Dirty Games

Chapter Fourteen

A guy with a man bun is hitting on me. I hate man buns.

I'm sitting on a barstool at the Sloppy Iguana, Palmira's popular beach bar. We're outside, at the tiki hut. A woman is playing acoustic guitar in the corner and warbling a melancholy, slow tune. The vibe is decidedly laid-back Florida, and I'm feeling anything but relaxed.

"Doesn't she look cute in her black kitty-cat stockings?" Amber squeals to Man Bun, who apparently takes Amber's Saturday morning kundalini class. I'm wearing black ballet flats, a loose black crop top, a black and red plaid skirt and black stockings that stop right above my knee – the stockings have kitty eyes, noses and whiskers etched in white near the top of the band.

Man Bun grunts and says something about how with my long platinum hair and my red lips, I look like an extra from Disney's Frozen. I sneer in his direction, and Amber shoots me a beatific smile.

I sip my vodka and cranberry. I'm totally not dressed for a tiki bar, or for the beach. Something about Florida and the laid-back culture makes me want to rebel. I never fit in here in Florida when I was in high school, and looking around at the cute, blonde girls in their pastel bikini tops and matching booty shorts, I realize I still don't. And probably never will. I think about calling Jessica to bitch but I realize it's midnight and she's probably asleep, in bed with her fiancé.

And I'm here with Man Bun and Yoga Girl. My brother's supposed to join us in a while, because apparently Man Bun is a new friend of his.

I down my drink in three big gulps. As I'm setting it down on the bar my eyes go to the edge of the tiki hut, where two of the tallest girls in the place giggle loudly. They look like they just walked off stage from the Miss Florida contest, all big boobs and bigger hair. I spot a familiar-looking, gorgeous black-haired guy and I swing around toward Man Bun.

Mustering a smile, I insert myself into the conversation they're having about chakras while my mind spins.

Why is Diego here?

Slowly, I twirl my barstool to peek at him again. The spinning motion reminds me that I'm a wee bit tipsy. He's wearing faded jeans and a gray T-shirt. Simple and sexy. I swoon. It's because of the vodka. Right?

Simple, sexy and not mine, from the way the blonde with the pink bikini top is draped all over him. I hate that I feel jealous. I don't like competing with other women. Don't want to. But, I notice that he hasn't slipped his arm around her, and I wonder why.

I wave the bartender down and order another vodka cranberry. I'm the only one not drinking beer, it seems. I'm not the beer type. I'm also the only woman who's not in a bikini or cutoff jean shorts. I don't care. I'd been in a funk ever since I'd left Diego's, after finding out from his gamer fans that he's a total manwhore.

When that guy online mentioned Diego and Tinder, I felt physically ill from disappointment. Have felt that way all night, actually.

He's like all the other guys.

I squint and try to focus on the back of his head. He's looking to hook up with as many girls as possible. He probably scores with a different one every night. And since Palmira is becoming a spring break destination — who would have thought, sleepy Palmira — he's got plenty of women to choose from.

I had hoped Diego was different. Better. And now that I had thrown myself at him, I'd probably led him to believe that I wanted to be part of his following. One of his legion of female fans. Disgust courses through my veins and I hate myself for kissing him.

Diego isn't supposed to be like every other guy.

The bartender sets my drink in front of me, and I rummage around my black, cross-body bag with the silver spikes for cash. After I pay, I spin back around and raise my drink to Man Bun and Amber.

"Cheers. Here's to returning to my old life. But what's the phrase? You can't go home again?" I mutter something about getting the hell out of Palmira the first chance I get.

Man Bun launches into an annoying story about his fixed-gear bicycle, and I swirl my drink with the plastic straw, stabbing at the lime floating in the glass. Should I acknowledge Diego? What is he doing here? I'm not talking to him first.

"There she is, our new social media manager." With a scowl still imprinted on my face, I look up when I hear Liam's lazy voice. He's standing next to Man Bun, grinning. The two blondes are behind him, and Diego steps forward.

"Oh hi," I say brightly, trying to pretend that I'm having the time of my life. I facilitate introductions like a polite member of society, beaming wide. Inside, I feel a rage simmering. He has a lot of nerve coming over to me with these bimbos after I kissed him like that yesterday. Disappointment and anger wash over me in alternate waves. I had so hoped Diego would still be unique and cool. Not like all the other guys.

I was so wrong about him.

"So how do you know Liam and Diego?" one of the blondes chirps.

I stare at her and enunciate slowly. "As Liam said, I work with them. I'm their company's social media manager."

"Oh, right!" she giggles.

"How do you know them?" I ask, my voice bored. Inside I'm dying of curiosity.

"Tinder!" she giggles.

I smirk. As I suspected. All it took for Diego was to tap and swipe his phone and, like magic, he found an easy lay for him and his friend.

"Cata," Diego says. "Did you know they built a new seawall on our beach?"

I glare at him. This is too much. Just a short walk from this very tiki bar is the place where Diego and I used to come that summer we were together. We'd sit on the old seawall and kiss and talk for hours. It was our place, and I had spent the last hour trying to forget that it was nearby.

"No. I didn't know that." I smile. See? I can be enlightened and mindful, I want to say to Amber. Mindful of not snarling at Diego. I look around for Amber.

"Come," Diego says, holding his hand out for me. "I'll show you."

I don't budge as I scan the faces of Liam, the blondes, and Man Bun. They're all chatting like old friends. I see that Amber's slipped away to talk with the guitar player.

Diego clamps his hand around my arm.

"It's not polite to leave your date," I say to him.

"Stop it, Cata. I'm not here on a date. Come on." His grin almost melts my icy heart.

Almost, but not quite.

____