A woman from the bar

They both recognize the voice. Alex grabs his pants and puts them on. Jennifer ducks into the cabana and puts on her surf soaked dress.

Without words, they execute a plan. Alex moves swiftly towards the voice, as Jennifer slides out other direction, along the row of cabanas. When she reaches the far end, she waits.

She can see him talking to a lady from the bar. They do not seem to be arguing, and a few moments later, they walk in the direction of the bar.

Jennifer’s bare feet sink into the damp sand as she darts between the cabanas, the thin fabric of her dress clinging to her skin, heavy with saltwater. The night air raises goosebumps along her arms, but the memory of Alex’s hands still burns where they gripped her hips moments ago.

She moves silently, keeping to the shadows cast by the swaying palm fronds, her pulse hammering in her throat. The distant murmur of the bar carries on the breeze—laughter, glasses clinking, the woman’s voice she’d recognized but couldn’t place.

The wooden steps of the beachside villa creak underfoot as she reaches her room.

Sh operates the lock, happy she didn’t need a key card. Getting inside, she locks the door tightly, and her dress drops into a pool at her feet. She decides she needs a good shower to get the sand, the surf, and the scent of Alex off her.

As she allows the water to cascade down her body, she thinks about what she just did. She has never picked up a stranger at a bar. Then he asked what her students would do in that situation. She tells herself it was the **** that allowed her follow that thought.

Alex’s sense was the only reason she didn’t fuck him bareback. He was the one who got the condom, it wasn’t her prerequisite.

The hot water sluices over Jennifer’s skin, turning milky with salt and sand as it swirls down the drain. She scrubs at her thighs, fingertips pressing into the tender marks Alex’s grip left behind, the sting a ghost of his touch. Steam fogs the glass shower door, but she doesn’t bother wiping it away—lets the haze swallow her whole as she tilts her face into the spray.

Her breath comes slow now, measured, the adrenaline of the beach and the stranger’s voice leaching from her muscles. She shuts off the water, the sudden silence loud in her ears, and steps onto the bathmat. The terrycloth is rough against her soles, grounding.

Jennifer towels off slowly, the rough fabric dragging across her damp skin as she steps toward the fogged mirror. The steam clings to her body, tendrils of warmth curling around her bare shoulders as she swipes a hand across the glass. Her reflection flickers into view—flushed cheeks, lips still swollen from Alex’s mouth, the faint red imprint of his teeth on her collarbone.

A sharp knock at the door makes her freeze, the towel slipping from her fingers. Her breath hitches—too soon for housekeeping, too deliberate to be the wind.

She wraps the towel around her body, covering from her breasts to hips, and nothing more. She pads over to the door quietly, and looks through the peep hole.

The peephole distorts the hallway into a fishbowl curve, but the figure is unmistakable—Alex, his white shirt still damp and clinging, one hand raised to knock again. His knuckles pause mid-air as if sensing her gaze through the door. Jennifer’s fingers tighten on the towel. A droplet of water slides down her thigh, tracing the same path his tongue had taken on the beach.

She knows she has to make a decision. She could let him in, or ignore the knocking.

Her body is pushing for her to open the door, and go for round 2. Her brain is remembering the woman that called his name on the beach that she saw in the bar. The internal struggle was about if she wanted to be caught up in between them.

As she stood there silently, her mind was made up for her. Alex walks away from her door.