9

The next day was Wednesday. There was no normal midweek hump day because this wasn't a typical working week. It wasn't a typical holiday week either. The muscles in my cheeks were still hurting from a full two-hour debrief that morning. Billie and Sarah teased me until I slumped back on the bed exhausted.

When Billie started to refer to me as, Harpedo Foxy Smooch, I knew it was time to swap the confined oxygen deficient bedroom for the open air and more importantly the pool. A brief conversation with my mum confirmed that Lady and Gaga were both doing fine. I missed my animals. Mum was under strict instructions to send a minimum of three photos per day.

My heart exploded with joy whenever I saw Julia's name light up my phone. Who did I think I was? Kissing a woman on holiday like it was 2014, and I was fresh out of adolescence and snogging my way through Magaluf. I did that once in my pre-gay phase when I thought kissing boys was the "cool" thing to do. Urgh.

The kiss with Julia was more sensual than I expected it to be. It was the best first kiss I'd ever experienced. Ever. Which sounded more dramatic than it was. I'd kissed a total of eight people in my life, maybe ten if I included the game of truth or dare at Sarah's first engagement party. The kisses lasted longer than Sarah's engagement, so maybe they did count.

It was the only time I'd chosen dare and allowed myself to live a little. I'd needed five margaritas' worth of encouragement. Alcohol fuelled me exuded a different kind of confidence, and everyone seemed to like having intoxicated me at a party. Sober I was one household spillage away from combustion.

Julia always seemed to be doing something. If she wasn't on an excursion, she was doing some form of physical activity. That morning she was playing at the local golf course with her dad.

Julia

We should play?

Me

Erm . . .

Julia

It's fun.

Me

For who?

Julia

You can drive the golf cart?

Me

Now we're talking . . .

Julia

You get to see me wear super tight shorts.

Me

I need proof .

Julia

Butt goals.

(Attached: photo of bum in the bathroom mirror)

Me

It's a convincing argument.

She wasn't kidding. The pair of blue chino shorts were tight enough I would question her ability to walk in them, but she assured me they were a wonderful stretchy cotton blend. She made me feel giddy in an inexperienced youthful way. The kind of giddy that had me grinning beside the pool. I was sun-soaked, lethargic from the lack of sleep, and smiling at Julia's use of emojis.

Did I have a crush on Julia Hanlow?

It sure felt like it. I had this burning desire to see her again. I tried to relax, but every thirty seconds I would examine my surroundings looking for her. Did it feel more intense because she was unattainable? She lived 33 miles away—yes, I Googled it. It wasn't just a car ride up the M62.

I didn't get on the plane in the hopes of being swept up in some time-sensitive holiday romance, but Billie certainly encouraged it. The no strings attached element of a holiday fling did make it light-hearted. There would be no arduous permanence that so often caused me to shrivel up in a cold sweat state of trepidation at home.

This could work, I thought.

I watched the pool attendant drag an umbrella from God knows where to the far left of the pool where a very unappreciative couple sat waiting .

I sat forwards to offer my assistance.

"Shall I help him?" I asked.

Billie pulled on the back of my bikini bottoms. "Sit down."

"He looks like he's struggling."

"It's his job, Harp. He's being tipped for a reason," Billie said.

I watched him reluctantly. The couple didn't tip. I hated that.

The poor guy had just lugged a large pole as heavy as me in thirty-five-degree heat while wearing a long-sleeved white shirt and some khaki pants, and they couldn't even give him a tip. They immediately ordered two sets of drinks and some pool snacks. Also, without a tip.

"I don't like them." I sulked.

"I don't think they care." Billie laughed.

I would've cared. I also would've tipped.

"Will you stop itching like a dog with fleas?" Billie scolded Sarah.

"I can't help it! Everything is so pissing itchy," Sarah said whilst scratching so hard on the top of her foot I expected chunks of flesh and blood to appear under her fingernails. The infamous heat rash was travelling to every available part of skin on Sarah's body. There was only so much the twenty-five-dollar bottle of chamomile lotion could do. She moved to her knuckles next. The redness spreading along her index finger.

"It looks painful. Hold on." I ran to the bathroom, returning with a complimentary hand towel soaked in cold water.

"Apply this. It'll help soothe it."

