Pretty Wild

By Jennifer Watts

What happens in Cabo stays in Cabo...until it doesn’t.
College sophomore Bailey Linn thinks a little sun and sand at Spring Break is exactly what she needs to de-stress. But when a tequila-fueled dance contest puts her, quite literally, in the lap of a Southern frat boy, things get interesting. Cash Daughtry is the complete opposite of Bailey in every way, but she’s intrigued enough by his piercing blue eyes and playful accent to spend one uninhibited night with him.
Back home at Oregon State University Bailey is shocked when she runs into none other than Cash. Now for the sake of his career they have to pretend like nothing happened - a task that proves easier said than done. Bailey quickly gets on Cash's bad side and they push each other’s buttons every chance they get. She harps on him for his pretty-boy cowboy boot wearing, country-music loving ways and Cash gives it back as good as he gets it to the wild and tattooed Bailey.
Eventually they find enough common ground to call a truce but when their lives outside of school intersect, the same things that brought them together threaten to drive them apart. Their connection is undeniable, but is it enough to overcome their differences?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jennifer Watts
• Release date: Mar 21, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310306976

Jennifer Watts

Jennifer Watts was born in Vancouver and attended the University of British Columbia, graduating with a degree in English and Creative Writing in 2002. Jennifer has been working in finance for over 10 years and by day makes her living as a Bank Manager.Jennifer currently lives in Surrey, BC with her husband, two children and two dogs.

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Pretty Wild

Jennifer Watts

Copyright © 2016 by Jennifer Watts

Distributed by Smashwords

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval systems without prior written permission of the author except where permitted by law.

Ebook formatting by www.ebooklaunch.com

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

To the original U5; the zoo crew wouldn’t have been the same without you.

Contents

Dedication

Chapter 1 - The Goods Market

Chapter 2 - The Consumption Function

Chapter 3 - Foreign Affairs

Chapter 4 - Barriers to Trade

Chapter 5 - Aggregate Supply and Demand

Chapter 6 - Crowding Out

Chapter 7 - Exchange and Interdependence

Chapter 8 - The Multiplier Effect

Chapter 9 - A Quantitative Easing

Chapter 10 - The Marginal Propensity to Consume

Chapter 11 - Models of Growth

Chapter 12 - Yield Curves

Chapter 13 - Division of Labor

Chapter 14 - Business Cycles

Chapter 15 - Monetary Policy

Chapter 16 - Inflation

Chapter 17 - Deflation

Chapter 18 - General Equilibrium

Chapter 19 - Gross Domestic Product

Chapter 20 - Cost-Benefit Analysis

Chapter 21 - Injection and Withdrawal

Chapter 22 - Price Determination

Chapter 23 - Real verses Nominal Value

Chapter 24 - Opportunity Costs

Chapter 25 - Factor Payments

Chapter 26 - The Circular Flow

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Pretty Wild Playlist

Chapter 1

The Goods Market

There is literally a sea of flesh before me. Rippled abs, tanned biceps, legs lathered with coconut oil and more than a few sets of breasts bordering on full nip slip. It is both awesome and a little disgusting at the same time.

I elbow my way through the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd that reeks of sunscreen, sweat and tequila salt, until I reach the front of the open-air club. I pause at the top of the stairs, hoping that my girls managed to grab a table while I was in the bathroom, only to be momentarily distracted by the stunning view of the sea that stretches all the way out to meet the tip of Land’s End. It is the kind of postcard-worthy turquoise water that fades into navy blue ocean. Medano beach sits on a sheltered bay, making it one of the only beaches in Cabo that is calm enough to swim at.

I scan the green and orange umbrellas that shade the white plastic tables perched on the sand in search of my friends. When I spot a flash of Katie’s fiery red hair I take the stairs two at a time. As soon as my feet hit the warm, grainy sand I head toward the beach. I’m almost at our table when a booming voice stops me in my tracks.

Welcome to the Mango Deck, Spring Breakers! One of the waiters dressed in a bright green shirt is standing on a raised platform stage and he is shouting into a microphone. "It’s almost time for our sexy dance contest, so if I can have all of the beautiful ladies, las chicas bonitas, to the front please. And a reminder to you all that what happens in Cabo stays in Cabo!"

