All Inclusive: Third Day

I booked the honeymoon alone, and by the third day the pool bar knew exactly how I took my margaritas.

How it works: read, then choose what you do. Only the right choices earn the happy ending.

I’m Sophie, I’m thirty-one, and I booked the honeymoon alone.

Well. Not a honeymoon, technically. It was a ten-year anniversary trip to the Casa Coral resort on the Mexican Riviera, paid for in full, non-refundable, and booked three weeks before my husband announced he was in love with a woman from his gym. The divorce came through in September. The flights were still valid in October. I did the maths and went by myself.

By the third day, the pool bar knew exactly how I took my margaritas. No salt, extra lime, and a second one before the first has stopped sweating.

The man making them was Mateo. Twenty-nine, dark curls, a scar through one eyebrow, and forearms that should be illegal near a cocktail shaker. He slid my glass across the wood and let his fingers rest against mine a second too long.

“Same as yesterday, Sophie? Or are we feeling brave?”

“Surprise me.”

“I’ll try.”

Behind me, someone whistled. Two loungers over, a couple in their late thirties were waving at me with the enthusiasm normally reserved for lottery winners. He was sunburnt, huge-shouldered and grinning. She had a sharp dark bob and tan lines I could see from here. They’d been flirting with me, openly and hilariously, since Tuesday.

Mateo raised an eyebrow at them, then back at me.

It was four o’clock. My wristband said I could have anything I wanted.

→ I stay at the bar with Mateo

→ I take my drink over to the couple