"See, this is why you're my best friend." Sarah winked. Billie reached over the sun lounger and began slapping Sarah's left leg repeatedly.

"What the hell are you doing?" Sarah yelled.

"I'm helping. Everyone knows slapping an irritated area stops it from itching."

"If you hit my leg one more time, I'll throw you in the pool." Sarah hissed. I saw Billies face light up. She considered that a challenge.

"I've heard that can also soothe itching." She wiggled her eyebrows.

"Don't you dare." Sarah pushed Billie away.

I saw the mischievous grin on Billies face, and I knew exactly what was coming. She pulled at Sarah's arm. She skilfully shrugged the thin white beach shirt from her back whilst somehow knocking the sunglasses from her face strategically onto the sunbed below her. In one smooth motion she launched herself into the pool, turning the tables and dragging Billie in with her. The water splashed upwards around them both like someone had just launched a live grenade in the centre. There was a tangle of limbs as they fought to dunk each other under the water. The older couple across the pool looked up from their books and laughed.

"Harps, come here," Billie said, shaking her hair loose from her sagging ponytail. "Please, pass me my sunglasses." She held out her hands, her eyes were half-closed as she attempted to blink the sun cream away. I told her time and time again to get the water-resistant cream, but she never listened. I climbed from my sunbed and readjusted my pink bikini so I didn't let my boob slip for the fourth time that day. It was hard being a woman. I had to worry about strap lines, boob slips, and bikini waxes, and men just whacked on the first pair of flamingo shorts they could find and belly-flopped straight into the pool with zero maintenance. I envied that. I couldn't skip one day in my shaving routine for fear of looking like Chewbacca's sister.

The second I let my hand drop she had me. Sunglasses and all, I went headfirst screaming into the blue abyss. I should've known better. I resurfaced with water up my nose and my hair stuck to my face every which way, the hair I'd washed the night before. Thankfully, my recent love affair with faux eyelashes meant mascara streaks were a thing of my past.

"I hate you!" I slapped at the water.

Billie fell backwards laughing hysterically. Sarah, having forgiven Billie for pulling her in the pool found my demise so hilarious she could barely breathe. "I hate you both!"

"You should've seen your face." Billie was kind enough to re-enact the expression for my benefit. Although, I thought the way she manoeuvred her mouth and teeth like some bizarre TikTok filter was inaccurate.

"I do not look like that."

My curtain bangs were no longer framing my face as the hair stylist told me they would. I scraped at the strands of hair, dipping my head back begrudgingly to make it easier to clip up once I exited the pool. Billie and Sarah stared directly behind me.

"What?" I jolted left then right. "What is it? Do I have a bug in my hair?" I frantically shook my head.

"There's no bug, just a hot girl." Billie nodded. She grabbed Sarah by the arm and swam away.

"Oh." I turned to see Julia gliding down the small shallow steps like an astonishingly attractive ghost. She wore a beige swimsuit that accentuated her waist and cut down the centre of her chest. I wasn't sure if it was the illusion of the sun or if she'd purposefully covered her body in a shimmering oil.

"Hi." I waved, embarrassing myself, as she was no more than four feet away.

"Hey."

Julia descended to my level. She had on a blue Giants hat to block out the sun. The shorter strands of her hair poked out from underneath; hats suited her.

"I'm starting to think your friends don't like me," Julia jested.

"I wished they didn't like me," I joked. "I am more at ease when they swim away."

"Scared they'll embarrass you?" Julia smirked.

"Yes, exactly that." I took a seat on the steps leading down to the pool, turning so I could face the sun. "How was golf? Did you beat your dad?"

"I wish. He's semi-retired; he golfs at least twice a week. I don't stand a chance. I just tag along because he enjoys it." Julia swiped her hand back and forth against the surface of the water; the little ripples coupled with the sun's reflection created an artistic canvas of sorts.

"That's sweet. I'm a little sad you didn't keep the shorts on if I'm honest." It was the flirtiest thing I'd said in the past three years, which was partly the problem, but also extremely cringeworthy.

"I apologise. I'm not sure the golfer look is a Paris Fashion Week staple though."

"I agree. Stick with this girl next door look; it suits you." I squinted.

"Girl next door—" She grinned. "I've been called worse things."

"I doubt that."

