Stealing Phin (4 page)

It was just as well. Complaining about him would’ve just gotten me even more worked up, although, I wasn’t sure that was possible. The way he looked so smug about the fact that he’d tricked me into showing him my goods made me so mad I could spit more venom than a jungle viper.

I just hoped I’d never see him again. He probably slept with both masseuses, too. And at the same time. The thought made me even angrier. He was one of those guys blessed with good looks
and
charm, and he didn’t deserve either. I didn’t use the word “hate” often, but what I felt toward this guy came pretty close to that.

I shook my head, as though that would loosen the thoughts cycling in my brain on a continuous loop and make them spill out of my ear. Frustratingly, the image of The Hottie in his sexy boxer briefs was the most stubborn one of all.

The truck door creaked open, and a middle-aged man holding a clipboard jumped out and approached us. “Buenos días!”

“Buenos días,” I said half-heartedly. Dez pouted silently.

“Please, what are your names?”

“Phinegan Swift and Desiree Lockport.”

The man scanned down the sheet of paper on his clipboard and checked our names off. I glanced over at Dez and could tell she was hoping he wouldn’t find our names and that this was actually the shuttle for another tour, say, a tour that ends in Hell.

“Okay, mis amigas,” The man put down his clipboard and swept his arm out toward the rusty truck. “Would you like to take a ride on my Massage Machine?” He said with a grin.

Cringing from the mere mention of massages, I resisted the urge to ask the man why his truck was called the Massage Machine. Fifteen minutes later, as we turned off the paved road and trundled up a mountain on a steep and bumpy dirt path, the mystery revealed itself.

“For every bruise that’s on my ass because of this ride,” Dez grumbled as we jerked and jostled and bounced around on the wooden bench, “you owe me a drink.” After she’d woken up with a killer hangover, she’d tried to convince me to cancel the tour. I’d persuaded her that the fresh air and an invigorating outdoor activity would help her feel better. The Massage Machine made me out to be a big, fat liar.

“I will, if you rub some Icy Hot on mine,” I said through clattering teeth as the truck went over a series of small potholes.

The other tourists the driver had picked up from nearby resorts seemed strangely happy and optimistic despite the beating their rumps were also taking.

As we climbed higher up the mountain, I tried to focus on watching the scenery go by. The sun had come out full force, brightening the landscape. I couldn’t help but be awed by the variety and depth of color all around me.

The scenery wasn’t just colorful—it was alive, too. Everything was in motion. The trees seemed to grow right before our eyes. The air vibrated with the activity of hummingbirds and butterflies. Chicago was a black and white still-life photo compared to this Technicolor dream.

Inspired by my surroundings, I made a promise to myself: I would not waste any more time thinking about men—not Douglas, not The Hottie, nor anyone else with a penis—for the rest of this trip. The Penis Prohibition was officially in effect.

By the time we reached the canyoneering base, I was over my sore ass and in a much more positive mood. I began to have hope that maybe this beautiful country could be the cure to my bruised ego, not to mention my broken heart…even if it was at the cost of other sore body parts. Any pain was better than the one in my chest.

The tour base was a modern, wooden two-story building with a large open area off to the side where there were racks full of equipment, two outdoor showers, and several changing rooms.

The driver led us to the open area and showed us where to stow our valuables. As we milled around making small talk with the other tourists, our four canyoneering guides arrived.

Dez let out a long whistle. “Actually, I think I may be the one who owes
you
a drink,” she said to me with her eyes on the hunky, young men dressed in skin-tight surf shirts that showed off every ripple of their well-toned bodies. “Be still my quivering clitoris.”

Even I had to agree with Dez.
Damn
you,
Costa
Rica.
Damn
you
and
your
gorgeous
men.

“Hola, everyone!” said one of the guides. “Please go to the equipment section so that we can get you ready for canyoneering—the most fun you will have in Costa Rica!”

The other tourists clapped enthusiastically.

“I can think of things these guys can do with us that’ll be even
more
fun,” Dez said.

“Try not to molest our guides until after the tour, please?” I said as we got in line for whatever equipment canyoneering required. “Some of us actually want to experience things other than pleasures of the flesh in this country.” It occurred to me then that I still wasn’t sure exactly what canyoneering entailed.

“Pffft. There
is
no other pleasure.” Dez stepped up to a handsome guide who held some kind of harness wit lots of straps, loops, and metal clasps in his hands. His eyes widened as they landed on her bust, and he flashed a perfect set of white teeth at her. He had the kind of eyes that looked like they were always smiling, even when he wasn’t.

“Hola, mi amore,” he said. “Do you mind if I put this on you?”

“You can put on or take off anything you want,” Dez purred. “Have at me, señor.”

Once Dez stepped into the harness, he slid it up her long legs much more slowly than he had with the people he’d suited up before us, obviously taking a visual tour himself of Dez’s bodyscape.

Dez squealed with delight when he tightened the straps that went under her buttocks and between her upper thighs.

“There,” said the guide after he’d double-checked that her ass was securely harnessed. “I put you in extra tight. We cannot let bodies as beautiful as yours get injured on the tour.”

At that point, Dez turned to me and mouthed,
Dibs.

I had to cough to hide my laugh.

“Would you like me to harness you, amiga?” a voice behind me asked.

I turned around and found myself looking straight into the face of a Costa Rican Adonis. “Um, sure.”

From the corner of my eye I could see Dez practically turning cartwheels over the prospect of both of us finding a hot guy to flirt with on the tour.

I tried to play it cool but failed. Even though I couldn’t deny that the man standing before me was attractive, my head was still back in that massage room. I could feel the blush burn my cheeks again as I thought about my naked self putting on a show for that jerk. As much as I believed he was playing a game the whole time, I couldn’t get over how stupid I must’ve looked. Part of me was glad Dez was too tanked to listen to me regale my tale of horror. The humiliation was not something I wanted to relive.