An enthusiastic cheer ripples through the crowd and I take a second glance at the stage before making my way to the table and flopping down into one of the empty plastic chairs.

Took you long enough, Katie says. Did you meet someone on the way?

Not likely, I scoff. And of course it took a long time - it’s a women’s bathroom and it was the usual scene: one chick puking, one crying and two hugging, I add, shrugging.

Don’t call girls chicks, Miranda pipes up. It’s objectifying.

I’m sure she didn’t mean anything by it, Devon, ever the harmonizer, says.

Well, I’m about to get me some of that objectification, Katie says snorting. I’m going to enter that contest. At five foot ten, she’s already a commanding presence, but add that to her boisterous personality and voluptuous curves, and she is almost always the center of attention.

Care to join me, Bailey? She gets to her feet while simultaneously adjusting the wide straps on her retro polka dot bikini.

Not a chance, I laugh. Besides, with you up there, I don’t think anyone will be interested in what I have to offer. Though it’s kind of self-effacing, I mean what I say. Despite being a little overweight, Katie wears her round hips and full thighs well, not to mention that she has the kind of chest that people pay good money for.

I can’t believe that’s all you have to say to her! Miranda yells. You should be saying no because this ridiculous sexy dance contest is like a mating ritual for douchebags and it completely objectifies young women! Miranda, or Mir as we call her, has a lot of opinions about things she doesn’t like - probably the Journalism major in her. And while she can be shrewish at times, her dry humor and acerbic wit made us all fall in love with her from the start. Ironically, she would probably be the best contestant for the dance contest, given the totally rocking bod she’s hiding under her modest one-piece swimsuit. She has a body like a ballet dancer; both fine-boned and elegant.

Of course girls are being objectified! Katie says, throwing up her hands. Just look around, Mir. These babes are asking to be stared at, and the ones that aren’t getting any attention have already gone back to their rooms sunburned and sad.

Miranda shakes out her dark bob and pushes her glasses up her nose. Sometimes it’s like I don’t even know you.

I look over at our fourth musketeer, Devon. Are you going to weigh in on any of this?

Nope. Devon tips her head back and polishes off the last of her beer. Besides, I’m getting drunk and we all know that drinking and opinions should never be mixed.

Come on, help me with these two…pretty please? I beg, but Devon just laughs. I seriously have no opinion on the matter. Now if it was a beach soccer contest… she trails off. Anything to do with sports is Devon’s life, and in addition to being uber-athletic, she’s also the kind of gorgeous that automatically turns heads. She was a gymnast growing up and has legs for days and a head full of long blond hair with her signature streak of blue. Watching her slam back Coronas without a care in her racer back top and boy shorts, I’m betting that she’s wishing she were somewhere else right now, since bars aren’t really her thing.

Someone looking at the four of us together might wonder how we ended up friends, but I don’t even give it a second thought. We were all thrust together as freshmen at the University of Oregon by the magical cosmos otherwise known as student housing, and we never looked back. In fact, despite our differences, we bonded so quickly that the haters actually gave us a name. It started as general bitching - you four always do this or you four always do that - so rather than fight it we owned it, and we now proudly call ourselves the U4. Now, as sophomores, it’s our first time doing a Spring break trip together, and apparently Katie wants to do it up right.

As she and Miranda continue to bicker, I lean back in my chair and look up at the cloudless sky. It is screaming hot out and being so close to the DJ booth means that the music is literally vibrating in my ears. I rub my temples as their sociological argument escalates and I finally snap.

Fine, I’ll do it. I’ll enter the contest with you.

Katie jumps up and down, clapping her hands. Yes! she yells, fist-pumping the air.

Why? Miranda says, sounding a little wounded.

Honestly? Because the four of us are in Mexico and I want this conversation to be over. Before she can respond, I am on my feet and following Katie to the front of the stage. One of the waiters dressed in all-white gives me a wide smile and pulls me up onto the stage with one hand. When I spot the row of plastic lawn chairs filled with shirtless guys, I immediately try to hop back down, but Katie is right behind me holding my waist.

Isn’t this the best? she squeals. I don’t know what I expected, but now that my brain has caught up with my impulses, I want out. I whirl around to face her.

