Benson’s ex-wife had the uncanny ability to irritate him with one heavy sigh. “This isn’t like you. You’re lucky I didn’t file a missing person’s report.”
“What are you on about? Be grateful I even called to let you guys know I was without my phone this weekend.”
“Yet you could still call me.”
“Because, as annoying as it is, your number is the one I still have memorized because you haven’t changed it in fifteen years.”
Syndey must have held her head away from the receiver to scoff, but he still heard it. “That honestly almost sounds like an insult, Ben.”
“It’s the truth. I woke up this morning realizing I hadn’t told anyone where I was going. I just want you to pass the message on to Drew.”
“And I’m tellingyouthat this is so unlike you. Really. What’s gotten into you, Ben?”
Did he actually detect concern in her voice?I guess there is still that part of us that cares about each other’s well-being.Just because they hadn’t worked out as a romantic pair didn’t mean they hated each other. Even without their daughter tethering them together. “I just really needed a break. Trying to be a bit more spur of the moment, Syd. So, I booked a super last-minute trip to an isolated Caribbean Island. Probably the same one you went to with Steve last year.” He hoped to God that was a lie, but how was Sydney supposed to know? “Didn’t even dawn on me that nobody has cell reception here. Not even satellite really reaches here.”
“Weird. Well, I’ll be sure to tell her that you’re unreachable until Monday.”
“Thanks. And tell her I love her.”
“Of course.”
Benson had to go back inside to hang up his phone, but he then returned to the deck, where he left his hands in his pockets and zoned out to the gulls swooping down from overhead and the shallow surf floating up to the shore. Not so far away were the yachts docked there for the weekend.I could be a yacht guy.He rethought that.
Maybe not.
There had only been so much he could tell his ex-wife, since it was absolutely none of her business that he was at La Mariposa, not that she knew what that was.I had never heard of it myselfuntil we were separated.And it took until the divorce was a sure thing and Sydney was out in public with another guy for Benson to pull the trigger on his first visit a few years ago. By then, he had already indulged in post-breakup one-night stands that had meant absolutely nothing other than he could still get some. But here…
This place was different. This was where a man came toreallyget it out of his system.
Benson couldn’t quite explain what had drawn him here at the last minute. Even after last night, when he shoved his dick in the most beautiful woman he had yet to see here, he wondered what had compelled him to pay extra for a cottage. The breakfast delivered to his room had been wonderful, of course, but he could get something similar anywhere in the Caribbean.Sydney and I loved visiting The Bahamas.He knew the resort they were members of still had his name on file and offered generous discounts. He could be there, right now, sitting among honeymooners willing to experiment and groups of young women “looking for trouble.”
But, apparently, he needed to be able to grab any woman he wanted and fuck her until his head was clear again.
I’m a barbarian.He logically thought this as he straightened up his cottage and changed into his workout clothes. Should he hit the gym in the hotel? Or go for a run on the path that circled the island?Somehow, I’ve set feminism back another thousand years.He caveman. He take woman to cave. He fuck her.
A run sounded good.
The heat was intense but pleasant when contrasted with the cool sea breeze. Benson sweated it out within two minutes, and he had barely passed the other cottages and the pool area. He didn’t steal a single glance. He was focused on the path in front of him, which was deliciously devoid of other people that time of morning.
All Benson cared about was clearing his head. That was what spurred him to work out back home, where he popped in his earbuds and listened to nonsense podcasts, nostalgic music, and audiobooks that had nothing to do with his lived experiences. Running, weightlifting, and even the occasional yoga class were the only ways he had discovered that shut up his ever-thinking brain. Well, that and sex, but there was no guarantee he’d have access to that at any given moment. And on this island? With sex everywhere, he needed his brain cleared of that, too.
Once he was past the pool area, the island opened up to more palm trees and some craggy rocks that jutted out into the sea. Out here, the only sign of life was the paved path lined with solar-powered tiki torches and a few open grass areas by the beach that would be perfect for relaxing with a book.I should have brought more books.But he hadn’t the time to pick something up from the airport, and he hadn’t thought to bring one. Why would he? He'd bebusy.
Years ago, he would be up to his eyeballs in women. Butterflies were out from noon to midnight, and even outside of those hours, Benson would be focused on swimming laps or working out in the gym. This time, though… even the thought of one woman a day before he left sounded exhausting.I’ve got it in me… I just…Things were easier to get into when he was younger. That’s all there was to it.
To be fair, there were memories all over the island. As he came upon when he was behind the hotel, where some of the unsexier utility work that kept the island functioning was located.No, not over there.He slowed down and stared at a patch of the beach where he once made love to someone who changed his life.
That person was gone now. But they had been on La Mariposa together before. It was hard not to think of anyone, least of allthem.
Nothing got him running faster than that.
When he came back around to his cottage, he hopped inside with the full intention of going straight to the shower. Except he was thirsty. The fridge in his small kitchen was stocked with bottled water, and the counter had all the tea and coffee a man could make. While another cup of coffee was being prepared, he grabbed a bottle of water and lowered his heart rate with a walk around the living room.
His eyes kept landing on the book of Butterflies on the coffee table.
That woman from yesterday…Brim, was it? He needed her name to figure out who she was in the book, because everyone’s faces were obscured and their exposed skin Photoshopped, probably to protect their identities in case any of them leaked to the outside world. All a guest could really discern was skin tone, hair color, and body shape. But at least half of the women were some combination of pale, brunette, and curvy. And while Benson loved a curvy woman, regardless of anything else, he still wasn’t sure he could pick out Brim from a lineup.
Oh, there she was. Eleventh page. Sitting on a stool with one foot up and a sheer white scarf held before her face. Her breasts were immaculate in her lacy white bra, but it was the dimple of her belly button that drew his eyes downward toward her gorgeous thighs. He had his hands all over them last night. Why couldn’t he have them now?
