Honeymoon Hazards by Ben Boswell Read Free Book Online Page B

rose quickly and without another word, dived headfirst into the water. I walked to the edge and gingerly dipped my toes into the pool as Claire shimmied through the water like a mermaid, though I was beginning to think of her more as a siren, luring me toward a rocky shoal.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    Claire and I went back to the room, and I changed into a swimsuit and tee shirt. Then we went down to one of the pool bars for lunch. I ordered a grilled chicken sandwich, dry, hoping it wouldn’t trigger another outburst of intestinal distress. I ate gingerly, and then waited anxiously. But after a half hour, I was still okay.
    I still felt shaky, but couldn’t tell whether that was the residue of my illness or my anxiety over Claire. I knew she’d spun that story just to lure me out of the room. But even still, what a story. Not that I would begrudge her some youthful indiscretions. I mean, good for her. But sharing it with a stranger… a tall, dark, and handsome stranger. A funny and clever, tall, dark, and handsome stranger with a killer accent. And what of my visions, my premonitions?
    “Are you attracted to Trent?” I asked.
    She laughed. “God, you are obsessed.”
    “You didn’t answer.”
    “Well, Trent is attractive. Why, are you attracted to the women you’ve been spying on?”
    “I’ve mostly been spying on you.”
    “Yeah, what’s that about? A resort full of women in bikinis, and you’re focusing in on the one woman in the whole place that you get to see naked whenever you want.”
    Except, I hadn’t been focused just on her. Given the chance, I’d definitely take another look at the female half of the Newlyweds, that little sex goddess with the feathered hair.
    “Well, you’re the hottest woman here,” I said.
    She laughed skeptically.
    “No way. And I’ve seen at least a dozen gals who are plenty pretty and who aren’t members of the itty-bitty-titty-committee.”
    I rolled my eyes. “I love your boobs. And anyway, fakes don’t count.”
    “Miss Brazil isn’t fake.”
    “No. She’s what people used to mean by ‘curvy’ before the fat chicks stole the adjective. But she’s also with a guy whose watch costs more than our car.”
    “So you can’t be attracted to her because she’s attached? Or you can’t be attracted to her because her hubby wears expensive jewelry?”
    I wasn’t sure where this was going. In a weird way, our conversation felt more like a competition than an exchange of views.
    “Are we arguing?” I asked.
    She paused. Then laughed. “Oh my, I think we are. Our first fight as a married couple.”
    “What are we fighting about?”
    “I don’t know.”
    We both laughed. It was absurd. What were we fighting about?

    We walked around the resort, hand in hand. Claire was eager to show me everything she’d discovered the previous day on her own. We played with the family of cats. We checked out the sailboat on which they did the sunset cruises. We dipped our toes in the various pools.
    Along the way, we scoped out the other guests. Funny how that goes. If you observe people from your balcony through binoculars, you’re a voyeur, a pervert. If you walk around with your wife and make up funny stories about people you see, you’re just a cute, romantic couple, people-watching.
    We tracked down the Millionaire and marveled at the quality of the material engineers who’d managed to design a swim suit to keep his wife’s endowments in place. She really was something else, and even prettier up close, with perfect skin, full red lips, and a delightfully trilling Latin American accent.
    “You think he pays her by the hour?” Claire asked, sotto voce , uncharacteristically catty.
    “I think they’re in love,” I replied.
    She rolled her eyes. It gave me an insight into the blonde’s mindset. Having this woman as her stepmother was probably driving her crazy.
    We actually ran across the daughter moments later, sitting by the bar. She was all in pink. Tiny bikini bottoms, a