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strangely.
    “Strike one,” I repeat.
    “And what happens if I get three strikes?”
    “Try me.” Changing the subject, I say, “I don’t think he’s into me anyway.”
    Trent leans over Stacy’s shoulder. “For a guy who’s not into you, he sure is looking at you a lot.”
    Without thinking, I turn and look. Sure enough, he’s looking right at me. I smile and turn away. I have to. “Can we just drop this, please?”
    Stacy mercifully changes the subject and doesn’t bring up Adam for the rest of the night.
    At one point, we move closer to the railing on the side that overlooks the street. A table has opened up, and it’s farther away from the music.
    I happen to take a seat that faces in Adam’s direction and the first thing I see is two girls talking to him. They’re smiling, laughing, one touches his arm, the other is twirling her hair with her free hand. Adam’s expression doesn’t change. His face is like a stone as he listens to them. I see him say a few words and find myself oddly curious about what’s happening there, when I see him shaking his head no several times.
    It doesn’t last long, though. The girls haven’t even been talking to him for five minutes before he gets up and leaves the bar.
     
    . . . . .
     
    The last thing Stacy had said to me when they dropped me off at home was, “You call me immediately after you hook up with that guy. No excuses.” I had laughed but otherwise ignored her comment. At least when I was awake.
    In my sleep, there was no ignoring the seed she’d planted. I dreamed of that morning I met Adam, him finding me awkwardly walking around his bedroom, but in my dream he appeared in the doorway naked. I wake up at that instant, feeling extremely turned on, with an aching between my legs that won’t go away. I look at the clock and see that it’s 5 a.m., and I don’t even try to go back to sleep. I lay there trying to shake the dream from my head.
    I try to run three times a week, but it’s not always easy to self-motivate, despite the fact that I have a very good reason for doing it.
    Weight was a problem for me in middle school. It started when my father left, and continued until I was fourteen and joined the high school track team. No one urged me to do it, no one shamed me into exercising, it was just something I wanted to do, and I knew I would need the discipline to keep it up. Making the team wasn’t easy, but being included in the track meets was. I ended up last to do everything. But I didn’t care. I had the practices, and that’s the reason I joined in the first place.
    I was lucky enough to get my weight under control that freshman year. I know many people struggle much harder than I did. I was never overweight, but I certainly wasn’t what anyone would call thin, either. I was pudgy. And to this day, I know that I’m the kind of person who could lose control of it again in very little time if I don’t tend to it.
    I don’t obsess over it, and I’m a firm believer that people can and should be happy with who they are. This is just my personal choice.
    When I get back from my run, I see that I’ve received a text from Adam.
    It’s the first time he’s used my number to send me a list of things he needs, so I’m surprised when I get it. Even more surprised when I see what’s on the list. Later, I add him to my contacts as I sit in my car in the resort office parking lot.
    When I get myself together, I make the usual morning rounds, checking on all the bungalows except for Adam’s. I do my morning run to the various shops where I pick up things people requested, then stop at the hotel restaurant for fruit, load it all into my car and make my rounds on the resort again.
    I get to Bungalow B, knock on the door, and the father answers. When I give him the bag of fresh bagels they asked for, I’m caught in the middle of a screaming match. Their two kids are shouting about wanting to go on the beach.
    The father sternly tells them no because