Chapter 4: Poolside Gossip and Late Encounters

Sunlight pressed through the curtains, thin and gold, already warm.

Joe rolled over, squinted at the clock. 8:47 AM. His head felt stuffed with cotton, his mouth dry. The events of the previous night surfaced in fragments, Adrianna’s laugh, Maria’s dark eyes.

He lay still, let the memories settle. A knock on the door. Jeff’s voice, roughened by sleep. “Breakfast?”

Joe swung his legs over the side of the bed. The room tilted slightly.

“Give me ten.”

Thirteen minutes later they walked into the buffet. The restaurant was bright, clattering with plates and conversation. A chef in a white hat flipped omelets at the station. The smell of bacon hung thick in the air.

Joe grabbed a plate, loaded it with eggs and sausage and a stack of toast he didn’t really want. Jeff went lighter, fruit, yogurt, a single croissant.

They found a table near the window overlooking the pool, still empty at this hour.

“You look like shit,” Jeff said, but he was smiling.

“Feel worse.” Joe stabbed a piece of sausage. “You?”

“Not even close.” Jeff’s head lolled back against the booth, his eyes half-closed. “I feel like someone used my skull for a kick drum all night.”

He pushed the plate of fruit away, untouched. “Wicked hangover, man. I thought I was gonna die when the alarm went off.”

Joe managed a weak smile. “Join the club.”

Jeff groaned, pressing the heels of his palms into his eye sockets. “I don’t remember half of last night. I think I did shots with a woman from Quebec and then ... nothing. Blank.” He looked up, his face pale. “You?”

Joe tore a piece of toast in half, but didn’t eat it. “Same, pretty much.” Joe chewed, bought himself time. “Couldn’t sleep. Walked around. Found a bar.”

Jeff nodded, didn’t press. He seemed content, relaxed in a way Joe hadn’t seen in months. The sun caught his face, highlighting the new tan spreading across his nose and cheeks. He looked younger.

They ate in comfortable silence. The buffet thinned out around them, guests drifting toward the beach and the pool.

Joe finished his coffee, felt the caffeine scrape the fog from his brain.

“Pool?” Jeff said.

“Pool.”

They claimed loungers near the shallow end, side by side, towels draped over the plastic webbing. The sun climbed higher, hotter. Joe closed his eyes, felt the heat settle into his skin. His limbs melted into the chair. Jeff’s breathing slowed. Within minutes, he was asleep.

Joe drifted too, half-conscious, aware of the sounds around him, splashes from the pool, laughter, the distant thump of reggae from a speaker somewhere. Time became liquid, pooling and stretching.

A voice cut through. “saw him leave with both of them, I swear to God.”

Joe’s eyes opened. Two men at the pool bar, maybe forty feet away, their backs to him. One wore a red swimsuit, the other a faded blue. They leaned against the counter, beers in hand, talking loud enough to carry.

“Two Colombians,” Red Swimsuit said. “Dark hair. The curvy one was unreal.”

“Lucky bastard,” the other said. “Wish I’d gotten a look at his face. Must’ve had a fat wallet or a big dick. Maybe both.” Blue swigged his beer. “Should’ve gone earlier. By the time we showed up, the good ones were all taken.”

Joe lay very still. His heartbeat ticked up, but he kept his expression loose, his breathing even. They’re talking about me. The thought landed strange, tilted, like recognizing yourself in a reflection you didn’t expect. He looked over at Jeff. Still asleep, mouth slightly open, chest rising and falling. Good.

The men finished their beers, wandered off toward the beach. Joe watched them go, then closed his eyes again. The sun burned through his lids, red and patient. The day dissolved. They swam. They drank. Jeff ordered a second rum punch around three, then a third. Joe stuck to beer, pacing himself, but the heat amplified everything. By four, the world had softened at the edges. Dinner came at seven, burgers and fries at the poolside grill.