Page 4 of The Twelve-Hour Rule
I walk a slow loop around the pool. There’s a foam party starting in the far end, couples sunbathing in the middle, and a woman attempting to read a book while a nearby speaker blasts reggaeton at full volume.
“Kingston!”
I turn, startled, and there he is—Jaime, the groom, looking way too tan for a man who spends fourteen hours a day stuck in an office. He’s in swim trunks and mirrored sunglasses, holding a beer like it’s a trophy. Two guys I don’t recognize flank him, both in loud floral shirts and that particular kind of confidence you can only buy with all-inclusive drinks.
“Jaime, bud,” I say, crossing the path to hug him. “Congrats, man. You clean up nice.”
“Look at you,” he shoots back. “First time I’ve ever seen you in casual clothes.”
“I was tempted to wear my business khakis but decided I needed to let loose a little,” I say with a grin, and Jaime laughs like it was the funniest joke yet. “Honestly, this vacation comes at the right time because I realized if I didn’t take a break now, I’d forget how to do it altogether.”
The guys chuckle, or maybe they’re just laughing at the way Jaime claps me on the back like we’re closing a deal.
“This is Ben Kingston,” Jaime tells them. “We worked together a few years back when we were both young puppies with stars in our eyes. Ben, these are some of my college friends—Kyle and Mark.”
“Good to meet you,” I say, and they nod, polite but distracted.
“You get your welcome drink yet?” Jaime asks.
I lift my mojito. “Already ahead of you.”
“Good. We’re heading to the beach bar tonight around seven. Kick things off right. You in?”
“Of course.”
“Perfect. Light clothes—you’ll sweat through everything. Trust me.”
“I believe it.”
He squints at me through his sunglasses, expression briefly earnest. “Seriously, man, I’m glad you’re here. Means a lot.”
And here’s where I have to stop myself from overselling. From sayingof course I came, that I’llstick around for whatever they need, that I’m good at filling space. That’s always my instinct—to make myself useful, necessary, impossible to forget.
Instead, I simply say, “Wouldn’t miss it. This place already feels like paradise.”
Jaime grins, satisfied. “Alright, see you tonight. I’ve got to find someone from Violeta’s side before they wander off to the wrong restaurant again.”
“Sounds like an adventure,” I say.
He laughs, waves, and heads off with the guys, already mid-conversation again.
I drain the rest of my mojito and set the glass on the bar. Time to change, unpack, and confirm I actually packed toothpaste and my dress shirt. Then I’ll come back down and try not to look like the odd man out hovering at the edge of every group photo.
CHAPTER 3
SOL
By the timewe make it to the beach bar, it feels like I’m the only sober one left standing.
The music is blasting from speakers set up on a stand, a mix of bachata and Christmas pop remixes that makes no sense and somehow works. Overhead, strings of lights crisscross from palm to palm, with paper lanterns glowing in every color of the rainbow. It’s almost like someone specifically set out to google wedding inspiration from the early 2010s and then committed to this, hard.
But for some reason, it works.
My friends don’t care. They’ve thrown themselves into the crowd immediately—the brides-to-be are leading the charge on the dance floor, Isabel and Florencia are clapping along badly, and two more are sitting at a table, sipping their drinks from paper straws that are probably mush by now.
I, on the other hand, head straight for the bar.
The counter is sticky with spilled drinks, but the bartender is quick, and I don’t even have to raise my hand before he leans over. “¿Qué le ofrezco?”
