Martha impatiently glanced around the beach dance floor for the umpteenth time, wondering how the wind had blown in so many losers. She didn’t want to go home empty-handed.
Even though it was getting dark, she didn’t take off her sunglasses. For one thing, they gave her an untouchable appearance, and for another, no one could see where she was looking. Without a doubt, she was the hottest one there. But the selection of men that night was worse than ever.
She would have liked to have a few cocktails, but she didn’t have any money left after paying the bills. No matter, if worse came to worst, she could always approach the loud, sweaty guy in his fifties by the bar, the one who had arrived on a yacht and hadn’t moved from his spot.
However, luck didn’t abandon twenty-five-year-old Martha that night. A smaller group of similarly-aged friends, celebrating a birthday, had just arrived for sunset. The young men immediately noticed the pretty girl, who pretended not to see the noisy group. While seemingly staring at her phone, Martha quickly sized up the situation. Only one young man caught her interest. Paul, with his unbuttoned shirt, curly hair, and broad smile, couldn’t wait for the attractive Martha to look his way.
Within minutes, the two were sipping mojitos and hanging on each other’s words.
“I’ve never seen you around here,” Martha started the conversation.
“That’s because I’m just here on vacation.”
“How long?”
“A few months. I don’t really have any plans yet.”
Martha’s eyes lit up. A few months of aimless vacation meant a fat wallet. She playfully started swaying her hips to the music.
“And you?” Paul asked in return.
“I live here.”
“Do you rent?”
Martha was surprised by the intrusive question, but she didn’t want to back out. If he was a bit rude, so what? He could still be good for a few dinners, a handbag, or some jewelry. Nevertheless, she had no intention of revealing that she was living with her aunt, who had already asked her several times to move out.
“I own my place.”
“Wow, that’s impressive,” Paul marveled. He stared silently ahead for a moment. “It’s just that I’m looking for a place.”
“Why, where do you live now?”
“With a friend,” the young man lied. After all, the bench where he slept at night could technically belong to a friend.
He didn’t want to miss out on the girl. If he could prove to Martha what a devoted lover he was, she wouldn’t want to get rid of him for a few weeks, and even a few days near hot water and a toilet would be a huge help. He playfully placed his hand on her waist.
But years of experience and survival instinct had honed Martha’s intuition to near perfection. She could read between the lines like a true survivor. Because that’s exactly what she was.
“So, how’s it going?” Martha purred.
The loud, sweaty man in his fifties, the one with the yacht, motioned to the bartender.
“The usual?” he asked, turning to the girl.
Martha nodded.
“I’m heading to France for a few days with some friends. What do you think, would you like to join us?”
“Of course,” she smiled.
“Do you have any girlfriends who might want to come along? All my friends are refined gentlemen,” the yacht guy winked. “If you know what I mean,” he grinned.
“Of course… I’ll make a few calls right now.”