Insta-Hate (Instant Gratification #1) Read online

  She groaned and sat up, too. Removing her aviators, she started giggling. “I’m burning? You look like a roasted pig.”

  “Great,” I smiled. “I’ll have an Apple-tini.”

  Covering myself up with a see-through pull-over, I cursed. “What is the point of these things? What exactly do they cover? They’re see-through!”

  Ava laughed. “You bought it, silly!”

  I tore it off. I bought it because the lady at the boutique said I had to have it. “No one walks around a resort without a cover-up,” she cooed. Well, let me be the first in history because I was done. No more stupid shit clogging my life, starting right now. I marched away, stopping twenty feet onto the scalding sand. Now, sandals… Sandals did not qualify as stupid shit. Not at all. I loved the flesh on the soles of my feet and wanted to keep it. Forever. Yipping with each step, I hopped back to the palapa. Ava was grinning, holding up two hot pink flops. “Forget something?”

  “Thanks. You’re my wing woman.”

  I shoved the thongs on my toes and turned about. “Lexie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Your money. And your phone. In case you need emergency assistance on the one-minute walk to the pool bar.”

  Skank was right. I walked toward her. “What would I do without you?”

  “You don’t want to know. You do not want to know.” She finally turned to lay on her stomach, groaning. Sunburns hurt. This was going to be a long vacation, full of sandy cracks and peeling skin. Because this was only day two of ten, and the Dominican Republic sun didn’t spare anyone.

  ***

  Whispers Resort was an all-inclusive, adults-only mecca. Everything here was immaculate, extravagant, and so beautiful it made me want to snap pictures of everything around me, without disgusting body parts photo-bombing the pretty. The food and drinks flowed deliciously. Manna from heaven.

  Dressed in flowing sundresses that didn’t hurt our scorched skin, Ava and I were seated for dinner by a beautiful man with bronze hair and skin that looked like melted caramel. Jose’s smile stretched from ear to ear, and his flirtatious come-ons even made me blush. They made Ava turn into a puddle of incoherent, giggly mush. I was no expert, but I thought her Spanish needed work. I think she called him a banana.

  From a small restaurant assembled on the beach, we watched the evening sky fade from blue, to purple, to pink. Every time a dolphin surfaced, those dining would ooh and aah. It was paradise on earth. The wine was sweet and dry – my favorite, and our waitress was kind and attentive. My shoes were kicked off and sand shifted every time I wiggled my toes. “You might have to make me leave this place, Ava.”

  “I know, right?” Ava snorted and gasped, pointing at another surfacing porpoise.

  Half-way through our meal came the fog, putting an end to the serenity. “What the hell is that? I feel like I’m in a horror movie.” Ava began to hyperventilate, squeezing her arm rests like she was going to peel them off the chairs and use them as post-apocalyptic weapons.

  “Ava, we talked about this. The place fogs for mosquitoes every evening at this time.”

  “It’ll get on our food!” she tried to whisper-shriek, which ended up as more of a shriek than a whisper. “We’ll get poisoned and die!”

  “I’m sure they haven’t killed anyone this season. Would you rather get eaten alive by a bunch of tiny blood-suckers?”

  She nodded vehemently. “Give me flies, mosquitoes, locusts.” She bowed her head. “But do not give me pesticide-laden meals.”

  I grinned, making sure to lay the “Mmmhmmm,” on thick as I sipped from my wine glass. Ava gave me the stink eye and slowly pushed her own glass in my direction. “You aren’t going to drink that?” I asked.

  “No way,” she huffed.

  “You aren’t going to eat either, are you?”

  “Nope.” She crossed her arms.

  “You should move to Hollywood, drama queen. Our food isn’t even here yet.”

  “The chemicals are in the air, which means our food will travel through the same air and become heavy with poison.” Ava was a germophobe. “Can we just go back to our room?” She reached into her clutch and produced a pocket-sized bottle of melon-scented hand sanitizer, squeezing some of the orange goop into her palms and rubbing them together like she was trying to start a friction fire.

  I sighed, remembering that Ava had an entire carry-on of goodness: Pop-Tarts, granola, and Snickers. What can I say? I’m easily bribed with sweet, sugary goodness. She added, “I’ll brew coffee,” ...and coffee. Ava made good coffee with tons of sugar.

