Page 12 of Here for a Good Time

FIVE

“What the fuck is that?” I moan.

“It’s the alarm that I’d be able to turn off if I wasn’t in your death grip,” replies Zwe’s voice from somewhere above me.

My ramble comes out muffled, but I’m too sleepy to lift my head.

“What death grip? What are you talking about?” The high-pitched ringing sound vibrates through every fold of my brain.

I push my face deeper into the soft pillow in an attempt to drown it out, and kick my feet under the covers like a petulant toddler being woken up for school.

“Make it stop! Why must you torture me so? Just use Siri to turn it off!”

“Oh, right,” Zwe mumbles. As he shouts over at his phone to turn off the alarm, I blink awake through the slight sheen of sleep and eye crust. The right corner of my mouth is dry, which means I must’ve been drooling in my sleep.

Instead of the view of the sofa that I’d fallen asleep to, however, I come face-to-face with soft white fabric that feels warm and smells so…

familiar. I inch back, tilt my gaze up—and see Zwe’s chin.

“Oh my god!” I yell when I’m finally able to take stock of the whole scene.

I’d moved around in my sleep into a position where I have my face pressed into Zwe’s chest, one bent leg thrown over both of his (which, given the length of my legs, has resulted in my foot just dangling in the air) and the other foot resting on his other foot so that he’s essentially sandwiched from the waist down.

From the neck up, I have him in a half headlock, one of my hands having somehow slipped under his neck and the other linked around both of his forearms. When I scramble to sit up and scoot several feet away, there is a giant mortifying drool spot on the front of his shirt where my mouth had been resting.

Zwe laughs at my horrified expression. “You’ve thrown up on my shoes before. I can handle a bit of drool. By the way—” His face shifts to teasing, and I brace myself for the situation to get even more horrifying. “Were you having… intimate dreams, by any chance?”

I want to fling myself off of the balcony.

“No?” I squeak out. I’m almost certain I wasn’t.

“Really?” Zwe’s nose wrinkles. “Because you were kinda—” Sitting up himself, he pulls back the covers and makes a thrusting motion. “—grinding my thigh. A lot. And you were moaning about…”

I’m already picturing myself swimming to the bottom of the ocean and never resurfacing. “About what?” The words sound jagged.

“An Eric? Like Prince Eric? I’m assuming the one from The Little Mermaid ?”

I can physically feel my soul, along with my will to live, leave my body. The Little Mermaid . Zwe’s flowy white shirt. Surely I didn’t—

“You’re kidding,” I sputter, face burning so hot it feels like I got sunburnt.

Zwe erupts into a fit of laughter. I’m still so buried under a cloud of shame that it takes me a beat to realize why he’s laughing. “You fucking dick!” I scream, and whack him with a pillow.

He protects his head with his hands as he gasps for air. “Can we acknowledge that this confirms that you having a sex dream about Prince Eric is totally within the realms of possibility?” he cackles. “I know you used to think he was hot, but a—” He stops to wheeze. “Sex dream?”

“I’m tired! And I didn’t think I’d be gaslit first thing in the morning!”

“Was it—” He takes in a huge gulp of air, barely able to finish the question. “—better down where it’s wetter?”

“You’re dead to me!” I screech, and start whacking him repeatedly with more force.

Zwe jumps out of the bed, and holds open both palms. “Truce! Truce!”

“I am never going to forgive you for this,” I say. “ Ever .”

He gives me a playful wink. “Whatever you say, Princess Ariel.”

Shrieking, I hurl the pillow at him, he catches it, throws it back at me, and I duck. “I hate you,” I pant each word.

“Love you more,” Zwe calls out over his shoulder as he makes his way to the bathroom.

Once I process and move past my mortification, I can’t help but chuckle while surveying the now mess of a bed, pillows strewn about, a third of the sheets falling to the floor. And here we thought it was going to be awkward.

“Gooood morning!” Leila greets us at the restaurant entrance. “How’d you two sleep?”

“Like a baby seal on a beach,” I say. “At least, I assume baby seals sleep well on the beach? We had a great sleep, is the answer.”

She, Zwe, and the restaurant’s formal host, whose name tag reads Jay, all laugh. “Was the, um, bed situation okay? Do you want me to add that extra bed after all?” she asks, eyes darting between me and Zwe.

I feel Zwe’s attention transfer onto me, and it takes more effort than it should for us to make eye contact. It’s like we’re tuned in to two radio channels that are just one frequency off. I can’t tell if he’s asking me Should we? or I think we’re fine, right?

