Summer of Sloane (10 page)

“Asshole.” She blows out a breath, then cracks a real smile for me. “That’s Rick the Dick. He supervises the activities counter and dive shop and is always waiting for me to screw up. Oh, and he’s bipolar but severely undermedicated, so do your best to keep up with his many moods.” She flips off the space where he was again, just for good measure. “Man, he’s such a jerk. But thanks for your help in opening on time. I’m pretty sure you just saved my ass from getting canned.”

“Hey, no worries.” And I mean it, too. We only just met, but Maile has somehow managed to make me feel like we’ve known each other much longer than that. Something I didn’t think was possible without having years of history together. She’s so different from Mick, and I almost feel like I’m cheating on my best friend, but maybe this is exactly what I need right now.

At one point during my shift, I think I catch a glimpse of Finn out by the pool. Then again, the pool is crowded with a million bodies, so I’m not sure if it’s really him or some creative part of my brain hoping it is. Maile takes her time getting me trained on the system in between helping guests. Within an hour, I’m actually pretty proficient at getting guests set up with booze cruises and those cheesy luaus. The ones where the staff is
so
not Hawaiian and they’re wearing plastic grass skirts and fake coconuts over their boobs, all while training the guests to say “a-looooooooo-HA!”

And even Rick the Dick stops by to introduce himself, but funny, he leaves that last part off his name. He disgustingly flirts with Maile as he subconsciously picks at a scaly patch of dry skin near his elbow, laying it on thick even with all the signs she gives that he doesn’t stand a chance. He leaves when his walkie-talkie squawks, and Maile instantly pulls out a bottle of spray bleach and a cleaning rag, dousing the counter area where he was leaning. My guess is she’s totally done that before.

“So disgusting. Gawd, and to think I actually kissed him once.” She tentatively looks at the damp cleaning rag in her hand as if she might use it to disinfect her lips, but thinks otherwise.

“Oh, you’ve gotta give me more than that. Come on.” I cross my arms and wait, letting her know I’ll stand like that forever until she spills.

“It’s not that big a deal, really. Just a stupid drunk moment a few months ago, but believe me, nothing else happened.” I give her another look. “Seriously, nothing else happened, because…well, I kinda threw up on him while we were kissing.”

She cringes, and I burst out laughing.

“Oh, shut it, I already feel bad enough as it is!” But she laughs along with me, so I know she’s only joking.

“I’m sorry, Maile, it’s just that something really similar happened to me. And I can’t tell you how relieved I am to know I’m not the only one who’s ever puked on a guy!”

Shaking her head, she leans over with her fist extended, and we bump them together. Yep, Maile and I are gonna get along just fine.

She prints out the report for our sales that morning, as another girl around our age walks in, laughing. A guy with shaggy blond hair and dimples that make me want to dip my pinky fingers in and twirl ducks in behind her. They’re both wearing the same uniforms as Maile and me.

“Looks like our replacement crew is here!” Maile chimes as she knocks the register drawer shut with her hip.

“What’s up, ladies! You’re both officially done for the day! And if I were you, I’d run…run as fast and far away as you can!” The girl takes Maile’s bag from the closet and replaces it with her own. I notice that she’s grabbed mine as well. But before handing the bag over to Maile, she leans in and kisses her, then tucks a loose strand of hair behind Maile’s ear.

“That is
so
hot.” This from the guy with the dimples. He’s staring with that dumb look only guys ever get, leaving no doubt which head he’s thinking with.

“Oh, shut up, Drew.” Maile rolls her eyes and takes her bag from her friend. “Stace, this is Sloane McIntyre. Sloane, this is my girlfriend, Stacey Silver.”

“Nice to meet you, Sloane. And this is Drew, but he also goes by Horndog.” Stacey walks over and hands me my backpack with her left hand extended. Clearly, she saw my cast. She’s a cute little thing, no taller than me. Her blond hair is slicked in a perfect ponytail, and she flicks her bangs from her eyes as if they’ve reached that point where they’re just a tad too long.