  My memory was not photographic. It had holes that swallowed years of my life, in fact. But as I wracked my brain, I could not for the life of me remember a coffeemaker in the room. But Ava pushed her chair away and ran in a zig-zag pattern between the dining tables and happy, non-fog-phobic people toward our building.

  Each building was three stories of brightly painted stucco and terracotta tile. Each one faced the ocean, but not one another. Between buildings were lush gardens that hid turtles, lizards, and frogs. A beautiful peacock roamed the grounds. I was hoping to see him in all his glory, but maybe he was a tired bird and had already turned in for the night. Or maybe Ava’s new running schedule did her body too good because I didn’t see his plumage and was struggling to even see my bestie’s butt as she power-walked away from me.

  She opened the door as I huffed and puffed up to the landing of our third-floor room. It had the best view of the ocean and the balcony was my favorite place in the world—though the hot tub came in a close second and the soft bed third. Maybe it was the beach? Never mind. Who cared? I loved this place.

  I looked all around the room. The four-poster king sized bed with stark white bedding, complete with towels that were folded into two kissing swans surrounded by rose petals. The small table and chairs near the window. The bathroom sink, which I could see through the hot tub. “There’s no coffee maker in here!” Now I was shrieking. How’d she get coffee this morning and yesterday morning and yesterday afternoon?

  “Chillax, Lexie. Jose’s got this.” She pecked at her cell phone. When a ping sounded, she giggled. “Your coffee is on its way, my lady.”

  “Jose? The guy who seated us at dinner this evening?”

  She grinned. “Yes way, Jose! He’s built like a Dominican brick house. Maybe you should say yes way to Jose, Lexie! You need to get laid by a real man, not that Ren weirdo—although he was easy on the eyes and his accent was hot. I’ll give you that.” She held out her phone and showed me a pic of Jose. He was a beefcake, all right. Wowza. Holy muscles, Batman.

  Bald was beautiful on that man, too.

  I narrowed my eyes. “How’d you get Jose’s number and picture and....you slut. Don’t offer me your sloppy seconds.”

  “We could forget seconds and have a threesome!” she chirped.

  “Not happening. No…eww. I love you, but eww.”

  Ava shrugged, pulling her dark hair into a perfect bun. She walked into the bathroom and preened at the mirror, applying lip gloss and pursing said puffy lips into a perfect pout. When a knock came at our door, she squealed and ran to answer it, leaning on the door frame like a sex kitten.

  I envied her. It had been two months since Ren was stateside and my lady cave needed a tenant—not Jose, either. No way, Jose. The way Jose was eye-balling Ava, my lady cave was safe. Safe and alone and gathering cobwebs. I slipped over to the happy couple and grabbed the coffee from Jose’s grasp, ever-so slightly shoved Ava out the door, and locked it behind her. She huffed, giggled, and then tried to jiggle the lock. Jose just chuckled behind her. “Come on, Senorita. I take you to dinner.” Three extra sugar packs appeared from beneath the door.

  “But the fog...” she whined.

  “Fog is gone now. It’s safe.”

  I huffed. I wanted dinner. From outside the door, Ava yelled, “I’ll bring you some food!”

  Best. Friend. Ever.

  SIX

  Sizzling Sunburns
r />   Alexandria

  The last night in paradise equaled one sad Alexandria. The last night in paradise plus two bottles of wine split between besties equaled buzzed Alexandria and drunk Ava. Drunk Ava was very loud and very emotional. She sobbed on my shoulder as I patted her back. “I finally found the love of my life and now I have to leave him behind.” Fat tears splashed onto my sunburned shoulders. I could almost hear them sizzle and evaporate into puffs of steam.

  “It’s okay. You can still call Jose.”

  “I could, but what’s the point?” She hiccupped so hard, I was pretty sure she vomited a little bit in her mouth. She sat up, holding her lips shut. Defcon two.

  “You need to go to the toilet?”

  She shook her head no, then her eyes widened. She nodded her head yes. I helped her up and threw one of her arms over my shoulder like I was in the army carrying a fallen brother...er, sister. She fell to the floor in front of the toilet, making it just in time. Ava and liquor mixed with soda got along just fine, but Ava and wine didn’t mix. Especially when she was upset.

