Stealing Phin (14 page)

Boyfriend
+
Office
Floozy
+
Girlfriend
Walking
in
on
Them
=
Girlfriend
does
X
to
get
over
it.
Solve
for
X.

I’d been racking my brain for days now, trying to solve for X, and gotten nowhere. But I shouldn’t be surprised. I was never very good at math.

Suddenly, a part of me wanted to hand my phone and calling card back to Dez, move into a remote hut somewhere deep in the rainforest, and become a hermit—hidden so that my past could never find me and sheltered from any future heartbreaks, too.

Once we’d arrived at the resort, I’d connected to the Wifi and turned on my cell phone. There were two text messages. Both from Douglas. My heart had instantly gone into palpitations at the sight of his name on my cell phone screen. Dez had wisely suggested that I get a few drinks in me before I read what Douglas had to say. My strawberry daiquiri would be my third drink, and I decided I’d be ready to face my phone after that.

I got up from the lounge chair. “I’m getting a daiquiri. Are you ready for another drink yet?” I lowered myself into the pool. The water was a perfect temperature. Not too cold, but cool enough to feel good against my sun-kissed skin.

Dez raised her glass, which was half-empty. “Seeing as how I’ll be done with this by the time you get back from the pool bar, I’d say yes. Double daiquiris!”

I swam toward the pool bar. The bartender made the drinks strong, probably because the faster he got people drunk, the fewer drinks he’d have to mix up. So, after just two drinks, Dez and I were both pleasantly buzzed. I’d have to sip this daiquiri slowly. Partly because I was tired from the drive and getting drunk now would just make me sleepy, and partly because as anxious as I was to read Douglas’s messages, I wanted to put it off. I had no doubt that whatever he had to say would just throw me back into an emotional spin cycle, and I wanted to be prepared for it.

As I waited at the bar for my drink order, I looked around the pool at the other resort guests. It was an even mix between American tourists and local vacationers. The buildings that comprised the resort were gorgeous—painted in buttery yellow and bright orange hues. Unlike the Volcano Villas, which were semi-attached duplexes lined heavily with flora for privacy, this resort was more for people who liked to see and be seen. The multi-story buildings surrounded the pool, each with a sliding back door leading to a balcony overlooking the area below.

A figure moving on one of the balconies caught my eye. Who in their right mind would waste a beautiful sunny afternoon inside their room instead of out by the pool? I shielded my eyes and looked again, out of sheer curiosity.

The figure was a man. His balcony was four stories up. Leaning on his forearms against the balcony railing, he seemed to be watching the crowd below. Although I couldn’t see him clearly because of the sun shining directly into my eyes, I sensed something familiar about his shape and the way he moved. I squinted harder. My heart knocked against the inside of my chest like a jackhammer as I recognized him.

“Byron?” I whispered to myself in disbelief.

It couldn’t be him. Could it?

As if he could hear my whisper, the figure stood up abruptly and disappeared like a ghost through the white curtains hanging over the door. I watched as he slid the door shut.

Forgetting about the drinks, I swam for the edge of the pool closest to his building.

“Byron!” I called, as I hoisted myself out of the pool and started running barefoot up the stairs that led to the suites.

I knew he couldn’t hear me, but I hardly had control over myself, it seemed. I wasn’t even sure why I wanted to see him or what I’d say if I did. Maybe it was to confront him with sleeping with me even though he was with someone else. Maybe it was to say good-bye to him once and for all. Despite the way we had parted, or maybe because of it, the thought that I might never see Byron again killed me in so many ways I didn’t understand. If I got a little closure, even if it was to simply get thrown out of his suite again and a door slammed in my face, I’d at least be able to put this feeling I had for him to rest once and for all.

Like it or not, I could no longer deny that he meant something to me. And I couldn’t leave things the way they were without getting some answers from him…and without knowing how he felt about me. It would tear me up and leave a permanent mark on my soul. I believed, despite how cold he was toward me the last time I saw him, that he felt something for me, too. Something real. Those few moments where he let his shield down held more truth in them than all the other moments I’d spent with him combined. As doubtful as I was about my own judgment now, I had no doubt about this. If I could just see him once more, it’d be all I’d need to confirm things one way or another.

I sprinted up the four flights of stairs, skipping every other one. By the time I reached the fourth floor, my thighs were burning, and I was panting. I wasn’t sure which door was his, so I began knocking on them one by one.

A young Costa Rican couple opened the first door. The man, who didn’t speak any English, looked at me curiously, then pointed to the sign hanging on the doorknob.

Por
favor—no
molestar
.

“Sorry,” I said, too determined to be embarrassed. “Didn’t mean to molestar you.”

The next door I knocked on, nobody answered. I moved on to the third and final door in this section of the building. This had to be the one. The building was designed so that the balconies faced the pool at different angles, and I could tell by the corner of the walls that the room faced the pool at an angle that matched the balcony I thought I saw Byron on.

My blood pulsed hard as I drew a fist and held it up to the door. I knocked three times. Now, I felt as though a giant butterfly was caught in my chest as I waited nervously, still having no idea why I was standing here or what I’d say if he opened the door.

A voice came from the other side of the door. The butterfly held captive in my chest stopped beating its wings. The voice was unmistakably female.

Get
out
of
here,
now,
Phin,
a voice inside my head commanded. It sounded a lot like Dez. But I couldn’t move.

