Page 17 of Here for a Good Time
Leila raises one hand solemnly. “I promise there aren’t any underwear-chewing rats here,” she says, and we all laugh, and the weirdness in the air seems to blow back out with the breeze.
After she leaves, I plop down on the edge of the bed. Zwe sits beside me, but doesn’t lie down on account of the drink in his hand.
“You liiiike her—” I singsong.
“What?” Our eyes meet, and he raises one brow. “Who?”
I raise both of mine in return. “Who do you think? You have a little crush on our villa host.”
“I do not—”
“Hey, I get it, she’s gorgeous.” And Leila is. Even swept into a bun, you can tell her hair has those natural beach waves that take me three to five separate hair products to re-create. She’s tall, with toned calves and arms. “Also, her boobs areamazing.”
At that, Zwe coughs on his drink. “She was wearing a polo shirt, you perv.”
“Please, you can totally tell that the boobs underneath are amazing. Don’t act like you weren’t thinking the same.”
“You’re a menace,” he grumbles, looking away as though his reaction might confirm what I already know to be true.
We sit in silence for a bit longer, the travel exhaustion finally catching up to us. Outside, the sun is starting to set, and like with everything else on this island, it looks magnificent. A warm-toned, cotton-candy dream.
“Do you want to go to the restaurant, or get room service for dinner?” I ask.
“To be honest, I’m kind of beat,” he says as he chews on shaved ice. “I vote room service.”
“Are you sure? What if Leila’s unwinding with a drink at the bar tonight?”
He snorts, then nods over at the desk. “I’ve got her number, remember?”
I point a finger gun at him. “Smooth.”
After long, warm showers, and bundling up in luxurious cotton bathrobes on the sofa that’s bigger than any I’ve ever owned, we watch an episode ofMasterChefwith our room service. When Zwe gets up and carries the tray to leave outside the villa, the low murmur of dread that had been present throughout dinner gets louder.
“So,” Zwe says when he returns. He lingers in the hallway, and by the way he clears his throat, it’s obvious we’re both thinking the same thing.
“This is only weird if we make it weird,” I say.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he teases, but the uneasiness in the room is tangible.
“Look, it’s fine.” I sit up on my knees and pat the couch cushions. “I’m smaller, I can take the sofa.”
“If you don’t want to sleep in the same—”
“I didn’t say I didn’t want to sleep in—”
“But then why did you just offer to take the—”
“Because clearly you feel uncomfortable about—”
“I only feel uncomfortable because you’ve been side-eyeing the bed all night!” Zwe says, flinging his arms wide. The action slightly tugs open the crisscrossed fabric on his chest, exposing bare flesh underneath, and my breath catches. He looks down, and as though reading my mind, he pulls the robe close and tightens the belt.
Everything feels different here.Wefeel different here. With no other guests around and the staff doing their best to be invisible, it feels like it’s just us. Part of me wishes it was, and that the whole island was ours for the taking, forever and ever. I imagine us spending the rest of time galloping around in our swimsuits, napping under a tree at two in the afternoon, lying in the clear water, our backs wet, faces squinting up at the sun. And if not forever, at least until I was ready to return to all the scary, messy things I’ve temporarily left behind. Two weeks with Zwe on this island isn’t going to be nearly enough time, I can already tell.
“Look, we can draw straws or something for the bed,” I tell Zwe. “But I genuinely don’t mind taking the sofa. I’m sure I’ll enjoy it as much as the bed.”
His eyes narrow, calling my bluff. In my defense, it’s a gorgeous bed, with a mattress and sheets that probably have a cumulative four-figure cost. And although we’ve shared a bed before, every nook and cranny of this setting oozes romance. Clearly, this is a villa where people come to fuck. I bet some couples barely even make it out of that king-sized, Egyptian cotton–draped bed during their entire stay.
“I’m okay sharing the bed,” he says after a long pause. “It’s… really big. We’ll probably not even touch each other at all.”
