What Happens Over Spring Break: A Short Story Anthology

  Table of contents

  The Wingman by Renee Ericson

  & Amber L. Johnson

  Sunnyside Up by Rochelle Allison

  Ropes and Tees by Danielle Brenna

  Let’s Start Something by Vanessa Morse

  The Attic Steps by Kimberly Adams

  Sizzling Sunset by P. Marie

  Waiting... by Gabriela Lizette

  He’s Knot with Me by TK Rapp

  Yours by Lucy Gage

  Just The Tip by Tessa Teevan

  The Wingman

  Copyright © 2018 by Amber Maxwell and Amber L. Johnson

  Cover Art by Amber Maxwell

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Simon is scanning the tropical bar, looking for someone to go home with on our last night in Cancun. It won’t be hard for him. It hasn’t been hard for him to find an errant hookup here and there over the last week while we’ve been on vacation, his spring break, as he calls it. I’ve never had the luxury of such a thing until now. Persuading my father to let me come to America to meet my cousin was hard enough. I wasn’t going to mention that he wanted to take me on what would be described as a hedonistic week of American debauchery. I’m keeping it, as Simon would say, on the down low.

  “How about that one?” He asks, pointing his almost-empty drink glass toward the front of the bar. Perched atop a couple of stools are two very different looking women. One is dark and tan, her confidence shining through with each sweep of her eyes across the crowd of sweaty bodies dancing to the techno beat provided by the DJ I cannot see. The other is fair skinned and red-headed, though it appears she’s got a bit of a glow to her as well. I’m momentarily struck by her natural beauty amidst the overdrawn eyebrows and lips of the rest of the bar-goers. For one short, selfish moment, I hope Simon is pointing to her friend.

  Straightening my shoulders, I nod once. “Which one?”

  “I’m not into gingers, so obviously the brunette,” he counters and finishes his drink quickly. Before he takes a step forward, I reach for his arm.

  “Would you mind if I took a turn on this one? I could be your birdman. Get in with her friend first before you insult her and get a drink thrown in your face.”

  His blue eyes almost close when he laughs at my faux-pas. “Wingman. Like, you’re flanking my side to get me into … you know what? It doesn’t matter what it means. It’s just wingman. Not birdman. You’d think with all that fancy schooling you had, you’d know more stuff.”

  “Our schools are in the top 10 percent in the world. You don’t have the luxury of saying such things.”

  He groans and messes with his dark hair. “Here’s a tip: don’t spew facts if you get a girl tonight.”

  “But I’m a facts machine,” I say and smile before I take another drink from my glass.

  “See? That’s what...this is why you should leave the talking to me. You say facts machine and all the girl hears is fax machine. It has a totally different meaning to American girls than…”

  “Is it not a machine that gives facts?”

  “NO, it faxes.”

  “That’s not a thing.” I wave my hand at him and sigh. “You’re confusing on purpose.” Besides the annoying changes in tense, and the differences between words that sound the same but are spelled differently such as there, their, and they’re, now Simon is trying to get me to understand some sort of unintelligible slang. I’m feeling flustered enough just thinking about walking across the room to speak to the beautiful girl who is talking so freely with her friend. My palms are beginning to sweat.

  “What’s your plan?”

  I glance up at my cousin and feel my cheeks begin to go red. “I go over and say hello and let them know you are interested in the one that has the brown hair. Right?”

  He frowns in concentration. “Sure, sure. But, be smooth about it. Maybe neg her a little.”

  “Explain?” This is another one of those times where he forgets I don’t understand his meaning.

  “Like, say something nice but then follow it up with a negative. They like that. Makes them feel like they have to earn your approval or something.”

  “I don’t like this plan…” I push my hair across my head in an attempt to smooth it in the humid climate.

  “Albie,” he says with an accent that sounds like The Terminator. “I’m not worried about whether you like the plan or not. We have less than 24 hours left here. Don’t you want to live it up a little?” He shrugs. “Tell her your name is … Bert. Say I’m your friend - not your cousin. And use one of your accents. Be British or Swedish. It’s our last night.”

  I am a master of accents given my European upbringing and travel over the years. My country sits between Austria and Sweden, my family owns vacation homes in London and Paris, so adapting to the dialect was never an issue. Until I flew to meet Simon. Now I feel like I can’t even tell what my real voice sounds like anymore.

  Simon nudges my shoulder and shouts above the din, “Make your move. It’s now or never.”

  “Victoria, we had a good time, right?” Gabby asks, clinking her rum and coke to my vodka tonic. “I mean, the trip wasn’t a total waste?”

  “Of course not! Are you kidding?” I toss my red locks over my shoulder and adjust myself on the barstool to face her. Shouting over the thumping beat, I continue, “It’s been a blast. Honest. And I’m walking away with a killer tan after only a mild sunburn. My freckles might be on overdrive, but no complaints from me.”

  “I’m glad.” She leans forward to speak to me at a more normal volume, her dark hair tumbling over her shoulder. “Truth be told, I was really hoping to get you laid while we were here.”

