Every Girl Does It

Chapter Nineteen



We walked back to the room hand in hand, me with a ridiculously huge grin on my face, and Preston with a smug grin of his own plastered all over his handsome face. All in all, it felt like a pretty great trip. I mean, we went to prison together, stole some celebrity identities…you know, the typical American vacation.

I was just getting ready to lean into him and ask for a hug when one of the hotel security guards approached us. “Sir,” he nodded toward Preston. “Ma'am,” he tipped his head toward me. Oh no. This is where we go to federal prison for impersonating celebrities.

“Do you happen to own a, um, hairless cat?” The man seemed amused by the description, making me want to punch him in the face, how dare he insult my cat!

“Yes,” I say timidly, not wanting to jump to any conclusions.

“Well, ma'am, the cat somehow escaped out of your room and is now in one of the nearby coconut trees. We tried to get her down, but none of us know her name. And well, we figured she was yours, since you’re the only guest we have who actually brought a pet from home to the Island. You see, we need to get the cat down, because it’s scaring the guests.”

“Scaring the guests?” I laugh. “How is that possible?”

The security guard shifts his feet and looks down while he answers, “Our cats have hair, ma'am.”

“That’s not even a good excuse!” I seethe, looking to Preston for help, but I don’t know why I rely on him for anything right now. He seems like he’s about to double over in fits of laughter.

“Fine,” I say loudly. “He’ll get her down.” I point to Preston and smile. “Won't you, sweetie?”

Preston shoots daggers at me then smiles weakly at the security guard. “Where’d you say the cat was?”

The security guard points back up to our hut then to the tree next to it. Sure enough, there’s a small spotlight on Mrs. Butterworth. She must be so scared!

I run over to the tree while simultaneously tugging Preston's shirt. “Can’t you just shimmy up there?” I plead.

“Shimmy?” He sounds doubtful. “You want me to shimmy up a coconut tree? How do you suggest I do that?”

I look at him and throw my hands in the air. “You’re a fireman! You’re supposed to be able to shimmy!” I know it’s a lame accusation, but Mrs. Butterworth is suffering.

“Didn’t know firemen shimmied, lady,” the security guard pipes in. I shot him a searing look. He steps away from me. “Good boy,” I want to say, but instead I look to Preston and start pouting.

“Try calling her first,” he says obviously annoyed.

“Fine.” I say. I call her name, but alas, she doesn’t come down. Then I remember the song I made up for her. It’s the only thing she’ll come out of hiding for. But I can’t possibly sing it in front of everyone. Not with Preston here, he’ll recognize the tune.

I feel my face get hotas Preston eyes me suspiciously, then cup a hand over my mouth “Little kitty, little kitty, you are so pretty, pretty, little kitty, little kitty.” It's definitely working. Mrs. Butterworth is climbing down. “Why are you so pretty, pretty?” I continue, this time louder, until Mrs. Butterworth is securely in my arms.

“I know that tune,” Preston says.

“No, you don’t,” I argue and walk away towards our room.

“Um, yeah, I do.”

“You don’t!” I'm full on yelling now.

Preston starts laughing so hard, I promise you he’s going to get a hernia, then falls over. “You made up words to your only choir solo ever? That goes to the tune of your first solo.”

I want to shoot him. “How do you even know?” I exclaim, stomping my foot.

“Um, I was there, remember?”

I cringe at the thought, of course I remember, I remember everything. The crowd, the applause, the turning down of the school nerd. It was painfully vivid, and I did already apologize to him.

“I don’t want you to apologize to me again. Seriously, it's fine. I was a nerd, I get it.” He’s matching my stride, and suddenly I don’t care about getting back to our room. I just want to hug him and tell him I’m sorry for yelling at him, but I don’t want to show weakness, so instead I let out a huge sigh.

“You can make it up to me later,” he says without stopping. “Trust me, you will, too.” He winks and walks off, while I stop and analyze every word.

“Where are you going?” I yell after him.

He looks back and smirks. “Giving you some alone time with your cat. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

I nod my head and walk to our room. It seems oddly lonely, as if a part of me is missing. Maybe I should marry Preston, and then I wouldn’t have to go back to a lonely room ever again.

I put Mrs. Butterworth on the floor, and before I know it, fall asleep on the couch. The warm sun woke me. Well, that and the fact that Preston stood over me like a giant, grinning like an idiot.

“What?” I grumble, angry that my mouth tasted just as gross as I felt after sleeping on the couch.

“We’re leaving tomorrow,” he says happily.

I glare at him. “Thank you for the obvious. Now leave, I have to get ready.” I point at the door, but he doesn’t move. “What?” I ask almost afraid to hear the answer.

“I switched rooms for the night.” His tone sounds serious and low, making my brow furrow all the more.

“Why would you do that?” I ask. No wonder I felt lonely all night. I was lonely because nobody was here.

Preston licks his beautiful lips and smiles. “It's just not smart to be in the same room, that’s all. Now stop analyzing me and get ready. We’re spending our last day in paradise together.”

I realize he brought the dog. I didn’t know what Mrs. Butterworth would do, but knowing her weird attraction to Preston, I could only imagine what would happen with the dog. Wonders never cease, I thought, as she curled up next to him and meowed. I need to find a better guard cat. This is bordering on ridiculous.

“Give me five minutes,” I call out as I run into my bedroom. One look in the mirror tells me it’ll take more than five minutes. “Or twenty,” I yell again before stepping into the shower.

Is it just me or do I hear him chuckling in the living room?

I smile and get in the shower, promising myself that today will be different. No more Angelina, no more pretending, no more reading other people’s texts. I feel great as I mentally decide on which outfit to wear for Preston. Who knew he would grow up to be such a fantastic guy? It's my fault for doubting the male species. I think women tend to beleive men stop maturing at the age of sixteen, which in some cases is painfully true.

I throw on some lip gloss and pull my hair into a tight pony tail. I’m not usually one for shorts, but today seems like a shorts and tank top day. I slide into my jean cut offs, which aren’t too short or too long, and take a glance at the mirror. I’m obviously tanner than when I arrived, which makes my eyes sparkle that much more. Or, I guess it could be love, too. I push the thought out of my mind the second I see my skin begin to turn an ugly red color.

“Ready!” I yell, pushing open my bedroom doors.

Preston is sitting on the couch with the dog, and Mrs. Butterworth in his lap as if he’s Dr. Doolittle. I smile and cross my arms. “You ready?”

He takes in my outfit and scowls.

“What?” I say backing into the room again.

“No, you look great.” He looks down. Is he embarrassed? “It’s just that–” He puts his fingers over his mouth giving the appearance that he is trying to keep from talking. “It’s not fair.”

“What's not fair?” I ask, totally lost; yet still doubting my outfit, because his look is sending me red flags.

“You look so cute and…well...” He pushes the dog and cat off and takes two long strides toward me.

“Well, what?” Seriously, I’m dying with anticipation.

“I’m going to ruin it.”

“What? Ruin what? What are you talking about?”

He smiles mischievously, then tightens his grip around my waist and pulls me into his arms. He brushes his lips against my mouth, and I feel like attacking him. Back down, girl, I tell myself as I struggle to keep my hands firmly placed by my sides.

“We're going to the sand dunes. You're going to get dirty,” he whispers into my ear. It tickles my senses, making me want to agree with whatever he says.

I laugh weakly. “Oh, I’m sure I’ll be fine. I mean, how dirty could a person get?”