"You didn't know me in middle school. In eighth grade I was known as, Julia No Jugs . "

I laughed so hard I could feel my stomach jiggling in the water. "I'm sorry for laughing."

"It's funny. I get it. My boobs didn't come in until the end of my freshman year."

"So, what is middle school?" I asked. The whole educational system confused me.

"In America we have elementary school, which is age 5–11, then we have middle school which is age 11–14, and then we have high school which is 14–18."

"I have watched enough TV to know freshman year is the first year of high school, right?"

"Correct." Julia nodded. "Do you know the other years?" She was testing my knowledge, which at times was poor, but my aspiration to one day move to the US pushed me to observe and digest all things American.

"Junior, sophomore, and senior? I know senior is the last year of high school, but the order of the other two I'm not sure about."

"You're right, it's sophomore first and then junior, but I'm impressed."

"My general knowledge comes from reruns of Gilmore Girls ." I'd watched the show from episode 1–153 enough times to successfully replace Rory as lead actress. Nobody would know the difference.

"If eating cake is wrong, I don't want to be right," Julia said. My eyes widened. I knew all of Lorelai's sarcastic quips.

"You love Gilmore Girls too?"

"Obsessed." Julia glided her arms through the pool bringing her a few steps closer. Intentionally or not, I wanted her to keep closing the gap. There was so much I wanted to learn about her.

"Did you always know you wanted to be a surgeon?" I asked .

"After I realised my dream of living in the Playboy mansion was over, yes."

"Is this going back to the ‘no jugs' comment." I laughed.

"It was a traumatic time for me. I had aspirations of being the next Kendra Wilkinson until my boobs didn't develop." Julia was trying to keep a straight face.

"Oh okay, so the backup option was surgeon?"

"Yes, I figured it was the next closest thing."

"Potato, potahto," I jested.

Julia unexpectedly reached forwards, palm open. "Let me show you something." I placed my hand in hers.

"There is a section of your brain that controls the movement in your arms and hands. Your brain's motor cortex listens to what you request, so if I grip your hand like this." Julia held my hand like she was about to shake it. "I am sending the signal to my brain which carries that signal through my spinal cord in order to activate the muscles in my arm and hand."

Julia placed my palm facing upwards and began tapping each of her fingers on my water-soaked skin.

"It's so easy and reactive for us to move our fingers. It's second nature. We take for granted how brilliant our brains are. It's so complex we only understand about 10 per cent of how it works." Julia pulled on each of my fingers softly with her thumb and forefinger. It felt like a mini massage. I was trying desperately to focus on the words, but the thrill of her touch had me hot and cold at the same time. The tingling sensation pulsated through my entire body with every little tap or pull she inflicted.

"My dad had a patient, he was a junior in high school, who suddenly lost all sensation in his arms. He was a big football prospect with colleges all around the country watching him. Several surgeons predicted operating would cause further damage; it was too risky. My dad ended up calling one of the best neurosurgeons in the country for help. Now, this guy had an obscene waiting list, but my dad went to medical school with him, so he agreed to look at the case."

Julia could've been speaking French. I would've found a way to oui and non my way through it, anything to keep her talking and touching. My stomach felt disrupted, like it did when I thought about riding the Nemesis rollercoaster at Alton Towers. Julia spoke softly; her voice was soothing. She traced the lines on my palm, occasionally looking up to meet my eyes like she was searching for something buried deep within.

"Long story short, this surgeon pulled off one of the most complex surgeries of all time. Against the odds he restored the boy's functionality, and he went on to eventually play in the NFL. There is someone every single day who is blessed and skilled enough to perform a miracle."

"You want to be that someone?"

"Yes, I guess I do. I was inspired beyond belief back then. I still am. I may not have realised the level of dedication required when I made that decision, but I wouldn't change it. I want to be able to be that lifeline for someone one day. When all hope is lost, I want to be a light at the end of the tunnel. I want to make a difference." The genuine smile pulling at her lips made me weak at the knees.

This girl was—unbelievable.

"It sounds like you have it all figured out."

"I don't know." She shrugged.

Julia slowly released my hand back to the water like she was laying a baby to sleep. I didn't want her to stop tugging at my fingers. I craved the physical touch .