  I chuckle at my best friend. “I appreciate that. And I know. Thank you for being oh-so-subtle about it.”

  “Was it that obvious?”

  “Unless the daily pointing out of hot guys at the pool and the nightly introducing your super-awesome-and-available friend at the club wasn’t you trying to get my girlie parts some attention, then no, it wasn’t obvious at all.” I grin. “Was that a mistake on my part?”

  “Damn,” she mutters, mocking herself. “I’m really not stealthy at all am I? I’m sorry. It’s just ever since your break up with Troy, you really haven’t been the same. I was hoping you might be able to fuck the rest of him out of your system. You know, to fully move on and all that. Not a rebound, but more like a palate-cleansing for your sexy bits.”

  “I appreciate you worrying about my intimate parts and mental health regarding love. What would I do without you?”

  “Don’t read too much into it. I was more concerned about your inability to let loose. That was the point.”

  “I didn’t realize fucking was equivalent to letting loose.”

  “Okay. You know what I mean.”

  “I do, and it’s fine. My vibrator works fine. And I did have a blast. It was really nice of your parents to lend us their timeshare. I should send them a card or a pineapple upside down cake.”

  “I suggest the former. My dad isn’t a fan of coconut, and I have a feeling the desse
rt would melt in the mail.”

  “A card it is.”

  “So, here’s what I’m thinking should happen next.” Gabby downs the rest of her drink and then slams the glass onto the surface of the bar. “I’m gonna pee, and then you and I are going to hit that dance floor like two crazy and fun bitches making the best of their last night of fun. Deal?”

  “Signed, sealed and delivered.”

  “Good. Be right back.”

  Gabby rises from her seat and slips into the crowd toward the restrooms. Sipping on my drink, I gaze at my reflection between the liquor bottles in the mirror positioned behind the glass shelves. The Cancun humidity has had its way with my naturally wavy red hair. I now resemble some kind of an Irish bush woman, not that there is such a thing. No wonder no man was taking Gabby’s bait when she was dangling me in front of them. Oh, well. At least the weather has been great.

  “Hello,” a male voice addresses me, as he takes Gabby’s vacated seat, pulling my attention from my solo bar mirror stare down. “I’m the wingman.”

  My ears are piqued by the foreign accent. It’s not local, but British, or something like that. European for sure. Maybe a little French? Who knows? I suck at the accent game. He’s likely from Antarctica.

  Shifting my eyes in his direction, my heart does a little hop and then a skip. Then it decides to plummet briefly, banging against my liver, or maybe that’s the yearning for another drink. Regardless, I’m pleasantly surprised that this guy has the looks to match the voice. He sports medium-length wavy auburn hair, grey-blue eyes, and a lopsided smirk with the cutest crooked teeth, in a Tom Cruise-before-braces kind of way.

  “I’m sorry, you're what?” I ask. “What did you say?”

  “I’m the wingman.” He leans toward me placing one hand on the bar and the other on his knee, his broad shoulders squared. “You see, it’s my friend. He’s been eyeing your friend all night and doesn’t know how to make his move. So, I’ve been sent over to do some reconnaissance with her friend, first. It’s how these things are done.”

  “You don’t say?” It must be the heat or the drink, or possibly, his candidness, but I suddenly feel a little defensive and snarky. Who cares about the accent? I’ve basically just been called the DUFF (Designated Ugly Fat Friend) to my face. This is new. “And I guess I’m the poor girl that is stuck with the hot friend, and you’re the guy trying to get his friend laid and in exchange are taking one for the team?”

  “Yes?”

  “Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever been able to partake in such an honest negotiation for some guy to play with my friend’s vagina. Where're the hidden cameras? This has got to be some kind of joke.”

  “No cameras. This is real.”

  “No, this is a new kind of reality.” Not that I was looking to get laid, but Gabby’s failed attempts from earlier in the week are adding up to one big failure that points directly at me. I’m a pretty confident girl, but accumulated rejection hurts no matter what. “Talk about a total burn to my ego. I’m the go-between, rather than the prize.” I grab my drink and begin to rise from my seat.

  “Wait.” He places a hand on my forearm.

  “For what? The punchline? I thought you said this was real and not a joke.”

  “To be honest,” he says slowly, “I would have crossed the room for a girl like you.”

  “Is that your pickup line?” I snap. I’m irritated more than I should be by this stranger. “You’re confusing as hell.”

  He blinks those stormy blue eyes, and his face begins to panic. “Am I mucking this up?”

  “It’s pretty safe to say that your ship is sinking.” I down the rest of my drink and turn away from him. “You’re more than welcome to be on your merry way.”

  He sighs. “I’m sorry. I’m doing this wrong. I was trying to be clever and failed miserably. I would really like to get back on track and hopefully in your good graces. How do you suggest I go about that? I’m at your bidding.”

  I glance at him from the corner of my eye as he stares at me like some lost puppy dog. “An apology usually does wonders.”

  “Should I get on my knees?”

  “It’s not required. Unless you want to look like an utter fool. If so, then be my guest.”

