to
work on my accounts while my sister and her friends chose to make me uncomfortable in the suite I was paying for. Since then, I'd been locked safely behind my door, and things outside had gotten worse. Much worse. Now there were more strippers than I cared to count.
“Kammy!” I called. No answer. I took two steps toward her room when a drunk girl, dancing with a stripper, smacked into me. I knew I would hit the floor, so I hugged the purse tighter to my chest. I landed on my back being trampled on in more than one place. “Oww!” I screamed out. My hand throbbed under someone's four inch stiletto heel. The shoe moved, and I cussed under my breath for a moment like it would help the pain. I glanced at my hand to survey the damage, but a voice coming from in front of me asked, “Need help?”
I looked up to find a naked cop with one handcuff on his wrist standing over me. “Gross,” I moaned, sliding backwards. I got to my feet and ran to Kammy's room. I was little and fast. The next person who stumbled into me would go down before I did.
I kicked the door open to Kammy's room. There stood my tall, blonde, beautiful sister in a cluster of strippers. Two rubbed up against her while one held the margarita she sipped from. A crowd of girls surrounded them, a couple taking pictures. I guess skanky is in when you're blonde and beautiful.
“Kammy!” I scolded.
She giggled and kicked one leg out behind her. “Hey, Tiffy.” She knew I hated that. My name was Tiffany after all.
“Who called the strippers? I thought I arranged your party? And this is getting out of hand, don't you think? What are you doing with three strippers rubbed up against you? You're getting married in two weeks. Remember?” I did. Her wedding had interrupted my life enough. Leave it to my baby sister to get married on April 15, the absolute worst day of the year for any accountant.
She giggled again. “It's fun. Don't be a buzz kill.”
I sighed. “Kammy, one day you're going to have to grow up.” I fought my way back through the nightmare that only a club chick would find fun and found my door. I'd had it with this insanity. I was kicking those girls out of my room and locking the door. At least my space would be sane this weekend.
I smiled when I found my door closed. Maybe they're gone. Wrong. I opened my door to find some girl and one of the strippers rolling around in my bed.
“Oh, gross,” I moaned.
He jerked his head toward me. “Sorry.”
I had to get out of here, before I hurt someone. I made a run for the suite door, and I didn't stop running until I got to the elevator. I could feel the heat in my face and knew I was all red. Nothing like being in a Mexican resort, looking like a sun burned, scared freak. I pounded the first floor button on the elevator. It couldn't move quickly enough.
The elevator dinged, and the door opened to such a normal scene. Fully dressed people sat in the lounge and at the bar laughing and talking. Sanity. I let out a deep sigh of relief and headed for the bar.
Chapter 2
The bar wasn't crowded, but it wasn't empty, and it was still quieter than my room.
I scanned the room. There were empty seats here and there, but I needed one next to a power outlet. I would be here for a while and didn't know how much juice my battery had left. I spotted one bar stool with an outlet under it. Yes! I might be able to salvage this night.
As I approached my coveted bar stool, I got a lump in my throat. The guy sitting beside it was perfect—like male model perfect. Even sitting I could tell he was tall. He had caramel skin and curly black hair, and when he smiled at me, I noticed smoldering eyes and dimples to die for.
I felt the color rushing back to my face. Get it together, Tiffany. You're here to work.
I gave a polite smile back—okay, it was probably more than that—and slid my laptop and its charger out of my purse.
“ Cómo estás ?” he asked.
I knew like five words of Spanish. “
work on my accounts while my sister and her friends chose to make me uncomfortable in the suite I was paying for. Since then, I'd been locked safely behind my door, and things outside had gotten worse. Much worse. Now there were more strippers than I cared to count.
“Kammy!” I called. No answer. I took two steps toward her room when a drunk girl, dancing with a stripper, smacked into me. I knew I would hit the floor, so I hugged the purse tighter to my chest. I landed on my back being trampled on in more than one place. “Oww!” I screamed out. My hand throbbed under someone's four inch stiletto heel. The shoe moved, and I cussed under my breath for a moment like it would help the pain. I glanced at my hand to survey the damage, but a voice coming from in front of me asked, “Need help?”
I looked up to find a naked cop with one handcuff on his wrist standing over me. “Gross,” I moaned, sliding backwards. I got to my feet and ran to Kammy's room. I was little and fast. The next person who stumbled into me would go down before I did.
I kicked the door open to Kammy's room. There stood my tall, blonde, beautiful sister in a cluster of strippers. Two rubbed up against her while one held the margarita she sipped from. A crowd of girls surrounded them, a couple taking pictures. I guess skanky is in when you're blonde and beautiful.
“Kammy!” I scolded.
She giggled and kicked one leg out behind her. “Hey, Tiffy.” She knew I hated that. My name was Tiffany after all.
“Who called the strippers? I thought I arranged your party? And this is getting out of hand, don't you think? What are you doing with three strippers rubbed up against you? You're getting married in two weeks. Remember?” I did. Her wedding had interrupted my life enough. Leave it to my baby sister to get married on April 15, the absolute worst day of the year for any accountant.
She giggled again. “It's fun. Don't be a buzz kill.”
I sighed. “Kammy, one day you're going to have to grow up.” I fought my way back through the nightmare that only a club chick would find fun and found my door. I'd had it with this insanity. I was kicking those girls out of my room and locking the door. At least my space would be sane this weekend.
I smiled when I found my door closed. Maybe they're gone. Wrong. I opened my door to find some girl and one of the strippers rolling around in my bed.
“Oh, gross,” I moaned.
He jerked his head toward me. “Sorry.”
I had to get out of here, before I hurt someone. I made a run for the suite door, and I didn't stop running until I got to the elevator. I could feel the heat in my face and knew I was all red. Nothing like being in a Mexican resort, looking like a sun burned, scared freak. I pounded the first floor button on the elevator. It couldn't move quickly enough.
The elevator dinged, and the door opened to such a normal scene. Fully dressed people sat in the lounge and at the bar laughing and talking. Sanity. I let out a deep sigh of relief and headed for the bar.
Chapter 2
The bar wasn't crowded, but it wasn't empty, and it was still quieter than my room.
I scanned the room. There were empty seats here and there, but I needed one next to a power outlet. I would be here for a while and didn't know how much juice my battery had left. I spotted one bar stool with an outlet under it. Yes! I might be able to salvage this night.
As I approached my coveted bar stool, I got a lump in my throat. The guy sitting beside it was perfect—like male model perfect. Even sitting I could tell he was tall. He had caramel skin and curly black hair, and when he smiled at me, I noticed smoldering eyes and dimples to die for.
I felt the color rushing back to my face. Get it together, Tiffany. You're here to work.
I gave a polite smile back—okay, it was probably more than that—and slid my laptop and its charger out of my purse.
“ Cómo estás ?” he asked.
I knew like five words of Spanish. “
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