We spoke in depth about her medical residency, and the obscene amount of studying she had already done, including four years of college, four years of medical school, and her ongoing seven-year residency programme. The community of neurosurgeons was relatively small, so the risk versus reward to qualify in such a competitive specialty was astonishing. Of course, Julia finished in the top quartile of her class in medical school with honours in all clinical rotations. She tried to explain subspecialisation to me and the difference between neuro-oncology and cerebrovascular surgery.

"I don't even know how you spell whatever you just said, never mind what it is," I jested.

There was no denying her smarts, but she didn't once make me feel inadequate.

"Okay, well inside here—" Julia touched at either side of my neck just below my ears. "You have what's called carotid arteries. They're a thick pair of blood vessels; they run up either side of your neck, and their main job is to deliver the blood flow to your brain."

"Is that why doctors feel there for a pulse?"

"Exactly, they're large, so they create a strong pulse."

I found it all fascinating. I wanted her to continue demonstrating. She nudged the peak of her cap upwards to reveal her eyes. The crease in her brow deepened as the sun hit her face. There was a faint scar on the left side of her face just above her groomed eyebrow. I hadn't noticed it the night before, but the way the sun's glare hit her face caused it to glisten. I wanted to kiss her again, desperately, but I refrained. The pool was quiet. The majority of guests were soaking up the midday rays on their loungers, and no doubt watching our interaction. Julia removed her hand from its position on my neck, but her touch lingered .

"The carotid arteries then join a bunch of other arteries at the bottom of the brain. This is called The Circle of Willis. From here smaller arteries supply oxygenated blood to about 80 per cent of the cerebrum," Julia educated.

"What's a cerebrum?" I asked.

"The cerebrum is the largest part of the brain. It's what controls your muscle function, your ability to learn, as well as speech, thoughts, emotions, etc."

"Wow. How do you remember all this stuff?"

"The eight years of education would be a waste if I didn't." Julia laughed.

The hard work allowed her access to a residency programme at the number one hospital in the US. This woman was touching me with hands that would go on to save countless lives. She was dedicating the better part of her younger years to a bigger and much greater cause. I was in awe of her commitment. My eyes roamed; I was aware Billie and Sarah hadn't returned. They were probably hiding behind a bush incognito.

"I assume you don't get a lot of time off during the residency programme?"

She shook her head. "Our programme has more than some, but it works out about four weeks over the year."

"So, this is your summer vacation?"

"Exactly. I'm here for two weeks. I will take another two weeks separately later in the year, probably around thanksgiving and Christmas."

Julia arrived at the resort the night before us. She had eight nights left. The inevitable end was looming in the distance. It felt weird thinking about the end . The end of what? This wasn't anything, nor would it be anything. I was a realist. I was old enough to know the no-strings attached holiday romance was just that. It was carefree. It was an adventure. It was a story to tell after a few drinks on our next girls trip.

"Enough about me. What about you? Did you always want to be in real estate?" Julia asked. She so delicately trickled drops of water down her sun exposed arms. I noticed a tattoo under her left arm, beside her breast, where the swimsuit cut down. It looked like a family crest.

"No, my mum is a real estate agent, so it was something I fell into quite naturally. My dream would be to work with animals," I said shyly.

"That makes sense."

"How so?"

"I watched the look on your face when you saw the turtles for the first time. Your dopamine and serotonin levels must've been off the scale." Julia grinned. I didn't understand the brain talk, but I found it to be incredibly attractive.

"I love animals. All kinds, even flies." I bowed my head. How embarrassing.

"Flies?" Julia smirked.

"I once tried for fifteen minutes to carefully remove a fly from my conservatory so it wouldn't suffocate and die during the day. I was late for work."

"I don't think flies can suffocate—" Julia laughed.

"Well, I didn't want to take that chance."

I was instantly attacked by a large flying insect that resembled a lizard with wings as I spoke about saving one of its distant cousins. There was no loyalty. I snapped my head back and flailed my arms like I was being attacked by a swarm of wasps.

"Erm..." Julia's mouth was wide open. My high-pitched scream attracted some attention from the couples closest to us .

"Sorry, I don't like it when they try and—" It came back for me again. I half-swam half-fell into the pool from my seated position on the step. "Why... is... it... trying to get me," I squealed.

Julia used her cap to shoo the flying dragon away.

"That reaction was."

"Dramatic? I know, but I can't help it." I sulked.