Maybe this isn’t such a good idea. I try to pry her arms from around my waist but she just walks me closer toward the stage. I turn around and try to reason with her but when I do, I back right into one of the chairs. I lose my balance and land with an ‘oomph’ in someone’s lap.

Relax, a deep, strange-sounding voice rumbles. I’ve got you, cher. I look down as a pair of thick, tanned arms wrap around me. I stare for a second at the neon purple hotel wrist band looped around one wrist before pushing against his hands and jumping to my feet.

Sorry, I mumble.

I’m not, he says.

Cute. But who’s Cher? I ask.

I reckon you are, he says as his thick southern accent reveals itself.

I whirl around and really look at him then. Even sprawled out in the plastic chair, it’s clear that he’s tall. He has a deep tan and eyes so blue they match the ocean behind him. He’s in great shape and his wide chest tapers down to a pair of red and white swim trunks that look way too short for his long, muscular legs. All-together, the package can best be described as Cajun exotic - kind of like he paddled a raft up the bayou to get here.

What’s with the short shorts? I ask.

All the boys are wearing them. It’s the house colors, he explains and the minute he says ‘house colors’ I cringe.

So you’re a frat boy, I reply, scrunching my nose up in distaste. He has a multi-colored Cabo San Lucas headband holding back his jet-black hair that on anyone else would look ridiculous, but somehow on him looks hot.

His eyes light up at my comment and he laughs. I’m no boy, cher. And I don’t think you should hold my drawers against me just because you have something against Greek life, he adds, and I try not to react to the cute way he says drawers like ‘drawz’.

It’s more than something, I say, snorting. It’s pretty much everything. I am surprised to hear that he’s in a frat since he seems a little bit older than the other red and white shorts on stage, but mostly I am irritated with myself that I’ve checked him out so hard. He flashes me a smile that reveals his bright white teeth and I notice that the front one is just a little bit crooked.

Well, frat or no frat, you’re on stage, so why don’t you shake it for me, pretty girl?

At the term ‘pretty girl’ I roll my eyes, and not because I don’t think I’m pretty - I get by just fine - but because there is no way in hell that a frat boy from the South could be interested in me. I’m from Portland; I like dim sum, longboarding, and indie rock. I have a nose ring and a half-sleeve tattoo of flowers that I designed myself scrawled from shoulder to elbow. At five foot seven, I’m not particularly tall or short, and I have a lean frame with decent legs and only a handful of chest - not like the country Barbie’s I’m sure a guy like him is used to. Even my hair is different, in that it’s a dirty blond mess of waves that falls all the way to my waist.

I’m not your type. I’ll get you another partner, I offer, stepping away from the chair. I move to step off-stage but the contest has already started and the MC is hollering into the microphone. One oiled-up girl who is practically busting out of her triangle top dry-humps a guy at the end of the row as the rest of the frat boys in red and white shorts cheer. DJ Snake’s ‘Turn Down for What’ is blaring from the speakers and a massive crowd has gathered at the foot of the stage.

What now? Frat boy’s voice grabs my attention and I look down at him. Those big red lips, those hazel eyes, and that sexy low voice of yours with just a little bit of gravel in it? Mmm, you are exactly my type and you’re all I’m going to think about now. I like your little suit too.

I look down at my white fringed bandeau top and Aztec print bottoms. I bought it for Coachella last year thinking it was cute, but it definitely sticks out like a sore thumb here with all of the push-up bras and Brazilian bottoms.

Thanks, I guess, I say, shrugging.

My pleasure, cher.

I can’t help it; the way his voice stretches the word out like ‘play-jar’ and the way the sound rolls off his tongue both send shivers down my spine.

Now we have our fourth contestant: Miss Katie! The MC shouts into the microphone and a cheer erupts from the crowd. I watch with my mouth open as two waiters dump a bucket of water over my friend’s head. She leans forward and swings her long red hair in a circle before whipping her frat boy in the chest with the tangled mass. She grinds in his lap for a few seconds then spins around and drops real low so her polka dot covered ass is right in his face. Popping back up, she turns to sit in his lap and loops one of her legs around his neck, which earns her catcalls from the audience. The crowd goes wild when the MC calls time and there’s no doubt in my mind that the winner will be Katie.

