Free Operation One Night Stand by Christine Hughes Page B

and out. Thank God we had that extra room and thank God I brought my vibrator. It looked like I was going to have to make my own luck.
    “This is good, right?”
    “What is good?” Sarah asked.
    “This. This whole me being on my own thing. Never really did this before.”
    “You are going to be great. Look, you have a wonderful set of parents, a brother who loves you. I think you were so dependent on the tight family unit you had that when you finally had the opportunity to spread your wings, you chose someone you thought would take care of you. Steven was that person. I don’t think he’s a bad guy, he’s just not good for you.”
    “He is a bad guy,” Melody added.
    “Mel—”
    “No, I’m good. You’re right, this will be good.”
    “There you go!”
    I looked at my empty glass. “I don’t know about you, but I need a refill. Be right back.”
    I left my friends basking in the Caribbean sun as I made my way to the bar.
    I immediately regretted not slipping on my flip-flops. I hopped through the sand like an idiot, then tripped over a backpack and face-planted. My face full of sand, I rolled over on my back. Typical Caroline , I thought. With a belly full of rum punch, the world spun for a moment.
    “Are you okay?”
    Turning my head to the side, I looked for the source of the voice but the sun glare blocked my view.
    “Did you hurt yourself?”
    “I don’t think so.” The owner of the voice helped me to a sitting position. I took off my sunglasses and was face-to-face with dimples. Green eyes and dimples. And floppy sun-bleached hair. And bronze skin that rippled with athleticism. This wasn’t a gym jock. This guy was lean.
    “Let me help you up.” The face of the voice came into view as it blocked the sun.
    He placed his hands under my arms and lifted me to my feet. He must’ve thought I was insane. I couldn’t stop staring at his dimples. I was enthralled by the fact that he didn’t even have to smile to make them appear. I blamed the rum punch for what happened next.
    I lifted my hand and poked a finger in his face. Right into the left dimple.
    “You okay?”
    I quickly pulled my hand back and felt the rise of embarrassment heat me from my toes to the top of my head.
    “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.” My stammering attempt at an apology left much to be desired. I had defiled his dimple. I’d never prayed for quicksand but in that moment, it felt like a good idea. “Thank you for helping me up. I’ll be going now.”
    Quickly turning away, I nearly tripped over the same backpack.
    “Wait!” Dimples called to me. “What’s your name?”
    “Um, I really should be going. Sorry again!”
    Somehow I was able to make my way to the cobblestone pathway without busting my ass again. I speed walked to the nearest bar and hopped up on a barstool. Thank God for all-inclusive.
    “What can I getcha?” The bartender had the slightest hint of a Southern accent under his Jamaican accent that immediately led me to believe he wasn’t a local.
    “Two things. First, Piña Colada, heavy on the booze. Second, the real deal on where you’re from.”
    “You can tell, huh?” Mr. Not From Jamaica busied himself with pouring the drink ingredients into a blender.
    “There’s a distinct twang underneath all that ‘hey mon’ you’re trying to pass off as real.”
    “I guess I need to do better. I’m from Texas.”
    “I knew it!”
    “Don’t spread that around. I have an image to protect.”
    That image was over six feet tall and dark skinned. He ran his hands over his bald head and smiled as he handed me my drink, two slices of pineapple and a purple umbrella garnishing it. I wanted to take my straw and drink him up.
    “Name’s Wes but everyone around here calls me Marley.”
    “Marley? Isn’t that a bit overkill? I mean, you don’t even have dreads.”
    “My last name’s Marley.”
    “Wes Marley?”
    “Yes. Wes Marley, no relation. And who are you, or should I just