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It makes sense since taking walks out around the apartment building when I’ve had writer’s block in the past usually works.
Well, up until this book when it seemed that no amount of walks around the block would help. I’ll admit that being here is inspiring me to write again.
Sheridan was right.
I just needed a few days and some new perspective to get my groove back.
We were a couple of hours into the dinner rush, with the sun setting outside of the large windows of the bar when I saw Seven finally walk back into the restaurant. I didn’t realize that I’d been checking regularly for the door, waiting for the moment when he’d eventually walk back in.
Marie took him lunch outside, so I hadn’t seen him in hours, and I couldn’t help but feel giddy when I saw him walk in just now.
Eating breakfast together was quick. Not only does Seven eat three times the amount that I do, but he also does it in half the time it takes me to eat mine.
Our conversation, although short, was eye-opening to a different side of Seven that I hadn’t seen before.
“Excuse me?” I hear a voice behind me ask.
It breaks my attention on Seven just as his eyes meet mine.
I turn to look behind me at the large U-shaped booth and the five top full of guys, probably around my age, sitting there. They look like the quintessential group of guys coming to Cancun for a bachelor party, though they’re a distance from the resorts.
Who knows? Maybe they got stranded like I did and had to find somewhere else to book a spot when they got here.
“Yes? Can I get you something?” I ask, stepping up to their table with a smile and setting my hand on the table.
Since my Spanish is limited, I haven’t been able to communicate as effectively as I would have liked with other patrons today, so I’m excited when I see my opportunity to grab these guys' chips or guacamole without having to ask one of the servers to do it.
“I sure hope you can,” says the guy sitting at the booth to the left.
All five of them smile at me while one snickers uncontrollably like he’s been overserved somewhere else.
Actually, they all look a little glassy-eyed, as if they’ve been indulging all day.
“What can I get you?” I ask.
The guy who got my attention lays his hand over mine. I don’t want to pull away immediately and cause a scene.
Some people get overly affectionate when they drink, and as long as this is as bad as it gets, I’ll be on my way soon enough with their order.
“My buddy over there is getting married next week, and he thinks you're cute.”
Oh no.
“Excuse me?” I ask.
I hope he’s not insinuating what I think he is.
I look over at the supposed groom, who’s laughing.
“He’s kidding… he’s drunk. Marcus, let her go,” the groom says with a chuckle.
“Come on, baby, it’s his last week of freedom, and I swear he’ll give you a good time. Just come back to our rental house with us," Marcus says.
I don’t want to make a scene in Rita’s restaurant, so I try to be as professional as possible about the situation, though I’m cringing on the inside and want to get away from them as soon as possible.
“I’m not interested. I'll go find your server for you,” I say, attempting to pull my hand back, but Marcus grips a little tighter and doesn’t let go.
“Are you really going to let this guy get married to the troll of a girlfriend he’s got without letting him have one last pretty girl?”