  I found a cloth and wet it with cool water as she expelled what looked like way more than a bottle of wine. “I’m dying, Lexie. Leave me here and go home alone in the morning.”

  The cool rag on her face made her groan. “You’ll be fine by then.”

  “Who called you earlier?” she asked, reaching for the hand sanitizer on the sink. She had tiny bottles stashed everywhere.

  “Meg.”

  “Are they having fun?”

  I sighed. “Yeah. It’s Disney and a giant boat. They’re digging it.”

  “We should go on a cruise sometime. Not any time soon. The rocking motion of the ocean would kill me right now.”

  Cruise ships didn’t rock. They were like buildings that glided from place to place, but Ava was sick and sad and I didn’t know what else, and it wasn’t the time or place to tell her that.

  “Ren called, too.” I didn’t answer that call.

  Ava looked sick again. “Ugh. You need to block him. He isn’t good for you, Lexie. He’s using you.”

  Internally, I groaned. Wasn’t I using him just as much? A change of subject diverted Ava’s attention. “So you like this guy? Really?”

  She sighed. “Help me up. I want to brush my teeth.” Yes, please. I gave her a tug and she got well-acquainted with a huge glob of Crest. “I like his penis.”

  “Does he have sasquatch balls?”

  Ava stopped brushing her teeth, cocked her head, and gave me a strange look from the mirror. “Sas-wa-ch bwa-ws?”

  “Like hairy balls. Does he take pictures of his junk?”

  She spit the paste into the sink and scrunched up her face. “No. He doesn’t have hairy anything, and I haven’t seen him take pictures of his man parts.” She rinsed her brush and asked, “Did Ren?” Turning on my heel, I walked out of the bathroom. “He did?” She was quiet for a long moment. “I can totally see that. He was so full of himself. He loved mirrors...but why wouldn’t he use them to man-scape?”

  I threw my hands up like, Right? Case in point.

  ***

  Ava should have loved and appreciated the pesticidal fog that descended every evening. She should have run through it like a macabre sprinkler, hopping and skipping and giggling. Because on the morning that the resort shuttle carted our hungover asses back to the tiny but perfect airport, she was covered in tiny mosquito bites and she scratched at them like a dog with skin allergies. Meg’s dog had those before it passed away. Poor thing was always using his hind legs to furiously attack some itching part of himself. Now Ava was doing the same—not with her hind legs—but still. She scratched. And scratched. And scratched. I winced with every scrape.

  “Urgh. How do you not have one single bite? And how’d the little bastards bite my ass cheeks?” I quirked a brow at her. I bet I could guess exactly how the bastards feasted on her hind-parts. She pointed a finger at my face. “Not a word, Lexie.”

  I just giggled. Giggles did not count as words. Ever.

  Customs was customs. Some officer kept waving my travel-sized hairspray in the air, screaming that it was flammable. After he gave me the evil eye for five minutes and involved four of his buddies, I asked him for the offending bottle. Reluctantly, he handed it over and I promptly chucked it into a nearby trashcan, giving him a big smile. He smiled back and his friends dispersed. Crisis averted.

  Ava scratched, rolling her eyes and her tote to the same officer as I slipped through the metal detector without incident. She, too, threw her flammables away and we were given the green light to board the plane. Ava was tired from the prior evening’s shenanigans and drooled on my shoulder all the way to Atlanta, where our flight to LaGuardia awaited. The layover was short and within forty minutes, we were nestled into our seats and ready to be taken home.

  During the second leg of our journey, Ava had gotten her nap out and prattled on about absolutely everything and nothing at the same time. I needed more caffeine with sugar. Loads of sugar. We stuffed our carry-ons overhead and settled into our seats, Ava at the window. “Put your seatbelt on,” she reminded.

  Only half of the plane was full and the stewardesses were kindly showing people to their seats. “We have a while before everyone is on and ready.”

  “Just do it!” she squealed. Wide eyed, I fumbled for the belt and quickly clicked the restraint together. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly, smoothing her maxi skirt against her thighs. “I get a little nervous.”

