Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
I smile down at my cheesecake, imagining this impossible dream. A man who cherishes me, but who is an animal in the bedroom. A man who knows when it’s time to chill and cuddle. A man who lets me be me but also opens up my life to new experiences because we’re still two independent people.
Does such a guy exist? I sigh and push away the plate. If he is out there, I’m not going to meet him here. So far, all the men I’ve seen at the resort are with their wives and kids. Any single guys in the vicinity are clearly dining somewhere else.
“Ma’am, can I bring you another wine spritzer?” the waitress asks with a thick Jamaican accent.
She’s a young woman in her early twenties. I bet I look old and frigid to her. She’d be right. I definitely feel all dried up down there, almost as if there’s an invisible man-repelling crust forming around my clit. Like a beef Wellington.
“Miss. Not ma’am,” I correct, “but thank you. I’m done with spritzers for the night.” I pause. “Hey, can I ask you a question?”
“Yes, miss,” she says.
“Where are all the single men? Do they go to some club or cool place for dinner?”
She raises a brow.
“What?” I prod.
“Diss is a family resort, miss. You won’t be findin’ no single men here.”
“I’m sorry. What?”
“Family resort. Did you not notice di kiddy pool and puppet shows all aftanoon? Or the huge mouse givin’ out ice cream? Magic Mouse is a favorite with di kids.”
I saw the kiddy pool, but that didn’t strike me as odd. And no, I didn’t see puppets or an ice-cream-pimping mouse. “We just rolled in four hours ago.”
“Well, you’re in the wrong place if you’re looking fa men.” She walks away, stifling a laugh.
I can’t fucking believe it. Sofie brought me to a Jamaican Chuck E. Cheese.
CHAPTER FOUR
The next morning, I wake to a snoring Sofie in the other bed. I want to punch her in her beautifully rested blissful face. And I don’t even have to ask how good her orgasms were last night because the smile glued to her resting lips says it all.
My jealousy rears its ugly head and starts spitting in her general direction. Ptewy! Ptewy!
No, no. Don’t go there, I tell myself. If I’d found some hot man with dimples for days to hump my woes away, I’d expect her to stuff my purse with condoms and send me on my way.
I will be the good, dutiful friend. I will be grateful because she brought me to paradise. Even if it’s a family resort without single men.
Sofie rolls over, her back to me. “Oh stop.” She giggles in her sleep. “That tickles.”
Dutiful friend, yes. Sucka for punishment. Nope.
Determined to make the most of this trip and at least get in some relaxation, I shower, slather on sunscreen, and hit the pool.
That does it. I’m leaving on the first flight. I look around at all the happy families with children squealing and splashing in the pool. Women are sipping fruity cocktails while their husbands rub suntan oil on their backs. Some of the parents are in the wading pool filled with babies in adorable sun hats.
I can’t take another minute of this crap! Everyone here looks like they just fell out of a Target summer sale catalog, all happy and glowing and basking in their perfect lives. Even these kids are making me jealous. So cute and joyful.
And I don’t even like kids! But I bet lots of women here didn’t either. And then…they met the right guy. Suddenly, they found themselves wanting to see tiny versions of him.
“Here’s your pina colada, miss,” says the waiter who’s working the pool area. I chug down the tepid one in my hand, set the cup aside, and take the fresh one.
“Thanks,” I say, staring at the perfectly cut pineapple slice stuck to the edge of the cup. It’s a little happy face. Fuck, I hate this place.
Sad part is, I don’t want to hate it, but it keeps making me think about how I’m so far behind in life.
What if I never meet Mr. Right?
Or what if I do, but I meet him when I’m older, and it’s too late? And then I find myself wanting kids, but my ovaries are too decrepit, so my dream of coming to a place like this—not that it’s my dream—but it could be—I could change just like these women—then I might want this dream and can’t have it, so I have to live my life with Mr. Right and an emptiness inside me.
I inhale slowly and exhale. It’s better just to stay single. And lucky me, I’m actually pretty good at it. Yeah, see, Mila. You’re not doing so bad in life. No relationship. Crappy job. No home. Fuck, I suck.