didn’t look convinced, Amber thought. “I shouldn’t even be talking about this,” he said, “But I want you to stay and you’re forcing my hand.”
“I’m not the enemy here. Don’t get pissed off at me.”
Amber stood up, brushing the sand off her legs. Her simple blue bikini covered more of her than some suits on the beach, but it still showed off her assets. Cal noticed two older men a short distance away checking Amber out, and making lewd gestures behind her back. That definitely pissed him off. “Sit down, those pervs over there are getting off on your ass.”
“So if another man finds me attractive, they’re a pervert?” Amber huffed.
“They are when they are fifty years old and practically slobbering on themselves. Stop making them want to go choke the chicken.”
“The possessive shit is not attractive—it doesn’t do a damn thing for me, Cal.” She eyed him coolly as she wrapped a cotton sarong around her waist. “There—I’ve covered up my ass. Are you happy?” She grabbed her string bag with her valuables. “I’m going to go buy a bottle of rum. You are welcome to come.”
Cal stayed seated, and watched her go, unwilling to admit that he had been overbearing.
As Amber stomped down the beach, she felt conflicted. She was sorry about Cal’s father, and could understand how that would put someone on edge, but it didn’t give him the right to order her around, or to act like she was deliberately provoking negative attention. Besides, she thought, what did she really know about Cal? He could be making up all that stuff about his dad. It seemed pretty far-fetched. Then she started questioning the little he had told her about himself. Maybe he wasn’t even a pilot. Maybe those scars were just from a car wreck or something. Maybe Cal was some kind of pathological liar. She remembered reading an article once about how sociopaths can be incredibly charming—and dominating. Her mind starting running away with the ‘what ifs,’ and she started to view everything he had done through the lens of deception and fabrication.
What Amber didn’t want to admit was that she couldn’t trust her own judgment. When she got up to buy the rum, she had just wanted a moment to digest what Cal had confessed about his father, and to escape her own irritation at his bossiness. She had never intended to put Cal to some kind of test, but as her imagination made her question him more and more, there was an unexpected opportunity.
A little while later, Cal noticed that Amber was walking back down the beach toward their spot, but she had a guy on each side of her. One was in between them in age, maybe mid 20s, the other a bit older than him, perhaps early 30s. They were good looking and athletic, and their tiny speedo bathing suits and pale skin marked them as European. Amber was laughing in a flirty way and Cal wondered if she was deliberately trying to make him jealous. They looked like they might be brothers, and the older of the two had smoothly rested his hand on the small of Amber’s back. The problem with Amber, Cal thought, was that she carried herself like someone much older. He doubted that the guy walking her down the beach realized that she was only twenty-one.
“This is Denes,” Amber gestured to the younger of the two men, “And this is Tomás. They’re Hungarian,” she said by way of introduction. “This is my brother, Cal.” Amber stared at Cal. “Denes and Tomás are siblings, too.”
The two Hungarians stuck out their hands and Cal shook them perfunctorily. “Nice to meet you,” Cal said, in a voice flat
Learning to Kill: Stories