Bad Behaviour. Kristin Hardy
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“Brady introduced me to the finer things in life, too,” Thea said.
“Back to that regular orgasm thing, are we?” Delaney studied her friends around her, all of them married or in long term relationships now, absorbed in their lives, moving on or moving away. Not just Paige and Thea, but the rest of them: Sabrina married to her college sweetheart Stef Costas, Kelly married to Stef’s partner Kev, Trish living with Sabrina’s cousin Ty. Even Cilla, who’d played the field about as much as she herself, had tied the knot.
Only Delaney remained resolutely, stubbornly single. But it wasn’t the same as it had once been. Life didn’t feel the same, she realized with a little twinge, as if she was being pushed to the cliff to jump off into grown-up land, whether she wanted to or not.
To hell with that, she decided.
Golden sand stretched down to the pale aqua waves. The sky arched overhead, periwinkle blue. Paradise. She set her margarita in the sand by her sun couch and untied her bronze sarong to reveal a leopard-spotted bikini. She was young, she was unencumbered. Life was good. Water, sun and fun, that was what she needed to think about, not the shifting sands of her own life.
With a sigh of bliss, Delaney lay back and took a sip of her margarita. “Okay, I am now officially on vacation,” she announced. “Effective immediately, I intend to party like mad, eat myself silly, and do absolutely nothing worthwhile.”
“Except go to the opening of my boutique,” Cilla reminded her.
“Except that.” Delaney took another swallow of her drink. “God, that’s good.” She closed her eyes and held up her cup in a toast. “Okay, here’s to the perks of being over twenty-one.”
“Being over twenty-one?” Paige repeated. “I thought you were the one who always said you didn’t want to grow up.”
“Who said anything about being grown-up? I said here’s to being of legal drinking age.”
“Being an adult does have some other benefits,” Trish observed.
“Name one,” Delaney demanded.
“Good sex,” Kelly said immediately. “High-school boys are clueless.”
“Oh, I don’t know. The best kisser of my entire life was my first boyfriend,” Delaney countered.
“Your first boyfriend?”
“Jake,” she added. “Jake the Snake.”
Cilla, in the middle of a swallow, spluttered. “Don’t tell me that was what he called his—”
“No,” Delaney said positively. “At least I don’t think so. I don’t know. We never got past the kiss and grope stage, but man, that boy could kiss. He was a surfer. Made me melt.”
“Ah, young love,” Trish said, fanning herself.
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
Sabrina raised her eyebrows. “Not your first love?”
“Come on. I mean, I was fourteen. Two years before that, I was ready to go all the way with Donnie Wahlberg. If I’d ever met him, of course, and if I could have figured out what going all the way actually meant.”
“You were nothing if not adaptable.” Paige tucked her tongue in her cheek.
Meanwhile, Trish rolled on her stomach to look at Delaney. “So who was your first love?”
Delaney laughed lightly. “I’ll tell you when I meet him.”
“You will, one of these days,” Trish said positively.
“I suppose. I can’t say it keeps me up at night.” She studied a couple of shirtless guys playing volleyball up the beach and licked her lips. “I’ve got other things to do that. So come on, I’m still waiting for the tide of benefits to being an adult.”
“Independence,” Trish said.
Delaney made a derisive noise. “Show of hands, how many people had to ask or check with their significant others before making plans to come here?”
“Well, you had to get permission for time off work,” Trish countered.
Delaney made the sign of the cross. “Back, demon. No talking about work. It’s officially a four-letter word this week.”
“Something wrong?” Paige asked.
“I work for Janet Whitcher. Of course something’s wrong.” Delaney’s job at Vision Quest Marketing defined the love-hate relationship. Love for the work, loathing for her boss. “Right about now, DataStor, fondly known as the client from hell, is filming a last-minute commercial they demanded I oversee.”
“Did you mention the little matter of a vacation?” Sabrina asked.
“That I’d been planning for a month and a half and already had the tickets for? Yessiree. I asked if they could push back the filming. Janet told me I was the one who should reschedule.”
“Ah. So the person we see is a cleverly produced hologram,” Cilla said.
“Exactly. Even as you watch me, I’m astrally traveling to inhabit Janet’s body while she’s supervising the shoot. When you see my mouth pinch up like a cat’s behind, you’ll know I’m fully mind-melded with her.” Delaney finished off her drink. “Basically, my life’s a horror flick when I get home, so eat, drink and be merry while ye may, I say.” She turned her cup upside down and sadly watched the last drop or two fall out on the sand.
“Poor little Tinkerbell,” Cilla said, leaning over to take Delaney’s empty glass. “Will another margarita ease the pain?”
Delaney eyed a strapping, dark-haired man as he walked by, shirtless in his blue-and-yellow swim trunks. “Several more margaritas and maybe a naked massage from Mr. Hunka Hunka Burnin’ Love over there.”
“I think he’s part of the entertainment staff,” Paige observed as they all tipped their sunglasses down to watch him.
“Heaven knows I need entertaining,” Delaney said.
“YOU’RE THINKING ABOUT it, aren’t you?” Erik asked.
Dom looked over at him. “Who, me?”
“Yeah, you. You’re making that face.”
They sat in an open-sided beach bar near the ferry dock in Playa del Carmen. The thatch of the roof rustled in the light offshore breeze. At the back, a band was milling around on a low stage hung with blue, scarlet and orange batiked cloth. On the horizon, the lights of Cozumel twinkled in the darkness.
Dom picked up the glass of tequila that the bartender slid across to him. “You really need to talk to someone about this paranoia you’ve got.”
Eric put a pinch of salt on the web between his forefinger and thumb. “Yeah, well, you obviously—”
“Need to teach you how to drink quality tequila,” Dom interrupted.
“What’s wrong with the way I drink tequila?” Eric asked, lifting his shot glass.
Dom gave him a pitying look. “Tequila’s like whiskey. The cheap stuff will strip the enamel from your teeth, which is where the salt and lime come in. Añejo tequila like this, though…” He swirled a sip around in his mouth and swallowed. “Slides down like twenty-year-old bourbon.”
Eric eyed him. “This wouldn’t be your idea of a joke, right? Watch me take a drink and have steam come out my ears?”
Dom smiled. “You lawyers are too suspicious.”
“You start your career owing fifty grand in student loans and see how suspicious you are,” Eric invited.
“Your call, buddy. Stick with your lime and salt if you want, but you’ll be missing out.” Dom took another