"No judgement, but I would like to see how you attempted to get a fly out of a conservatory." Julia laughed. Her lopsided grin revealed a quite enviable set of teeth. She placed her hat back in place, tucking the small strands of loose hair behind her ears. Her lips were lubricated enough that the glisten from the sun made them look like a plain glazed doughnut—my favourite. She had three distinct laugh lines that creased on her right side whenever she smiled. I hadn't noticed them until now.

"Do you have any plans tonight?" Julia asked.

"I don't think so."

"There's a special Mexican event taking place here on the resort. Would you like to join me?"

I hesitated. Billie and Sarah were nowhere to be found. "You can think about it," Julia added.

"I want to; I just want to make sure it's okay with my friends first. Is that alright?"

"They can come too if you like." Julia stood up straight in the pool. "Let me know?"

"Sure. I'll text you later."

Julia glided through the water closing the gap between us once again.

What is she doing?

I froze. My eyes flickered right to the only other person in the pool. She was oblivious of the gap closure. I was not. My breathing became shaky. I could feel my heartbeat in every limb like my heart had broken into hundreds of tiny pieces. Her body was close enough now that my averted gaze noticed the rise and fall of her chest. I waited to feel the coolness of her wet hand against my face.

Julia used her forefinger to brush a piece of hair from above my ear. "Got it," she said smoothly.

"Got what?" I sucked in a deep breath.

"There was a bug in your hair. It's gone now," Julia said calmly.

I refrained from freaking out with every ounce of self-control I could muster. My violent fear of creepy-crawlies was getting worse with age; only my best friends knew how to best approach a creepy-crawly incident.

"Thank you," I whispered.

Julia sunk into the water, so only her head and shoulders were visible. She backed away; the motion of her arms stroking backwards to aid her movement caused the dents in her shoulders to appear where her muscles contracted.

She was sexy. Period.

Julia oozed confidence.

"See you tonight." She winked.

She actually winked. The smize coupled with the wink, coupled with the wrinkle in her nose, was the cutest fucking thing I'd ever seen. If I wasn't floating in water, I would've lost the ability to stand.

"I think the concierge is in love with me." Billie said, staring blankly at her bed .

"You got another present?" I trailed in behind her. The beds were perfectly made up, our shoes tucked neatly away beneath the slate dressing table, our robes hung back on the wardrobe door, and our slippers were placed handily below. There was a small parcel in the centre of the bed wrapped up with purple tissue paper and a pretty yellow bow.

"Oh." I smirked. "Yep, she's definitely in love with you."

Upon finding out it was Billie's "birthday", Rosalina, the seventh floor concierge, had gone out of her way to make Billie feel special. In six days, she'd received a beach bag, a cap, a keyring, and numerous unrequested room service deliveries, including chocolate covered strawberries the night before. They weren't just any chocolate covered strawberries though, these were stamped with the hotel's logo and served on a bed of desiccated coconut. They were my favourite, and I was disappointed to find only four calyx remaining when I returned.

"She'll be upset when she finds out I don't swing that way."

"I think she'll be more upset if she finds out it wasn't your birthday," I countered.

"It's fine. I'll give her a big tip at the end of the holiday." Billie pulled apart the packaging to reveal a colourful Cancun vest top. She instantly removed her own T-shirt and replaced it with the vibrant equivalent.

"I can work with this." She modelled the look in the floor to ceiling mirror.

"That is so sweet of her," I gushed.

Billie grabbed two glass bottles of Coca Cola from the minibar and her latest top-up of peanut M I hoped Billie wouldn't remember when .

"What about this?" I slipped on my grey square front sliders and walked the length of the apartment like I was walking the runway at London Fashion Week.

"I love that." Billie paused.

"But—"

"Is that what you wore to your twenty-fifth birthday party?"

"Yes." I sighed.

"Oh. I'm surprised you haven't set it on fire by now."

"It's a vintage Dior dress, Billie. You don't just burn Dior."

"Sold it then. It must be tainted." She tossed a red M it landed in her mouth with ease.

It was tainted with the red wine stain I spent a fortune trying to get out before surrendering it to the dry cleaners for expert advice. It was also tainted with the tears of a birthday ruined and an unhinged relationship coming to a close.

