Grabbing my phone out of my suit pocket, I sent our driver a text and let him know we were ready for him to come get us. His response was instant.
Be there in twenty minutes, Mr. Brooks.
And then I clicked out of that text box and into another.
Me: I will fucking kill you.
Me: First, a fire.
Me: Then, a monkey mariachi band.
Me: AND NOW? SENDING US TO A FUCKING SWINGERS PARTY? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU??? IS THERE AN ACTUAL SCREW LOOSE IN YOUR BIG, STUPID BRAIN?
Figuring the dickhead would continue to be MIA, I was shocked when my phone vibrated with a response.
Thatch: Wait…what? You guys went to a dick swap? Tell me I’m seeing things, Special K, because if not, I might just perish right here.
Me: SHUT UP! You know damn well you arranged this! Planted that woman so that Georgia would get the invitation and we’d end up here!
Thatch: K, I swear on my big cock, I don’t know anything about a swingers party. Honestly, I wish I could take the credit for it. But it sounds like you and Georgia girl are getting wild and crazy in Cabo all on your own, huh? Good for you, dude. Maybe I was wrong. Looks like you’ve got the plans to keep your marriage hot and spicy under control.
Me: I don’t think you’re getting this, but I am so mad at you. SO FUCKING MAD. If I could reach through this phone and pull your heart out of your chest with my bare hand, I would right now.
Thatch: Geez. Chill, dude. The swingers party wasn’t me, I swear on it. The other stuff, I might have had a hand in, but I was just trying to make your getaway awesome. Special. Memorable. I mean, you had zero plans. Someone had to do something. And you can’t really deny your Cabo trip sounds like it’s turned into something that will be downright unforgettable. Think of all the memories you can tell your grandchildren now.
All the memories I could tell my grandchildren? Was he fucking serious?
At his words, my chest constricted so tightly, I thought I might be having a myocardial infarction.
Georgie, apparently, had noticed. “Just breathe, baby. Relax.”
Taking several deep breaths in and out of my lungs, I worked to calm myself down.
And after a few minutes, instead of responding, I shoved my cell back in my suit pocket and ignored him. No doubt, it was the safest, smartest thing to do until we were back home and I could beat his fucking ass.
Cabo, early Saturday morning, May 27th
After Kline and I had escaped a couples sex orgy before we had to witness money shots, we’d come straight back to our suite and called it a night.
We didn’t even have sex. Just undressed, got into bed, and tried to sleep away the trauma of the past forty-eight hours’ events.
Unfortunately, sleep didn’t last long for me. At a little after six in the morning, I was up and wide awake.
Careful not to disturb Kline, I got out of bed and made myself a fresh cup of coffee before taking it out onto the balcony.
Eyes still bleary, I sat down in one of the chairs and stared out toward the beach, mindlessly taking sips from my mug.
By the time the sun started to make its debut over the horizon, I felt a little more alert and my eyes had managed to transition from squinty to fully opened.
I stood up from my chair and leaned my elbows on the balcony railing, taking in the way the waves crashed against the white sand beach. It was still pretty early for any action, but there were a handful of early morning people taking walks and going on jogs.
With my empty mug still in my hands, I started to turn toward the doors to go back inside and make my second cup of coffee for the day, but something a little farther down the coast caught my eye.
A team of three men was dragging something out of the back of a black pickup truck. And in a matter of minutes, a massive, colorful, plastic-looking cloth was completely stretched out across the sand.
What on earth is that?
It wasn’t until the huge, vibrant mass started to inflate into a balloon-like shape that I realized it was connected to a basket. Immediately, my brain connected the dots and solved the mystery—a hot air balloon.