Jax gasps and points out the window to a small green strip of land to the south of Little Loggerhead. “There’s Temple Island. That’s where we’re doing donkey yoga in the morning. Accessible by kayak only,” Jax reports in her spokesperson's voice.
“Oh, no, thank you very much. I’ll be sipping rum with my feet in the sand at that time.”
Jax cocks her head. “It’s at nine a.m.”
“Listen. Babymoon is for making bad choices one last time before I have to be responsible for another human. Yoga does not fit the mission of Babymoon.”
“What about parasailing? And cliff diving? And the mountain bike sunset ride on Captain Pete’s Cove?”
I tap my finger to my lip and go down the list. “Maybe. Possibly. And only if I’m being pulled on the bike behind one of those pedicab things.”
“They don’t have those here.”
The engine noise grows by several decibels on our descent, and the treetops are so close now I grip my seat cushion, fearing that we might crash into a mountain and I’ll either die in the wreckage or by alligator attack. Wait, do they have alligators here? Local flora and fauna are things I hadn’t bothered to look up.
From this angle, I don't see the tiny airstrip just on the other side of the tree line. When it comes into view, I let out a breath.
“In that case,” I say brightly, “I’ll be getting a spa treatment at sunset. Sorry, sunset bike tour.”
“Every night?”
“No. Other nights, I’ll be out living up to my end of our agreement. Scoping out a donor of hot island jizz rather than cold, clinical, professor jizz. Just like you suggested.” I give her a wink to let her know I’ll be doing no such thing—what a ridiculous idea.
Jax covers her mouth while she cackles. “Of the two of us, you are the crazy aunt.”
I smile and watch the back of our pilot’s head and pray to whatever god they worship in The Pearl Crescent islands that he hasn’t heard a word of what we’ve been saying.
Chapter Three
Austin
“I thought you were on vacation.”
Sam, the bartender, rightly wonders what I’m still doing here on Little Loggerhead Island.
I gesture to the surf shop tee-shirt and Bermuda shorts I’m wearing. “Don’t I look like a tourist?”
He chuckles. “Sure do. I figured you’d be long gone by now.”
I shrug. “I was going to go to Vegas and see some buddies from my unit, but last time I did that, it was a lot of kids and babies and talk about school. If I go now, they’ll all be talking about college and shit. And then there’s me. No wife. No kids. Not much to talk about.”
Sam pops open a second beer and takes my empty. “I can see that. Maybe it’s time to take the plunge yourself.”
I smile ruefully and ignore that suggestion. “You know, I’m thinking of staying here and enjoying the islands off duty.”
I’ve got two weeks of vacation saved up, and I could spend the money I’ve saved to go elsewhere and get away from the islands where I work every day. I could drink a beer anywhere in the world besides here on the pier, wearing out my usual barstool at the Mumbling Ahab with the boat captains and deckhands. I sip my beer and admire the sunset over the water, watching groups of guests and lovers stroll by hand in hand.
That’s when I spot her—Si
erra and her friend Jax. I hear them before I see them. The familiar laughter and loud joking haven't diminished since they disembarked at the airstrip, where I handed them over to the resort shuttle driver.
As happy as my untamable libido is to see Sierra, I’m not so thrilled to see her midriff top and extra-short shorts.
When I see some of the yachties eyeballing Sierra’s ass, my attitude ratchets up from not-so-thrilled to severely annoyed. Those two drunk women are going to land themselves in some trouble.
While I watch Sierra down shots at the bar with her friend, the yachties are trying to horn in on their slightly drunken girl talk.
“Dude.” Sam’s been talking, and I’ve been rudely tuning him out. I swing back around. “Sorry, what?”