I shake her hand and take my bag. “It’s nice to meet you. And nice to meet you as well, Horndog, was it?” I offer up my hand to shake his, but instead, he flips it over and brings it up to his lips.

“Baby, you can call me whatever you want.” His mouth pauses against my knuckles, before both Maile and Stacey groan out loud. Drew ducks as paper clips and wadded-up balls of paper fly his way. “What, you know I’m only teasing!”

“Yeah,
we
know that, but Sloane doesn’t!”

After saying good-bye—and reassuring Maile I’ll be back again in two days—I cut through the pool area on my way to the parking garage. I casually glance around for a particular tattoo and am a little bummed when I don’t find what I’m looking for.

With thirty minutes to get home, I have just enough time to swap the car with Penn so he can get back here for his shift this afternoon. Pulling out my phone, I shoot him a quick text to let him know I’m on my way and see I’ve got four new messages along with an e-mail, all from Tyler. Ignoring them, I click open a new text from Mia.

As I’m busy reading about the drama that ensued at the floral shop where she works—something to do with a crate of tropical flowers that came in today, complete with rare spiders not native to the Islands—I maneuver my way around guests and the occasional deck chair with ease. I can only imagine how badly Mia freaked out. She hates anything with more legs than her, and the visual of all five feet ten inches of her needing to be scraped from the ceiling makes me laugh out loud.

Of course being glued to my phone like I am means I don’t see the rowdy bunch of tweens that just so happen to pick that moment to swarm around me and dive into the pool. Taking me with them.

Breaking the surface, I sputter out half the pool and swipe dripping hair from my eyes. Limbs and water fly everywhere as kids whoop and holler, and my cell phone is now sitting at the bottom of the pool, my half-zipped backpack and some of its contents floating all around me. Of course that’s also when I hear him laugh.

I turn to see Finn standing on the deck in a pair of swim trunks, a towel slung over one bare shoulder, his tattoo peeking out here and there from underneath. He laughs even harder when I take a lesson from Maile and flip him the bird.

Setting his stuff down, he dives in and glides smoothly under the water, breaking the surface in front of me. Slicking back his hair, his steel-blue gaze lands on mine.

“You do know I have the power to have those kids removed from the hotel, but only if you ask nicely.” He smirks, like he actually wants me to test this theory out, then turns and gathers my bag and a few of my things, shoving them inside. I take a deep breath and dive down to retrieve my phone. The screen has gone black with an eerie purplish liquid that squishes around behind the glass. It’s definitely a goner.

Finn plunks my bag by the edge of the pool, then hauls himself up, and the view I get of the muscles in his arms, stretching the tattoo in all directions, is insane.

“Here, let me help you,” he says.

I swim to the edge and his extended hand, but give him a skeptical look, like he’s got ulterior motives in mind.

“Seriously? You’re already wet, what more could I do?” His grin is back, along with my urge to flip him off yet again, but I take his hand anyway. It’s a little bit awkward since it’s my left hand, but Finn lifts me from the pool as if I weigh nothing more than my wet backpack.

“You okay?” He grabs a towel and places it around my shoulders, then picks up my bag and now ruined phone.

“I think so,” I say, shaking out the water from my ears.

“Good. Come on, let’s get you dried off.” He presses a hand between my shoulder blades and leads me away from the pool.

“I’m pretty sure I’m fine….Um, where exactly are we going?” I look back at the pool over my shoulder one last time—so of course it’s at that moment my wet shoes take the opportunity to slide on the slick tiles. I’m like Bambi on ice. I try to regain my balance as Finn grabs my arm to steady me. He gives me a look as if asking if I’m capable of keeping my feet underneath me. Like any of what’s happened has actually been my fault.
Please
.

And then he turns and keeps walking, prodding me along. “You’re soaking wet and your shin is bleeding. You can come upstairs to my suite to dry off and change, and I can take a look at your leg. Plus, I’ve got a first-aid kit in case, ya know, you need stitches, or—worst case—I need to take it off below the knee.” He actually does a great job in keeping his poker face intact, but by now, I know this guy enjoys trying to rile me up.

