Of course, Denver is standing on the ledge with his arms crossed, staring at me with a raised brow, forcing me to rethink what I just said. I’m starting to believe he’s been placed in my life to torture me, but I’m not sure what I’m being tortured for. I’m starting to wonder if he’d like me to act on my threat.
I try my best not to give him the reaction he’s looking for, which I know makes him crazy, but I need to focus on the pool.
“Excuse me, miss,” an older man approaches me. He’s probably about sixty-ish, with a tan that he’s likely been working on since March. The gold dripping off his body screams money. That is the typical type of clientele around here. He either has a dumb question about pool hours, where to find towels, or he’s wondering if I give private swim lessons. Of course, I could be wrong, and he could have an honest question, but I’m quick to judge after working here for so long.
“How can I help you, sir?”
“Yeah,” he says, leaning against the guard chair as he looks up at me. “Do you know what time the luau is tonight?”
“It starts at six,” I tell him. Thank God for my dark sunglasses so I don’t have to make eye contact with this guy. By the slur in his voice, it sounds like he’s been day drinking.
“Are you going to be there in one of those cute little tutu things?” I got to give myself credit. I called it.
“No, sir, I’m afraid we don’t wear tutus at a luau.”
“That’s too bad,” he says with an exaggerated sigh. “You have the legs for it.”
“If you don’t mind, I need to keep my attention on the pool,” I tell him. Creep.
“What if I was in the pool? Would you pay attention to me?” I notice he’s wearing a wedding ring, and while I know I shouldn’t counteract his behavior, it’s tempting.
I ignore his question, hoping he’ll go away, but after a long, awkward minute, it’s safe to assume he’s not leaving yet.
Denver has made his way around to my side of the pool in the time this jerk has been standing here, but I don’t want him getting involved in this. I can handle it.
“Excuse me,” Denver speaks up, but he’s looking directly at me. “Do you have a Band-Aid by any chance? My daughter cut her toe on the side of the pool. She has a blood phobia, so I just want to get it cleaned up for her.”
“She’s busy, kid. Get lost,” the man says.
“Are you kidding me?” Denver asks.
“You heard me,” the moron says. Shit. Denver really wasn’t going to start anything. He was trying to help me in a subtle way, and it’s pretty much the first time a man has ever tactfully handled a situation like that in front of me. I’m impressed, but this is about to go downhill quickly.
“You’re right, I did, but did you hear yourself? I’m asking for a Band-Aid for my daughter, and you’re telling me to get lost. That’s kind of rude—don’t you think?” Denver continues, still civil. Considering I’m seconds from losing my shit, I don’t know how the hell Denver is able to keep calm the way he is. It’s quite a quality.
“I know what I said, and this woman doesn’t want to hear about your daughter’s bleeding toe. I’m sure the front desk has a Band-Aid to solve your problems.”
“Very well,” Denver says. He takes Aya by the shoulder and walks her away from the pool. I’m not sure where he’s going or why he left like that, but with as much as I know about Denver by now, he’s up to something.
“Sorry about that asshole,” the man continues.
“You’re incredibly rude, and you just kept me from doing my job. You need to go sober up somewhere else, and you owe that man and his daughter an apology on top of that,” I tell him quietly.
“Whoa, whoa, there’s no need to get frisky, not here. I’ve got a room.”
“You have a wife too, and I don’t see a price tag hanging from my neck, so step away, sir.”
“No price tag just means you’re free,” he says, touching my knee with the back of his knuckle. Now he’s gone too far. “You have one second to get your hands off of me and remove yourself from the vicinity, or I’m calling security.”
I spot Denver out of the corner of my eye, leaning over the bar at the cabana, talking to Talon. I assume he’s handling the security call, but I have a walkie-talkie that goes directly to security.
“Look, just come with me for a few minutes. I won’t keep you long, but it will make your day,” he says. I lift the walkie-talkie and hold it up to my mouth, hovering my thumb over the button.
“Go, now,” I tell him.
He unexpectedly slaps the walkie-talkie out of my hand, and it lands on the cement below me. Now, I’ve had it. I’m allowed to use physical force if someone is threatening me, and he’s crossed the line.
I hop down from the chair, quickly grab the guy’s wrist, and swing it over his head, pinning him against the guard chair while grabbing his other wrist. “Is this what you wanted?” I turn him to the side and jerk my knee into his lower back, forcing him to his knees. I push all my weight onto him, as the side of his face meets the cement. “I need back up and security!” I shout from the top of my lungs.
