Twisted Sisters Read Online Free PDF Page A

off my bio. “Let’s see, born
     and raised in Chicago, attended Taylor Park Academy, then U of C, then Pepperdine,
     and I did my clinical internship at Northwestern Hospital. Had my own practice for
     a while, but now I work for
Push
.” Then I give her another polite smile and start to reach for my sunscreen, which
     is underneath my phone.
    I’m tempted to ask her where one receives a new age education but suspect it’s from
     the University of I Don’t Care.
    Deva stops me from grabbing my bottle of 100 SPF Neutrogena by laying a massive mitt
     on my arm. “You’ve told me what you do, Reagan Bishop. Now tell me who you are.”
    Damn it, why couldn’t anyone in my social circle join me on this stupid vacation so
     I wouldn’t be subjected to this nonsense? Wendy sprang for two plane tickets per employee,
     plus meals, lodging, and spa treatments, but no one could make it. I tell you what,
     if someone were to offer
me
an all-expenses-paid trip to Maui, you can be very sure I’d rearrange my schedule
     accordingly. But no. I heard an endless chorus of,
Aw, Reagan, it’s my busy season,
from Rhonda, Bethany, and Caroline.
    As for Sebastian, he said he didn’t want to give me the wrong idea about us if he
     came with me, which might have been easier to swallow were he not in my bed at the
     time.
    Like I said, the business with Sebastian is confusing.
    So now I’m forced to make banal chitchat with someone who sells dream catchers for
     a living. Yes,
this
is why I earned a doctorate.
    I reply, “I feel like I just told you everything about me.”
    Deva folds her legs underneath her and assumes a Buddha pose, her billowy caftan belying
     her slight figure. “Not even remotely.”
    I stall for time by grabbing the foo-foo cocktail served in the pineapple rind sitting
     next to me. Wendy’s arranged for a different tropical libation to be sent out to each
     of us every hour on the hour. I finally took one so the perky pool waitress would
     stop incessantly bothering me.
    I normally eschew alcohol as I don’t enjoy losing track of my faculties (unlike
some
people), but clearly these are extraordinary circumstances. I take the smallest of
     sips and the flavor is not wholly unpleasant.
    But before I put any more of this concoction into my body, I’ll need the 411. I flag
     the server.
    The college-aged girl in a powder blue polo and a white tennis skort trots over. According
     to her tag, she’s named Hope.
    “Hi, I’m Hope. How may I be of service?”
    “What’s in this?”
    She peers at my pineapple. “Let’s see . . . there’s an orchid, cherry, and pineapple
     garnish—got it! This is our pool bartender’s take on a Hurricane. They’re only available
     when Troy’s on shift. Delicious, right?”
    “That depends on what’s in it.”
    “Sure, totally understand. Okay, first Troy uses 10 Cane Rum, which is an artisanal,
     gold-medal-winning varietal from Trinidad. The name’s derived from their harvesting
     cane in bundles of ten. What’s unique is this rum boasts notes of pear and vanilla,
     so it doesn’t have the heft and the mouthfeel of lesser rums. Because this 10 Cane
     is crafted from sugarcane and not molasses, it’s most similar to Brazil’s famous cachaça
     liquor. You may notice some commonality to that of a caipirinha?”
    I shake my head.
    “No? Alrighty. Then we blend in fresh lime juice, passion fruit juice, pineapple juice,
     a hand-macerated papaya puree, and house-made simple syrup.”
    “Which means no high-fructose corn syrup?”
    “Never!”
    “All ingredients locally sourced and organic, I hope?”
    “Of course!”
    “Even the papaya?”
    Hope smiles politely. “I assure you, ma’am, not only is the papaya local, but it came
     from certified, nematode-free rootstock. We pride ourselves on serving our guests
     nothing but the finest! In fact, even the cane sugar was grown right here on Maui.”
    “And would you happen to know the farm’s policy on