I glance down at my leg and notice the wet trickle of blood that’s now staining the top of my sock a pink hue.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’ll live, not that I don’t trust your mad doctoring skills.” I can’t believe I’m actually trying to get out of seeing his suite, so I quickly change tactics. “But if you have anything dry I can borrow to change into, that would be great.”

We pass a few female employees from the hotel, and they all smile and say hi to Finn in singsong unison.

“Ladies.” He nods in their direction, then, instead of heading toward the main bank of elevators out near the lobby, veers off down a side hallway and stops in front of a lone elevator. Once the doors open, he presses in a code on the panel that has replaced all the floor buttons, and we ascend.

When the doors ease open, there’s an impressive living space in front of us, which is anything but typical of the hotel rooms I’ve been in before. I realize with one glance out the span of windows in front of me that we’re on the top floor. And from the looks of my surroundings, it’s the
entire
top floor. Finn sets my bag down on a table that’s covered by a ginormous tropical floral arrangement, then crouches near my leg, placing one hand behind my calf. Immediately I’m covered in goose bumps.

“Sorry to say I think it needs to come off after all.” This earns him a light swat to the head that he laughs off. Standing, he motions to a door off to his right as he pats down his hair like I’ve messed it up. “You can use the bathroom in there. I’ll get you something dry you can change into.”

I start toward the bathroom, then spin back around. “Oh crap, Penn!” I check my watch. “Damn, five minutes! Phone?”

He raises one eyebrow, taps his ear, then taps his forearm with two fingers. “Sounds like, two syllables. Go!”

He laughs when I place both hands on my hips and tap my toe. “Are you done?” I ask.

“Hey, I’m good, but I’m not
that
good. Afraid I’m gonna need a few more words than ‘Oh crap, Penn!’”

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Sorry, I have the car, and Penn’s shift at the pool starts in five…scratch that, four minutes.” I grab my cell, hoping maybe it might still work, but I get nothing but the black screen.

Finn calmly takes my hand and slips his cell phone in it. “Hey, don’t worry, I’ll send a car to pick him up, and I’ll let Logan down at the pool know he’s on his way.” He’s already on the phone in the hallway as he covers the mouthpiece and says, “Call Penn.”

I dial Penn’s cell and close my eyes. He picks up before the first ring has ended.

“P., I’m so sorry! I got pushed in the pool after my shift.” I hear Finn laughing behind me and whip around with my best glare.

“Damn, Sloane, I’m gonna be late for my first day. And what do you mean you got pushed in the pool? Wait…never mind. Don’t answer that.” I can actually hear him rolling his eyes at me. “How much longer will you be? I need to call Logan.”

“Actually, Finn’s sending a car out to pick you up, it should be there any minute. He’s on the phone with Logan now.” Penn whistles between his teeth, but I cut him off before he can say anything more. “Don’t even go there, Penn. And by the way, my cell phone is toast—it went in the pool with me—so you guys won’t be able to get a hold of me for a while.”

Hanging up, I thank Finn, then excuse my still dripping-wet self to the bathroom. I stop abruptly when I see I’m actually walking into Finn’s bedroom to get to it.

The room is all glass and white and light-colored wood, and one wall is made entirely of solid windows, overlooking the ocean and beach below. I walk along the opposite wall, which is covered in frame after frame of somebody ripping apart a gnarly wave on a surfboard. There are several pictures, each shot taken in rapid-fire succession, and as I scan the images from top to bottom, I see that it’s Finn. Confirming this, a rather used and abused surfboard that mirrors the one in the pictures hangs on the wall above the bed. A large king-sized bed.

I make my way to the bathroom, grab a wad of toilet paper, and wipe up my shin. It’s nothing but a small scratch, so it doesn’t take much. I must have hit the edge of the pool when I went in. Plucking a fluffy towel from the rack, I attempt to dry off my hair, but my clothes are literally dripping water all over the floor, so I peel them off and wring them out over the tub. Standing in my wet underwear, I jump when someone knocks on the door.