"I avoided it for three years, but I don't think the dress was the problem." I brushed my hand over the bottom right corner that once glowed a burgundy red. The cheap wine stain was the easier of the two stains to remove. The deep crimson that had once splattered across the sleeve was blood, and it required a deeper clean, a bit like my life. After the fact, the red stains became double meaning metaphors. Don't drink red liquid around a light-coloured designer dress, and don't allow your narcissistic, obsessive ex-girlfriend to attend your birthday party in an attempt to remain friends.

"That night was crazy," Billie stated.

"It's the reason I haven't had a birthday party since, nor will I ever." I was adamant about that.

"You have to find a way to heal, Harp. It's been three years. "

It felt like yesterday.

"It's not possible. I can't subject anyone else to that."

"Your ex-girlfriend is your ex for a reason. You can't allow her to dictate the rest of your life; she's unhinged," Billie said casually. She'd relayed the exact same sentence in various ways over the years. Moving on was easier said than done.

"I lost someone I saw a future with because of her."

"I've told you a thousand times, if she had been the right person for you, she would've stuck around. You know that deep down."

"I'm not sure I would've stuck around."

My ex-girlfriend was my first girlfriend. I was the love of her life or more fittingly her fanatical obsession. Our relationship came to an end after two years due to our incompatibility and her unhealthy compulsive liar status. We brought out the worst in each other. She took the breakup a lot harder than I did, but I'd hoped we could find a way to be friends. How naive.

I eventually moved on and started dating someone new. I invited my ex to my twenty-fifth birthday party. We had a lot of mutual friends, and she knew my family. We'd been forming a friendship of sorts via text in the weeks leading up to it. I didn't want her to feel left out. It was in my nature to please people. We'd been separated for four months; I figured she'd moved on.

She hadn't.

The whole evening resembled something out of Love Island . Picture the most dramatic fall out after Casa Amor, but make it gay. It was chaotic. My ex refused to accept I was trying to move on. She refused to leave. She refused to stop drinking shots of sambuca, and she acted like I'd just walked back into the "villa" hand in hand with a new woman three days after our breakup .

She'd flailed her arms in a rage and knocked my glass of wine all over my dress. Ten minutes later she was yelling profanities across the table at my date before falling over in a drunken heap. She took the tablecloth, leftover buffet, and a bunch of drinks crashing to the floor with her. The broken glass cut her arm which caused red stain number two. My twenty-fifth birthday was spent in the emergency room holding a blood-stained towel to her forearm whilst my new love interest planned her escape.

I couldn't blame her. The next day I received a text message ending things. It hurt, but I couldn't say I was surprised.

"She doesn't bother you as much now. When was the last time you heard from her?"

"She texted me the day we left for Mexico, just saying she hopes I have a good time." I shrugged. The texts were less frequent now, but the fear and concern resurfaced every time I saw her name appear on my phone. How was I supposed to introduce someone new to my life when I still had the baggage of my past.

"You didn't tell me that," Billie said.

"What is there to say? I reply out of guilt. I'd worry for her well-being if I didn't, but she doesn't bombard me like she used to; so that's a positive. I'm sure there'll be a way we can both move forwards one day, but until then I can't put someone else through that drama." That was the reality. I was petrified of falling for someone new.

"You know how to get around that drama?" Billie wiggled her eyebrows.

"I can't wait to hear this," I said sarcastically.

"You date an American. "

"Oh really? Just as easy as that. I wonder where I could find one of those," I joked.

"This resort seems like a good place to start."

"What about the long distance?" I challenged.

"Love has no distance." Billie smirked.

"Pfft. You're crazy." I removed the dress; it needed steaming if I was going to be seen outside the hotel room.

"Besides, the big L is a pipe dream."

"It always is until you find the right person," Billie said.

"You sound like a Hallmark movie."

"You can't tell me the best movies aren't the ones starring your childhood crush actors from your favourite high school TV dramas cringing you out at every turn."

"No, you're right." I'd seen enough to write my own, except mine would've been LGBT+ friendly. The low-budget movies were a staple of the holiday season, but if the heroine could've wound up with the other heroine every so often I would've greatly appreciated it.

"Shit, I better get ready." Billie leapt up from her position on the balcony. "I've been thinking about all the material I've got to embarrass you—so I was thinking,"

Help.