“Don’t be serious.” The handsome guide was watching my face.

“What?” I said, snapping out of my unpleasant thoughts.

“You are here for fun, no?” He raised his eyebrows.

“No, I mean, yes. Si.”

“Hard to have fun if your face is so serious.” His full lips spread into a friendly grin.

“I have a lot of serious stuff on my mind,” I admitted.

“Sí, ya veo.” He nodded. “Don’t worry, chica. It is my job to take you away from your ‘serious stuff.’ You are in good hands.” He winked and knelt down to position the harness near my feet.

I felt my face relax into a grin. His smile and positivity were infectious. Getting into the harness was clumsy business, so I took the liberty of holding onto his shoulders as I stepped into the loops. His shoulder muscles moved under my hands as he worked the straps around my legs. When he rose up to fit the straps at my waist, his face came close to mine. He had flawless skin with warm tan tones. His sable eyes had a playful glint to them. He had the sort of boyish good looks that teenage girls would swoon over.

Maybe a little harmless flirting would do me some good.

“Gracias,” I smiled.

“Con mucho gusto.” He returned my smile and kept his eyes on me as he went to help a whiny brunette wearing a University of Wisconsin t-shirt into a harness.

“Here at Desafío Tour Company, safety is our first rule,” said the lead guide Alfredo, who looked a few years older than the others. The four guides had taken us to a small clearing near the edge of a rainforest after everyone had been harnessed and helmeted. I supposed this was the instructional part of the tour.

“Canyoneering is very fun, but it is more fun if you do not break your ankle,” Alfredo joked. A few of the tourists chuckled. “I will demonstrate the proper way to hold the rope to repel safely down the waterfalls. And then, I will demonstrate the ways to hold the rope that will get you killed.” A worried silence fell over the group. “I only kid,” he smiled broadly. “You will not die on our tour. It is against our policy.”

“And we have already met our casualty quota for the month,” added the sexy guide who helped me into my harness.

I laughed along with the rest of the group. “Who knew Costa Ricans had such a great sense of humor?” I whispered to Dez while Alfredo continued with the demonstration.

“Or such killer bods.”

“Speaking of kill. Did he say something about repelling down waterfalls?”

“I believe so.”

“Maybe we should’ve asked more questions before we signed up for this?”

“Too late now,” Dez said, keeping her eyes trained on the guides. I could tell she was mentally going over her choices—her version of window-shopping. “Plus, I don’t care what these guys are going to make us do, as long as there’s the possibility that one of them will take his shirt off.”

“And now that you are all experts,” Alfredo said as he ended his demonstration, “we are ready to begin. My partners here,” he gestured to the three handsome men to his side, “will split up. Two of us will lead you to the top of the waterfalls, and two of us will be waiting at the bottom…to catch the bodies that slip off.”

Silence.

“Don’t be serious, my friends. I only kid,” Alfredo laughed at his own joke. Or maybe he was laughing at his stiff audience. “Oh, and I almost forgot to tell you. In addition to all the fun you will have falling down the waterfalls, we will have two wet surprises for you during the tour.”

“I have a wet surprise for you right here, amigo,” Dez murmured as we headed into the rainforest.

“You’re horrible,” I chuckled, but did so without smiling.

“Horribly horny,” Dez corrected. “So, you’d better get off the glum bus and get on the fun truck with me, or else I’m leaving you behind.”

Feeling like a bad friend, I looked down and kicked at a rock in the path. “I’m trying to have fun, Dez. I really am.”

Her face softened. “I know you are. That asshole is still on your mind, isn’t he.”

It took me a few seconds to realize that Dez was talking about Douglas and not The Hottie. Why was that? He was a stranger who meant nothing to me, yet he’d been on my mind more than Douglas since last night. I didn’t even know his name.

Wait a minute. I should cut myself some slack. After all, the massage incident was so humiliating—traumatic, in fact—and it was so fresh a memory. It was natural for me to be obsessing over it still. Not that Douglas was a faded memory, by any means. But he’d just temporarily taken a back seat to the most recent man who’d done me wrong.

I felt a little crease form in between my eyebrows at my next realization. As much as I hated to admit it, since I’d been here, the nameless Hottie had been the most effective distraction from the pain of Douglas so far.

“Yeah, it’s hard to stop thinking about him,” I replied, knowing Dez would assume I meant Douglas.

We walked in gloomy silence behind the rest of the tour group along a small stream that was only a couple of feet across and shallow enough to walk in. Before I knew it, we’d arrived at the first waterfall.

The two guides who were going to help us at the top of the waterfall included Alfredo and my sexy harness helper.

“Who will be the brave soul that goes first?” Alfredo asked.

Maybe it was because I felt guilty for being such a wet towel, or maybe it was because I was desperate to get rid of the hurt-lava beginning to rise again inside me that made me step forward.

“I’ll go.”

“Very good, chica,” Alfredo waved at me to join them at the edge of the wooden platform that extended over the waterfall. “Your bravery will pay off since the rope is less likely to break at the beginning of the tour.”

Despite Alfredo’s jokes, I stiffened as I peered over the edge of the platform. The water tumbled over the rocky cliff and splashed onto the rocks fifty feet below. The other two guides, including Dez’s stallion, stood at the bottom. He held the end of the rope that was rigged to the platform. The fourth guide stood to the side with a digital camera strapped around his neck.

“Turn around and face me,” a voice said. I obeyed.

My Costa Rican Adonis put his hands on my waist. He looked into my eyes as he slipped the rope through the metal clasps attached to the front of my harness.