?”

“I’m totally serious here. He made nachos on my stomach. He thought it would be sexy or some shit. ’Cept he burned my boobs with hot sauce.”

Ryan starts laughing. He’s laughing at me! It’s infectious.

“That sounds … terrible, Hollie.”

“You have no idea. Nipples are very sensitive, Ryan. For a girl. I’m not even kidding. I don’t know if the girls will ever recover.” I pull out the neck of my shirt and look down. Poor girls.

“So, maybe you should come up to the Cove without the stethoscope-and-hot-sauce boyfriend.”

“Yeah, that’s what Ridley says. He’s the bartender. He’s totally hot. But he’s gay.” Ridley winks at me and laughs under his breath. “Ryan—wait—are you gay? Because you sound hot. And you should see Ridley. He looks like The Rock. Not quite that big …” Ridley flexes his tattooed bicep. Kisses it. “Still, smokin’ hot. I’d do him. But he doesn’t want me because I’m not battin’ for the right team.”

“Ridley sounds amazing, but sadly, no, I’m straight.”

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Ryan doesn’t answer. “Because if you do, let me give you a little advice. You should be into the stuff she’s into. I mean, I really like otters. They’re so fuzzy and cute. But does Keith ever record my nature shows? No! Why? Because he has to record all these dumb medical shows so he can scream at the TV and tell them how lame they are. Like he’s a goddamned medical genius or something. Oh—and don’t make out with your dogs, because that’s totally gross. I hate it when Keith does that. Omigod, so gross.”

“Good advice … so, uh, Hollie, when do you think you want to come up to Revelation Cove?”

“Right. Um. Yeah. I don’t know. What do you guys have to do up there?”

“Lots of things. Nature hikes, hot springs, boats you can take out into the sound to the little islands nearby. We have a full-service spa on site—”

“Ryan—wait—do you guys have otters?”

“Otters?”

“Yeah, otters. You know, those adorable little babies and their mommies. They eat urchins and clams and they float on their backs … I friggin’ love otters.”

“I think you will be pleasantly surprised to see the vast array of local wildlife. You name it, they live here.”

“That sounds purrrrfect.”

“It is,” he says, “which just means you need to come up and see it in real life.”

“I totally should.”

“When would you like to make this happen?”

“Soon. Really soon.” Yeah. Soon sounds perfect. The sooner, the better.

“Are you flying or driving?”

“Not driving. My car sucks.”

“Where do you live?”

“Portland, Oregon.”

“Okay, well, fastest and most economical way is to take the train to Seattle. Then a ferry to Victoria’s Inner Harbour.”

“That’s where the floatplane is?”

“We have flights leaving Victoria every weekday morning. But if you can make it there by six thirty in the evening on a Monday, you can grab the supply flight and I can throw in a perk on this side to make up for the difference.”

“So if you were me, what would you do?”

More tapping on a keyboard. “We’re slow for the next two weeks—can you come up in the next day or so?”

“Prolly not tomorrow. I gotta figure out the trains.”

“How about that Monday supply flight?”

“Shit …” I don’t know if I can do Monday. That’s only two days away … what am I going to do about work? “Umm …” I look up at Ridley and he’s nodding, his thumb in the upright position. “You know what, Ryan, that sounds fabulous. I can do that. Monday’s supply flight it is.”

“Terrific. Let me get a few extra details from you … You’ll love it here. Guests always say that they don’t want to leave when their stay is over.”

“Ryan, buddy—we’re buddies now, right? Promise me something about Rev—Rev—”

“Revelation Cove.”

“Yeah, that. Promise me you don’t have Yorkies or Cheetos.”