  Gee, really? I didn’t notice each time she crushed the bones of my hand at every take-off and landing. That, my friends, was why airlines served liquor. One whisper to the flight attendant and she hooked me up. Next time, I’d bring Dramamine. Then she’d snore and scratch, drool and fart—probably in that order, and I would tap the tiny video record button on my phone and have blackmail material for the rest of her life.

  “School starts in three weeks,” she said excitedly, nudging my arm before taking another sip of Jack and Coke.

  Panic began to set in. I swiped one of her bottles and poured it into my own Coke. What was I doing? I didn’t know what a student needed. Did I need a backpack or a cross body bag? Could I take my laptop? What would I wear? What did college kids wear? I couldn’t do this. This was a monumental mistake. I could still cancel. I should cancel.

  “Shut her down,” Ava said in a no-nonsense tone.

  “What? Shut who down?”

  “The bitch in your head that’s making you question this one teensy, tiny class. You’ve got this! Hit me with questions. I live at Columbia.”

  I swallowed another gulp. “Clothes?”

  “Most will wear shorts and tees. Some will wear maxis. Girls trying way too hard will wear minis. Don’t be one of those girls. And your hair is fine; straight or loosely curled, or even piled into a messy pony or bun. It’s uber-casual. Just take your tablet or laptop for notes. Buy any books you need at the campus bookstore, or give me the deets and I’ll pick them up. I can even show you where the class is and give you a tour of campus before classes begin.”

  “You’re the best,” I said on an exhale.

  “Relax, Lexie. If anyone can rock this class, it’s you. ‘The Psychology of Love’,” she said, dropping her voice to imitate Barry White. “And you’re so lucky! Instead of an old, tenured professor with a chip on his shoulder, you get a sexy guest instructor.” She leaned in and covered her mouth. “He’s insanely hot. I googled him and oh my God. I bet he man-scapes... All. Day. Long.” She waggled her brows.

  “I can’t hit on my professor! Wait – do I call him my professor? Is that what he is?” And how hot was hot? There were various levels: warm, steamy, uber, and lava.

  “I’d let him call me anything he wanted. It’s kind of kinky. Call him ‘professor’ and see if he likes it.”

  “Ava!”

  She giggled and leaned her head onto the rest. “Spank me, professor!” she moaned loudly. She was completely entitled to the slap I gave her arm. “
Ouch! Damn it, Lexie!”

  “You asked for a spanking.”

  A middle-aged man with peppered hair and a beer belly shifted in his seat across the aisle. “You can spank me if you want.”

  “Negatory on that,” I replied, looking to Ava for help. She pursed her lips to contain the laughter dancing in her eyes. Benedict Arnold. I needed a new wing woman.

  ***

  When the plane began to descend toward the Big Apple, I tried to steel my shoulders, but I was exhausted. Back to reality. Goodbye sandy, hot beaches. Goodbye cute little towel swans. “I’ll miss you, Ava.”

  “Psssh. You’ll see me in like, a week. We’ll have dinner next Saturday.”

  “It’s a date.”

  She groaned. “I’m so gonna find you a hot college guy to bone.”

  “I’m not boning anyone, Ava, much less a college boy.”

  Scoffing, she looked right in my eyes. Uh oh. I saw swirling dark orbs of determination. That wasn’t good, because Ava was serious. “They aren’t boys. They’re your age or maybe a year or two younger. You’re just...too old-acting.”

  My mouth gaped open. “I do not act...old.” That was low. My heart hurt.

  “Now who’s the drama queen? Seriously. They’re hot, dumb, and willing. They’re in the prime of their lives. Why would you say no to that?”

  I opened my mouth to answer, but she stopped me. “Oh, honey. Ren scarred you, didn’t he? He scarred you for life.”

  No one scarred me. Not Ren and not anyone else. Ren was fun for a while, but in the end my relationship with Ren was one of convenience and distraction. Every relationship I’d had fit into the same category. There was something really right, or else really wrong with me. I was a romance author who didn’t believe that love truly existed. Marriage was for those who wanted a commitment for long-term, lukewarm companionship. What started out as love for most married couples fizzled out fast, and then what were the two left with? A roommate they could barely stand, once-in-a-blue-moon sex, and bills. Yeah, no. Don’t sign me up for that.