Page 4 of The Best Wrong Move

Abby laughs on the other end of the line while I attempt to drag my suitcase inside, but one of the wheels is broken from the airline crew tossing it around like a ball. I packed fairly light for an eight-week trip, but there’s still enough swimsuits and sundresses in here to clothe a small army.

“You know I’d rather be with you on a Hawaiian island instead of eating this stale sandwich from the deli downstairs.” Abby chews. “I’m living vicariously through you right now. I don’t care how boring the details are, tell me everything.”

I glance behind me to make sure the guy is truly gone.

“Well, for one, I just had the hottest guy I’ve ever seen help me get the door open.”

“The owner was there?”

“No, just a guy walking by. He looked like he was coming off the beach. The front door was stuck.”

“You had a stranger help you into your rental?” Her voice rises an octave.

I clamp the phone between my shoulder and ear so I can use both hands to lift my suitcase over the threshold with anumph.

“Notjusta stranger. You should have seen him—” As I look up, the view knocks me back like a bolt of lightning, forcing a gasp to escape my lips.

Two white leather couches drenched in sunbeams, and a little dinette, sit between me and a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. On the other side of the glass, turquoise waves roll in like melted butter. The sand is just two or three steps down from the deck, and there’s a sliding glass door in the middle to take me straight out to the beach.

The blasting AC vent just inside the door instantly dissolves the slick layer of sweat plastered across my body. I pause in the airstream to breathe a sigh of relief, lifting my long, chestnut hair off the back of my neck, while twisting down toward the cool air. It’s just what I needed to come back to life.

“Oh my God.” I breathe the words into the phone while I shove my overstuffed suitcase past the door frame. It immediately tips to the floor with a thud. I reach out to stand it upright again, but my phone slips off my shoulder and clatters across the tile. I bend down for the phone, knocking over the enormous roller bag again with a bang.

“Ugh!” The phone slips again as I stand the suitcase back up, eyeing the broken wheel. The case falls to the floor for a third time with anotherthwack. I decide to just leave it there, but when I lift my phone back to my ear, it’s too late. Abby is already panicking after that collection of muffled thumps, like I was battling an intruder instead of my suitcase.

“Kick him in the crotch!” she shrieks.

“I’m fine!” I yelp back at her.

Then I scowl at the shared wall to my right. It’s the only thing standing between me and whoever might be listening on the other side of it in the unit next door. I didn’t realize I’d booked a shared townhouse until I pulled up out front, and by then it was too late to change the reservation.

“You scared me! I thought that guy must have come back all Ted Bundy style,” Abby says, sounding relieved.

I laugh, knowing how much Abby enjoys true crime podcasts too, then lower my voice. “Sorry. No, I’m fine. I just dropped my suitcase like eight times. I told you about the airline busting the wheel, right?” I nudge the broken wheel with my toe for good measure, like it’s a dead snake that might spring back to life. “But I’m totally fine. More than fine. Not thrilled that this place turned out to be an attached townhome. You know I’m going for as much privacy as humanly possible right now. Looks like the back deck might be shared too.” I eyeball the long patio out the sliding back door, sitting just beyond the wall of windows. “I don’t even think there’s a privacy wall between our units out there.”

“Maybe the guy who helped you get that door open is staying next door?”

“One can hope.” Imagine the luck I’d need to win that lottery.

I picture the meme and matching GIF with my horrified face that’s been making its way around the world for the last month, hoping that whoever my neighbor is isn’t very tuned in to social media. I wish I’d taken more time to examine the Airbnb listing before spontaneously reserving eight full weeks here.

“Did he recognize you?” Abby asks.

“I don’t think so. I had sunglasses on.”

“Good. Maybe you can finally catch a break now, even if you had to cross an ocean to get it. I’m so glad you’re finally away from it all.”

I’m flooded with memories from back home in New York. The onslaught of judgy stares from strangers everywhere I went, the thousands of cruel comments from internet trolls on the station’s website.

Her face looks like a deer in the headlights, right before it gets run over!

Idiot! Dudes propose, but only when they’re ready!

He’s way hotter than her. No wonder he said no.

LOL! Look at her face when he finally spits out an answer! Sexy Rexy, call me for an upgrade!!!

I’d be pissed if my girlfriend ever tried this. Poor guy.

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