  “Let’s try it the normal way first.” He straightens and zeroes all his focus on me. The crook of his nose is cute, I notice. “I sincerely apologize from the bottom of my heart. I never meant to insult you in any way. I’m not good at this. It’s kind of new territory for me. Not that it’s an excuse for being a bumbling idiot, but possibly a reason. Plus, you’re making me nervous.”

  I tuck the bush-woman hair behind my ears. “Nervous? Why?”

  “You’re just so…” He shakes his head and exhales heavily. His hand begins to work his jaw.

  “Do I make you tongue-tied?”

  “Um, maybe?”

  “That’s a first.” I snort. “Apology accepted.”

  “Thank you.” He exhales. “Anything else I can do to get into your good graces?”

  I shrug. “Manners and chivalry always go a long way with a lady.”

  “Of course.” He signals for the bartender who steps over toward us. “I would like to order my new friend here another drink. In fact, make it four of whatever she’s having.” He glances at me. “One for her, her friend, my friend and myself. I hope that’s not too presumptuous.”

  I lean forward to address the bartender. “My friend will actually have a rum and coke.”

  “Sure thing,” the bartender says. “So, three vodka tonics and one rum and coke?”

  “Yes,” I reply to him, and he begins to make the drinks.

  Turning to the accented hottie, I say, “If your friend wants to have a chance with Gabby at all, he should at least buy her the right drink. It would go a long way.”

  “Thanks. Much appreciated.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Bert by the way.”

  “Bert. How very Muppet.” I smirk and take his hand in mine. It’s warm and soft, but solid. “I’m Victoria.”

  His mouth twitches with humor. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise.”

  “Sorry about the wingman speech. I figured it would be best to be honest, rather than try to deceive you.”

  I raise my brows.

  “Not that you aren’t lovely because you are…”

  “You’re digging yourself a hole again, Bert, but go on. I enjoy being inadvertently told I’m not attractive enough to hit on and just a pawn so your friend can get laid.”

  “You’ve got it all wrong.”

  “Oh do I? Please enlighten me.”

  “What I’m trying to say is, well…I have to be honest. I would actually cross a room for a girl like you, but we all know what that means in a place like this, this time of year. It’s all about the one-night stand, and I don’t really think that’s fair to anyone. However, my friend, Simon, feels it’s a rite of passage for a spring break experience.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “I do. Sadly, it’s not the most admirable aspect of him, but I figured I should start with the truth and let you decide for yourself if you feel like subjecting your friend to my friend’s agenda.”

  “How…chivalrous, indeed,” I say with a laugh. “Oh, I think I have no problem with you introducing your friend to mine.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Of course. Simon sounds like Gabby’s type of guy.”

  Bert signals for Simon to join us at the bar. His friend approaches, weaving through the swarm of scantily clad and sweaty bodies until he sidles up behind us. Upon closer inspection, there is no doubt that Gabby will be happy that this one decided to send in the cavalry for her. He’s a bonafide hottie with a capital H. He’s tall, bronzed, and devilishly handsome with hair the color of charcoal and eyes that match the ocean. God was being generous when he made this male specimen.

  “Hi, I’m Simon,” he says to me with an American accent.
In other words, Bert is the winner in the sexy voice department, even if his words are suspect and off-kilter.

  “I know.” I smile. “So, you have the hots for my friend Gabby?”

  “Maybe. I like how you get right to the point.” He grins with too much confidence, but it’s kind of charming, or maybe he’s so drop-dead gorgeous it doesn’t matter what he says because he’s some kind of magician and I’m under his enchantment. “Is she seeing anyone?”

  “Listen, Simon. Here’s the 4-1-1. She’s available, and if you aren’t a total douchebag, she’ll likely give you the time of day. She’s cool like that.”

  “Good to know. I can do the no-douchebag thing.”

  Bert chuckles.

  “What?” I raise a brow at him. “Is your friend unable to avoid douche status?”

  He scoffs. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

  Simon playfully shoves Bert’s shoulder. “Hey. Thanks for the vote of confidence, buddy.”

  “What?” Bert protests on a laugh. “I made the introduction. What happens from here is up to you.”

  Addressing Simon, I say, “Just be nice to my girl or else I’ll castrate you.”

  “Duly noted.”

  The bartender brings over our drinks and moments later Gabby joins us from the restroom.

  “I leave to powder my nose for two minutes, and my seat is taken,” Gabby says, eying the attractive men that have taken up an ample piece of geography in our little space.

  “Sorry about that,” Bert says, rising from the barstool and offering it to Gabby.

  “I hope you forgive us,” Simon chimes in, handing Gabby her drink as she takes the recently vacated seat next to me. “A peace offering.”

  She sips her rum and coke. “Well, since you know my flavor, I’m willing to overlook you two gentlemen barging in on my territory. Besides, it looks like you were keeping my girl company.” She winks at me.

  Stepping between myself and Gabby, Simon makes his approach. “I wouldn’t mind learning more than your flavor.”