12 Hours In Paradise Read Online Free PDF Page B

like it.”
    “I guess either way it’s not much fun. Is this where we enter?”
     
    ***
     
    The lobby of the hotel wasn’t really a lobby in the traditional sense. It was like the hub of a wheel, and the spokes radiating from the hub were open-air, upscale, custom mini malls that connected to bigger malls that led to other hotels. Whatever you wanted to do or buy or eat, you could do without ever leaving a building. But even when you were in a building, somehow you weren’t in it.
    Somehow there were trade winds that blew floral scents through the glass canyons.
    Somehow the beat of the waves followed you even into the souvenir shops.
    Somehow the soft, velvety night crept into the corners of the brightly lit corridors.
    “Karaoke.” Arash stopped in front of a bustling bar where hopeful patrons stood in line to be admitted. Through the enormous plate-glass windows, the video screen with song lyrics glowed like a beacon in the smoky darkness of the room. Shadowy silhouettes bent toward each other in the noise we couldn’t hear through that heavy glass partition.
    Arash and I burst out singing in unison and then looked at each other and laughed. He continued for a few more lines, but I just listened. His voice was beautiful.
    Smooth and sexy.
    Musical with perfect inflection.
    “Wow! You sing like a professional.”
    He just smiled and turned away like he was a little embarrassed. “Look, a ukulele store.”
    “Can you play?” I asked.
    But of course he could. Even the store owner was impressed.
    “We need to sit down and look at the next question,” he said after playing a few tunes. “Let’s find a bench.”
    But when we found one not too far from the ukulele store, a young couple wheeling a baby stroller claimed it before we could sit down. They looked like they needed it more than we did, so we didn’t complain.
    Arash leaned up against the building behind the bench and pulled out our rumpled “treasure map” from his shirt pocket. The shirt was beginning to look pretty rumpled itself. And I imagined my dress probably didn’t look a whole lot better after being doused in sweat and humidity.
    “Did I tell you the very last thing we have to do in order to test this theory of contrived love?”
    “Contrived love? How romantic.”
    “I only meant it was unspontaneous. Something we’re planning and testing for.”
    “This sounds like a science experiment. I thought we were on an adventure.”
    “We are. Without us, the adventure is nothing, and without the adventure—”
    “We’re not nothing. We’re a science experiment.” Arash looked so sad I almost believed he was. “I was only kidding,” I said. “So what’s the last thing we have to do to test the theory?”
    “Stare into each other’s eyes for a full four minutes.”
    “Can we just do that now and get it over with?”
    “Absolutely not. We have to answer thirty-two more questions first.”
    “Are we allowed to blink while we’re staring?”
    “It’s not a staring contest, so…yes, you’re allowed to blink. I believe it would be impossible to go four minutes without blinking, anyway.”
    “Arash.” I hung on to his arm, and he supported my weight. I surprised myself with my boldness. The strength of his arm surprised me as well. I’d heard about drummers having powerful upper bodies. Guess it was true.
    “Yes, Dorothy,” he murmured in a caring but comical way.
    “How are we ever going to answer thirty-two more questions before I have to go?”
    I swung around using the support of his arm until I was facing him.
    He leaned down and whispered so quietly in my ear that I had to strain to hear him above the racket of vacation warriors. “We have to talk fast,” he said, punctuating his sentence with a soft puff of breath.
    The hair on the back of my neck went wild with excitement.
    “Question number five…‘When-did-you-last-sing-to-yourself? To-someone-else?’”
    We both laughed. “Okay, maybe not that fast,” I