And finally, let’s welcome our last contestant! the MC yells out as he bears down on me. When he reaches me, he leans over to whisper in my ear. What’s your name, chica, and where are you from? I reluctantly mumble my answer and he lifts the microphone to his lips. Let’s give it up for the sexy mamacita, Bailey, all the way from Portland, Oregon!

Sexy mamacita? I find our table in the distance and roll my eyes, hoping they can see. Devon is watching the scene with a kind of bored curiosity while Miranda is openly glaring. Knowing that I’ve dug my own hole and there’s no real way out of this, I turn to my partner and give him as confident a smile as I can muster. I’ll make it quick, okay?

Please don’t, cher, he answers with a laugh.

Mamacita looks like she could use some liquid courage. What do you guys think? the MC asks and a roar thunders through the crowd. A chubby old man wearing a sombrero and a shot glass holster appears at my side. He gestures for me to tilt my head back and I comply. I close my eyes as he pours the burning liquid down my throat. Oh great, I think to myself. Tequila. When he pulls back, I come up coughing, and he hands the bottle to me. He looks thirsty too, he says, gesturing to my partner.

I look at my frat boy and he just wiggles his eyebrows like an invitation, so I grab the neck of the bottle and pour the salty liquid into his open mouth. As I pour, some of the liquid runs down his chin and drips onto his toned chest. Damn. I lick my lips as I watch its descent thinking that he really is sexy.

A new song comes on and I do my best rendition of what I think a ‘sexy’ dance is before sitting face-to-face in his lap and wrapping my arms around his neck. Not surprisingly, my dance gets only a half-hearted round of applause. Sorry, I whisper, adding, I’m not a very good dancer.

I beg to differ, he chuckles. But do me a favor, cher, and don’t get up yet. He shifts under me, revealing his hardness, and I release a small gasp in response.

Oh yeah, sweetheart, you did that, he says, a wide grin splitting his handsome face.

I remain on his lap as Katie is christened the winner. For her efforts she earns herself a Mango Deck t-shirt and a round of free drinks for our table, which is probably the last thing we need. After a full day out in the sun drinking Coronas, I’m starting to feel the effects.

I climb off frat boy’s lap and rush off stage. I head back to the bathroom to wipe the sticky tequila off my face, and when I rejoin my friends I see that someone else has already beat me to it. I glare at the shirtless frat boy and cross my arms.

You’re sitting in my chair, I say, giving him the dirtiest look I can muster.

I missed you, sweetheart, so I just had to find your friends. He smiles and tips his bottle of Corona at me.

Miranda rolls her eyes while Devon smiles and shrugs.

Bailey, this gentleman who you were grinding all up on, his name is Cash. Cash is here with his Kappa Theta Phi chapter from Louisiana State at Baton Rouge, Katie explains.

Okay? I say a little rudely, raising a questioning eyebrow at him. How can I help you?

Well, cher, since you gave me a drink I think it’s only right that I return the favor, he says, but the word comes out like ‘fava’.

Smooth, I answer, shaking my head.

Thanks, he responds, completely undeterred. In all honesty, his persistence is kind of cute and it’s not like I’m ever going to see him again, so I figure what the hell. Besides, it’s been a long time since anyone has given me butterflies like the ones churning around in my stomach right now.

Fine, I’ll take a margarita please, I say, uncrossing my arms, and he jumps to his feet and grabs my hand. He pushes his way through the crowd to the bar at the back where he buys me a margarita and a tequila shot. Then we down another shot. And one more. Before long I find myself wedged under his chin as we dance sloppily together on the sand. Cash sings the lyrics of the song that’s playing.

What is this? I say, my voice muffled by his chest.

It’s called ‘Night One’ and it’s by Luke Bryan, he answers.

Whatever. It sounds like cats mating.

So you don’t like country music, cher?

Not even a little bit, frat boy.

We drink from plastic cups filled with the strongest booze imaginable, and the more we drink the more fun it gets. My girls are laughing and dancing and talking to the other Kappa Theta Phi guys but Cash refuses to let me out of his sight.

One of his frat brothers comes over and throws his arms around each of our shoulders, but in the process he spills half of his yard glass of frozen margarita down the front of my top. I yelp as the icy liquid runs between my breasts and Cash smacks him in the shoulder.

