was a nerd. Just like most of her other dates. Just like her, according to some. But for now, she wouldn’t think about anything but having fun and doing whatever she damn well pleased. After a week of abandon and bliss, of mindless anonymous sex, she’d return to her hometown and fulfill her promise to teach at Oroville’s new middle school, total enrolment: one hundred and thirty-seven students.
“I’ve been looking for you.” Ginger came up behind her, looked in the mirror and let out a shriek. “Why didn’t you tell me my hair looked like that?”
“Like what?”
Ginger sighed. “Okay, so it’s always frizzy, but you could’ve at least told me about this.” She plucked at a particularly stubborn auburn curl that had broken free of the French braid Carly had worked on for an hour.
“Your hair is curly, not frizzy, something for which women pay good money, so get over it.”
Ginger lowered her hand and stared at Carly. “What’s got your panties in a twist?”
“Do you have to gawk at every guy we pass?”
“I don’t gawk.”
“Yeah, right.” Carly turned back to the mirror. Maybe she should have gotten a few more golden highlights. Her hair still looked awfully drab, not really brown but not blond either.
“I was glancing. I don’t have time to gawk. There are way too many fine-looking men here to waste time ogling just one.” Ginger got out her lipstick and re-applied a coat to her already orange lips. “Do you think I should wear my pink sundress or the yellow sarong to dinner?”
Carly laughed. “We haven’t been here for five minutes and you’re worried about dinner wear?”
“This is a singles resort, n’est ce pas?”
Carly stuck her comb back into her purse, and didn’t reply. She figured the question was rhetorical.
“The travel agent told us that most of the guests arrive on Friday and generally stay for a week. Today is Friday.”
“And?” Carly said as they headed for the lobby.
“Tonight is crucial. Everyone will be sizing up everyone else and starting to move in and—never mind.” Ginger shrugged and walked out the door of the bathroom, steering toward the reception desk.
“What?”
“You don’t understand what it’s like to be the only girl in the senior class not to get asked to the prom.”
“Bull.”
Ginger stopped behind three women waiting in line to check in and turned to Carly with an arched brow. “You, too? No way.”
“And how about this one? Going stag to a party and standing around while all the other girls are being asked to dance. You try to shrink into the wall pattern while you’re praying that you’re not the last one.” Carly dug in her wallet for the confirmation number she’d tucked in with her blood-donor card. “And if you get really desperate,” she continued, “you pretend you have to go to the bathroom, and then leave before anyone realizes you’re gone. Assuming they ever do notice. Ah, here’s the number.” She slipped her wallet back into her purse, and then looked at Ginger, who stared back in surprise.
“I wouldn’t believe it except you sound like one who knows.”
“I’m flattered you think otherwise. But that’s the sorry truth. The only reason anyone from school would remember me at all is because our graduating class totaled sixty-three.” Not totally true. Actually, practically everyone in town knew who she was, but only because of her father.
Ginger laughed. “What’s wrong with those boys back in Oroville?”
“Apparently the same thing as the ones in Tucson.”
Ginger got serious. “I hope this week isn’t a bust. I’m using all but three hundred dollars of my savings for this trip.”
“I know. Me, too.” Carly mentally cringed at the dismal state of her own bank account. She’d be returning to her parents’ home, back to her old bedroom—she hoped without the white lace canopy bed. Expenses would be low…but the nights as exciting as dishwater.
“Next.”
The woman behind the desk motioned them forward. They’d been so busy talking they hadn’t noticed that the line had disappeared. Within minutes they’d registered, the bell staff had been notified to deliver their bags and they were in the elevator headed for the sixth floor.
Carly took a deep breath and told herself there was no reason to be nervous. She’d planned this trip for the past year. This was a necessary life experience. It would satisfy her curiosity, and in some ways, it would provide closure. If she ended up an old maid like her father’s two sisters, at least she’d have this trip to look back on.
This week there’d be no rules. No second-guessing. No worries. She’d bask in anonymity and have the most mind-blowing sex of her life.
THE BALLROOM LOOKED like Mardi Gras in June with red, yellow and blue balloons floating around the ceiling. Others were tied to the portable bars set up in each corner of the large room, already crowded with bodies, tanned and disgustingly well-toned bodies, more bare than clothed.
Mostly twenty-somethings, Carly guessed, the ratio of men to women thankfully pretty equal. Except the women here were all beautiful, or at least confident, she noted as a blonde wearing only a micro-mini sarong asked possibly the best-looking guy in a hundred miles to dance.
The band had just finished tuning up and started playing “Night Moves.” No one else was out on the dance floor yet. A few people sat at tables clustered in the back of the room, and the rest milled around the bars.
“What did I tell you?” There could be no doubt that Ginger was blatantly gawking at the passersby. And not just at the men. No discrimination here. The women wore the more mind-boggling outfits. Lots of bare midriffs and diamond-studded navels.
“Oh, my God.” Ginger straightened, throwing out her chest. “He’s coming this way. No, don’t look.”
Carly had started to follow her gaze, but instead kept her eyes trained on the stage.
“Okay, now. Look. Wait.” Ginger gave her a fake smile. “Do I have lipstick on my teeth?”
Sighing, Carly shook her head. Ginger was right. This was like high school all over again. The way everyone sized each other up made her crazy.
A tall guy with a ponytail and gold hoop earring approached, and she held her breath. He passed them and asked a blonde in a slinky neon-pink dress to dance.
“His loss,” Ginger whispered, and went back to scanning the crowd.
God, Carly hated this. Why did they have to have this meet-and-greet anyway? She shouldn’t have come. She should have made an excuse and stayed in the room. Surely she could meet someone on the beach, or at dinner, or maybe in the bar. This set-up was too reminiscent of her past failures.
“Wanna drink?” Ginger asked, her gaze drawn to a
