Page 17 of The Vacation Mix-Up
Why didn’t I use the stairs?
I shuffle from one foot to theother.
Roni, that’s why.
She’s spent the past year encouraging me to take small leaps of faith, because life is short, and if you don’t leap every now and again, you won’t go anywhere. Thanks to her, I’ve leapt into five fucking elevators today. Five! And I’m far from feeling liberated.
“You here with family?” the woman asks.
I shake my head. “No. I’m flying solo.”
Her eyebrows rise, and I wish I hadn’t been so forthcoming. But then isn’t that what I’m here to do? Be forth-cumming?
“How ’bout you?” I ask.
“I’m travelling with my bestie.”
I nod again as if to say,“Of course.”
She drops her propped foot to the ground and twists a lock of her hair around her finger. “I’m about to get my swimsuit on and check out the adult oasis. You should join me. It’s looks amazing.”
“I—” The elevator dings, and the doors spring open, so I waste no time in getting the hell out. “Yeah. Maybe I will.”
“Looking forward to it.”
Fluttering her spidey lashes again, she waves her fingers, so I wave mine, immediately dropping my hand once the doors close.
What are you doing, Wilson?
Although tall and with a delightful chest, she’s not my type. Too young, too eager. But then maybe young and eager is what I need—what Roni thinks I need.
Surely not!
Considering the woman’s offer as I slide my card into the door lock, I decide I’m not in the mood for a swim, instead preparing for a potential Riley “rules and guidelines” attack.
“Riley, you here?” I ask, tentatively stepping inside the cabin. “Hello?”
When she doesn’t answer, I exhale my relief, remove my lanyard, and toss it onto my bed, my hands coming to rest on my head as I scan the room. A suitcase is propped against the wall, pajamas neatly folded on her bed, a stuffed dog placed in front of her pillows. I’m tempted to pick it up and give it a squeeze,but she explicitly told me not to touch her stuff, especially her bag.
I search the room like a sniffer dog looking for drugs, eager to find it. Not knowing what’s inside is fucking irritating. None of my business, of course, but I want to know what she’s hiding. Maybe it’s because we’re sharing a room, and if she’s an international drug smuggler, I could be implicated. Accessory before the fact, or some shit like that. Not that she seems the narcotics-dealing type, but then Krystal didn’t seem the cheating-whore type either.
Fuck it! I’m done with lies and secrets. Not at home, not with Krystal, and certainly not on my vacation.
Practically ransacking the room, I search under her bed and in the drawers of her bedside table but come up empty-handed, most likely because she still has the damn bag glued to her side. So I give up—for now—and enter the bathroom to take a piss, stopping dead in my tracks.
“What the hell?” I breathe deeply, turning in a circle, bottles of perfume, lotions, and potions scattered across the sink and shelves like a Macy’s store. “Gee, thanks for leaving some space for my stuff.”
I lift the toilet seat with a snap and piss, annoyed with all the girly shit surrounding me. Women waste so much money on junk. Krystal once bought a lipstick that cost more than my hammer drill. A damn lipstick! A drill makes me money and is put to good use; her lipstick probably ended up around Finn’s cock.
Performing a hygienic shake, I prepare to close the lid like I always do when I leave it up instead. Screw her! This is my bachelor getaway, and if I have to lift the seat, Riley can damn well put it down. Fair’s fair.
I grin, pleased with my act of rebellion, then have a shower, using Riley’s shampoo. It smells like mint and flowers, and I’m okay with that. Plus, we’re meant to besharing.
Stepping out of the dwarf-sized shower-bath, I grab a toweland attempt to tie it around my waist, but it barely secures at my hip. Baffled, I wonder if I’ve accidentally picked up the bathmat instead, so I grab another towel and unravel it to find it’s the same size.
Why is everything so damn small? Yeah, I’m a big guy, but Jesus… this is ridiculous!
Not knowing how to neatly roll it up again, I do my best to fold and twist it like a fucking artistic donut before tossing it onto the sink. I collect my clothes and head into the room, dropping them onto the bed and discarding the poor excuse for a towel on the floor, aware Riley could barge in at any moment. To be honest, I don’t care. I’m not ashamed of my body, and I’m not about to stress over whether or not I should get undressed in my own damn cabin. If she doesn’t want to see me naked, she can cover her eyes.
