PROLOGUE
SLOANE
Ifrown as I read the message on my cell. “Thiago isn’t coming,” I say, setting my phone down on the glossy black tabletop.
“Oh?” Mom tilts her head to one side. “That’s a shame. How come?”
I shrug, not caring too much either way. My little fling with the hot waiter at the resort has a looming end date, and it’s not like I’m attached. Although it was Thiago’s idea to come here tonight, and I should probably be pissed he’s ditched us, it’s not like it’s his fault. If he has to work, he has to work. “One of his colleagues is sick and he was on call, so the hotel made him come in,” I explain.
“That’s too bad.” She combs her fingers through her chin-length dark hair, nervously scanning the busy cocktail bar. “We should go back to the resort.”
“We’re here now, and we might as well stay since we’ve already ordered drinks.”
My gaze swings to the bar on our left. Three barmen are busy tending to a long line of thirsty patrons. A dazzling array of booze is displayed in illuminated shelving behind them. Music pumps out of speakers, and the guys sway their hips and flirt with the female clientele as they mix drinks. One of the barmen locks eyes with me, flashing a flirty wink and a matching grin. My smile is automatic. Latino men are fun, flirty, and hot in my—limited—experience.
This is my first Mexican vacation, but it won’t be the last. I’ve loved it here. The five-star resort we’re staying at is incredible, the food is delicious, the beaches are stunning, and we went on an amazing day trip yesterday to Chichén Itzá, learning all about the Mayan and Toltec culture and history, before stopping at a cenote—an ancient sinkhole—for a cooling swim on the way back. I wish we weren’t going home in a week. I could easily spend all summer here in blissful luxury—if I had the money to fund it.
My college bestie has been begging me to come to Mexico for spring break since freshman year, so when I messaged Rory to say I was down for spending our last spring break here, she was thrilled.
Tearing my gaze from the hottie at the bar, I cast a glance around the rest of the plush space. High gloss tables with matching stools comingle with smaller tables and larger booths. Huge potted plants are dotted around the dimly lit room. Overhead, twinkling string lights drape the industrial-type ceiling and flickering candles reside on every table alongside bowls of nuts.
This Russian-owned bar is a relatively new addition to downtown Cancun, according to my online research, and it’s a welcome one, judging by the crowd. There seems to be a mix of tourists and locals, and the servers are working nonstop delivering yummy cocktails around the room. There isn’t a single table free, and we only got one because Thiago comes here regularly and he reserved it for us.
“It’s safer at the resort,” Mom says as I spy a waitress heading our way carrying a tray.
“Mom, we’re perfectly safe here. You need to chill and stop reading shit online.”
“The state department advisory said all travelers need to exercise increased caution,” she retorts, wisely clamping her lips shut when the waitress reaches our table.
I thank her, and Mom pays for the drinks, her not-so-subtle way of telling me we’re leaving after this round. “Cancun is one of the safer areas, and there are plenty of US states with a higher crime rate.” I pat her hand. “Stop worrying. Relax and enjoy yourself.”
“I can’t help it.” She slides a cocktail in front of her. “It’s my natural disposition.”
“I have lived with you for most of my twenty-one years on this planet.” I cock a brow and grin as I grab my drink. “I’m well aware.”
“I think it comes with the territory when you’re a single mom.”
I don’t remind her of the seven years she was married because it’s a touchy subject. “I’m an adult, Mom. You did good raising me. Now it’s time to let loose and have some fun.” I lift my glass to hers. “A toast. To enjoying our second week and having lots of fun!”
“I think my idea of fun and yours are vastly different,” she teases, clinking her glass against mine.
“No kidding.” I waggle my brows before bringing my drink to my lips. I’m guessing I got my little wild streak from my father, though I have no way of verifying it as I’ve never known him. Then again, Mom got pregnant with me after a one-night stand when she was twenty, during a backpacking trip around Europe, so she definitely had some wild in her at one point.
“Oh, that’s good,” Mom says after tasting her gin cocktail.
“Yummy,” I agree. “Thiago said these are the best cocktails in all of Cancun.” The cocktails at our hotel are the one letdown. They’re clearly using cheap booze and far too much juice or mixer. These drinks are on a whole other level.
We chat as we drink, and I successfully coax Mom into a second round, glad she has relaxed and is enjoying herself. The irony is I probably worry about her as much as she worries about me. She’s only forty-two with her whole life still to live, but she seems to have closed herself off to the possibility of love. She has close friends she goes out with, and she adores her job as a teacher at the local middle school, but she refuses to entertain the idea of a relationship, and that makes me sad for her. I know her ex-husband broke her faith in men, but she’s been divorced over eleven years. It’s more than enough time to get back in the saddle. I decide I’m finding her a hot guy to have some fun with before we leave Mexico in a week.
“Sloane.” Mom clutches my arm. “I don’t feel so hot,” she slurs, slouching in her chair.
A stabbing pain pierces my skull the same time my stomach churns unpleasantly. “Fuck.” I have a bad feeling about this, but I’m damned if I’m letting us become a statistic. My panicked eyes dart around the room, my gaze connecting with the same barman from earlier. This time, the look he gives me sends ice-cold chills racing through my body, and I know my assumption is correct.
“We need to get out of here.” I toss some bills on the table to cover our last round and help Mom out of her seat. She sways on her feet, clearly in a worse state than me, and I wrap my arm around her back, keeping her close as I guide her toward the door, praying the bouncers don’t try to stop us. My head is pounding, and nausea swims up my throat. I hope I have enough strength to get us to our car before I collapse. Thank fuck I organized a car and driver with the hotel and made arrangements for him to wait for us while we were in the bar.
I feel eyes trailing my every step the closer we get to the door, and I’m trembling all over. My breath falters when the security guys at the door take one look at Mom and start speaking to one another in Spanish. “Excuse me,” I say, pushing past them. My vision blurs in and out, and I need to get us the fuck out of here now before we both pass out.
One of the guys moves to touch my arm, and I yank Mom past him. I’m almost fully propping her up now. “Don’t touch me!” I snap, and the guy holds up his palms. I maneuver Mom out onto the sidewalk, grateful when they let us go without further interference.