I take the plunge. “I think we’re good?” I say slowly, my uncertainty inadvertently drawing up the end of the sentence into a question. I tilt my head at Zwe to communicate Right? , and this he understands because he responds with a smile and a nod.

“Yeah, thanks. It’s perfect how it is. The view in the bedroom is—” He swallows, almost tripping over the next word.

“Incredible. I wouldn’t change a thing,” he says, and my stomach does something it’s never done before.

Immediately, I think of that blink-and-you-miss-it moment last night where his foot had brushed mine. Fuck, the air here really is different.

“That’s wonderful!” Leila says, breaking my one-sided tension. “If you change your mind, you know how to reach me.”

I expected us to be the only guests in the restaurant, but I did not expect the near-mile-long L-shaped buffet table that takes up two walls.

From a quick sweep, I clock a multicolored fresh fruit selection, enough baskets of pastries to fill the display at a medium-sized bakery, a cereal bar, an assortment of cold cuts and cheeses, closed stainless steel silver domes with small placards in the front that denote a variety of hot foods, and a separate vegetarian section.

That’s in addition to the five small “freshly made” stations where there’s a small stove and smiling chef waiting to cook us congee, eggs, noodles, crêpes and/or waffles, except at the last station where there is no stove because that’s where you can get freshly cut and rolled sushi.

For drinks, there are several clear glass jugs of fresh juices made from more fruits than I’ve ever simultaneously had in my fridge at one time.

“Is there a small wedding you’re expecting?” I ask Leila.

Leila laughs and shakes her head. “This is our usual breakfast spread. We wanted to make sure you filled up. Not to sound like a parent, but it is the most important meal of the day. Besides, you’ll need all that energy to last you until lunchtime.

Speaking of—” She pulls out my seat for me.

“What do you feel like doing today? You can take the active route and do some water activities. Some of our most popular options are kayaking, paddleboarding, and snorkeling, and I can check the weather to see if windsurfing is a possibility. There’s also mountain biking if you want to stay out of the water.

Alternatively, if you want to kick-start your time here with some relaxing, our spa menu is incredible.

I’d be happy to book you in for a day of pampering. What do you two think?”

“Definitely spa,” I say at the same time that Zwe answers, “I’ve always wanted to go windsurfing.” There’s a pause, then we all laugh.

“As you can see, we have two very different definitions of holidaying,” I tell Leila.

She waves a hand. “No need to explain. That’s why we make sure to cover all our bases in terms of activities.

How about after breakfast, I drop you off at the spa where one of our masseuses will help put together the best treatment plan for you, and then”—she turns to Zwe—“we can make our way to the beach?” She peers out toward the deck.

“Again, I need to double-check for safety reasons, but the weather looks perfect for a windsurfing session in my opinion.”

Zwe pumps a fist in the air. “Do you think we could also do some kayaking afterward?”

“Sure, I can hook you up with a kayak!” Leila says.

“Me?” Zwe crosses his arms, the move infusing his words with a flirtatious subtext. “Don’t tell me you’re not joining me. What, are you chicken I’ll beat you in a kayaking race?”

Leila grins through her scoff. “I don’t think Sandra will be too happy that I’m taking advantage of the resort’s—”

“But it’s what I want,” Zwe says. “As a guest. I’d assume Sandra would want you to go the extra mile to keep a guest happy, right? Isn’t that this whole place’s thing ?”

Leila’s smile is so wide, the corners of her pink glossy lips are hooked onto her cheekbones.

Meanwhile, I’m wondering when Zwe got so smooth with his flirting.

This is the same guy who panicked before his first kiss and excused himself to the bathroom where he texted me that he was eating ten mints in one go, and then threw them all up on his date’s shoes.

I don’t recognize this version of Zwe, and it scares me that I can’t tell if it’s this new setting that’s making him different, bolder, more willing to ask for what he wants, or if this is yet another new side to him that I’ve overlooked: Zwe flirts now. Not just that, he’s good at flirting.

“I don’t want to intrude on your guys’ trip, though.” Leila’s voice breaks my train of thought. She’s looking at me with an uneasy expression. “If you’re going to be kayaking with someone, then surely it should be Poe.”

I’m about to say Yeah, actually, that massage will feel much more satisfying after a day out on the water, but Zwe interrupts with “Poe hates water sports. In fact, she kind of hates all sports.”

“I do not!” I kick his shin under the table. “I like—”

“Mario Kart?” Zwe supplies.