I closed my eyes as I listened to the footsteps approach the door. As it opened, I felt the cool air-conditioned breeze hit the hot sweat on my cheeks and nose.

“En qué puedo ayudarle?” a pretty voice asked.

I opened my eyes and blinked. For a second I was confused. And then relief washed over me like the waterfalls I’d repelled down just days before. It was the maid.

“Um, yes. I mean, si. Is this Señor Byron Michaels’s room?”

The middle-aged maid shook her head, unable to understand my question. She spent a second or two trying to guess what I wanted. Then, she nodded and held up a finger.

“Un momento, por favor,” she said. She squeezed past me to go to her housekeeping cart, which sat in front of the next suite.

As she ruffled through some items on her cart, I stood at the doorway and peered into the room. I spotted Byron’s black duffle on one of the double beds. His laptop sat on the desk by the back door. This was his room all right.

Did he leave because of me? Did he even see me? He must’ve left pretty quickly if he didn’t think to put his laptop away. I wondered where he went. What was he doing here in the first place? It couldn’t be just a coincidence that he was staying at the same resort we were again…could it?

A renegade tear ran down my cheek as I realized that the answers to these questions didn’t matter anymore. Even if he saw me at the pool, he obviously wanted nothing to do with me. The saltiness of my tear stung my sunburned skin.

I felt a tap on my shoulder and quickly wiped it away. The smiling maid handed me some extra towels.

“No, gracias.” I turned on my heel to leave, but I didn’t take more than a step before I stopped.

No. It can’t end like this.

I turned back to the maid and pointed to her clipboard and the pen tucked into the pocket of her uniform. I gestured that I wanted to write something, and she happily provided me with a scrap of paper and her pen. I scribbled some words onto the paper and folded it in half.

Not feeling right about entering Byron’s room without his being there, I handed the note to the maid and pointed to the bed.

“Will you leave this note on the bed for me?”

The maid looked at my face for several moments. I’m not sure what she saw in my expression, but it seemed to help her understand. As she took the note, she smiled sympathetically at me and nodded. Then, she glanced at her watch and muttered something in Spanish. She politely waved me away, went back into Byron’s room to finish her work, and closed the door.

“Where have you been?” Dez said when I sat back down on the pool lounge chair that I’d left over fifteen minutes ago. “I started to dehydrate so I swam over to the pool bar and got daiquiris. If you weren’t back in another five minutes, I was going to drink yours, too.” She lowered her sunglasses and peered over them at my face. “Uh oh. What happened?”

As I told her, I began to cry.

“What’s wrong with me, Dez?” I swiped my nose across my forearm. Gross, I know, but I was past the point of trying to stay dignified in the face of all I’d been through this week.

Dez held out a cocktail napkin. I took it and blew my nose. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Phinny.”

“Then how do you explain the crazy things I’ve done since we’ve been here? I slept with a guy I barely knew. I drunk dialed my ex and threw up on my date on the same night. And now I’m running around barefoot leaving notes for a guy who’s already told me to get lost once. These are not the acts of a sane person.”

“They’re the acts of someone who always follows her heart, for better or for worse,” Dez said kindly.

“Well, I wish my heart would let my head know what it’s thinking sometimes.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re not any more flawed than the rest of us, Phinny. Love fucks people up. It’s what love does best.”

“I’m not in love with Byron,” I said quickly.
I
can’t
be…can
I?

Dez raised her perfectly plucked eyebrows but didn’t argue. “What did the note say?”

My eyes blurred with tears again. “Meet me in Tamarindo tonight.”

Dez sighed and changed the subject. “Your phone chimed while you were off chasing phantoms.”

I reached into my bag and pulled out my cell. Douglas had left a third text message. I took a deep breath. “It’s time I read these.”

“Here,” Dez sat up and grabbed the daiquiri she’d gotten for me off the small table between our lounge chairs. “Drink this first.”

I took the glass she held out to me, moved the straw aside, and tipped half the contents down my throat. The sugar gave me a rush and although half the shaved ice had melted in the sun, the coldness squeezed at my temples, making me wince. Once the alcohol took the edge off my nerves, I pulled up Douglas’s texts:

We
need
to
talk.

Where
are
you?
Missed
your
call.
Text
or
call
me
back.

I
need
to
speak
to
you.
This
can’t
wait.

He’d sent the first two messages yesterday. Although the last one just arrived, he’d apparently sent it this morning while we were driving. I’d shut my data roaming off to avoid international roaming fees, so the message must’ve been floating in text message space until now.

“What did the prick have to say?” Dez asked. I handed her my phone so she could read his messages.

“Sounds like he wants to talk things over,” I ventured. “Maybe get back together.” A part of me wasn’t sure, though. There was a sense of urgency in his texts, yet I couldn’t tell if it was because he wanted me back. If that were the case, why didn’t he say he missed me? That he still loved me? That he was sorry for ripping my heart out and stomping on it?

Dez gave me back the phone and fidgeted in her chair. I could tell she was struggling to reign in her reaction to his messages.

“What are you going to do?” she asked evenly.

What
was
I going to do? Since everything I did lately seemed to backfire on me, maybe I should just start doing the exact opposite of what I wanted to do.

The tone of Douglas’s texts bothered me. If I called him, I honestly couldn’t predict whether he’d beg for my forgiveness or simply ask me where I’d put one of his client files. As my reaction to Douglas’s texts collided with the emotions of having seen Byron, it became too much. I knew I was going to need some time to be able to think clearly about what to do next in either case.