Come on, Tyler! he shouts and he seems really angry. I’m not sure if it’s because of the booze or the buzzkill, but I try to calm him down.

It’s not a big deal. I smile and close my eyes, leaning back to let the sun warm my face. I am in such a happy place that nothing seems like a big deal right now.

Let’s go clean you off, Cash whispers in my ear.

Where? I say.

Let’s go for a swim. He doesn’t wait for my answer and instead grabs my hand and pulls me toward the water’s edge. The crowd is almost as thick down by the shore and the throngs of mostly college-aged kids are laughing, dancing and drinking. The faint tinges of sewage and cigarette smoke linger in the air and the coarse butterscotch-colored sand feels amazing against my feet.

Cash shoves me forward and I shriek when the cold water hits me. It takes a few seconds to get used to, but eventually I dunk my head to cool off. When I come up for air I’m feeling a little more sober, and I turn to look out at all of the jet skis, paddle boarders and yachts that pepper the landscape.

It’s pretty here, I say.

It is, Cash agrees. But you’re prettier.

You’re lame, I laugh, which earns me a smile.

Maybe. He takes a step closer, grabbing my hand and tugging me into his chest. My heartbeat speeds up because my body knows what he’s about to do and it likes it. He leans forward and tilts his head, while at the same time slipping his hands under my butt and lifting me up. His nose brushes the side of my face before he traces his tongue across my bottom lip. Finally, his soft lips brush mine and I actually let out a whimper. His kiss is like a caress, one that’s both soft and urgent. His skin smells like suntan lotion, salt and man. I grip onto the back of his neck and he holds me steady in his arms. His tongue coaxes my mouth open and intertwines with my tongue. With my eyes closed, every sense and every sound is intensified. I hear the waves crashing into the shore and the strains of music thumping in the distance. When we finally break apart, I notice that both of our breathing is unsteady. He releases me, so I slide down his body, but he keeps me close in his arms.

We make out for a while like that, chest-deep in the water. I try to block out the catcalls and whistles that come from the passing beach vendors. I don’t know if it’s the tequila or the sun or the feeling of the waves lapping up against us, but his kiss is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. It’s sweet and spicy, languid and intense. It makes my tummy do flip flops and my body thrum.

Get a room, you pervs! Katie shouts from the beach and when I look over I notice that Tyler, the margarita offender, is wrapped around her like a blanket. Get dry and get your shit because we’re going dancing!

Less than an hour later we are all crammed like sardines into El Squid Roe, a narrow, multi-leveled party spot that Cabo is well-known for. The dance floor is open air and there’s a double decker bus inside. With its neon lights, cages and raised go-go dancing platforms, it’s the time of night when the place turns into more of a nightclub than a restaurant, and it is positively pulsing with energy.

A waitress comes around with Jell-O shots and we all cheer. We are lucky enough to snag a booth from a group that’s just leaving, and before we can even sit down Devon and Katie are dancing on the table. The nice thing about El Squid Roe is that the table dancing is encouraged and comes complete with whistle-blowing and free pours of mystery alcohol. Even Miranda looks like she is having a good time talking to one of Cash’s friends.

We are laughing and talking when a girl dancing on the table across from us stumbles and falls face first onto the ground with a thud. Two waiters appear instantly and carry her outside like it’s no big deal. Come to think of it, it’s probably something that happens here every night.

The music is crazy loud and the dance floor in the middle is jam-packed, so Cash and I decide to go up to the second floor to check it out. As we take the stairs I notice that people are bunched into every possible nook and cranny grinding with each other and making out, and I think it’s kind of hot. We get to the second level platform and I lean over to take a look. Cash stands behind me with his arms braced on either side. We watch, both laughing, as drunk guys from the first floor try to climb up the walls before being yanked back down by security.

Another waitress walks by with a tray full of blue-colored shots and Cash buys two, then hands me one.

What is it? I yell, my voice in competition with the music.

I have no idea, cher, he answers honestly before throwing the liquid back.

He backs me up until I’m flush against the wall then thrusts his hips against me. His mouth finds mine again and we melt into each other. The feeling of his strong body, the warmth of his lips and the sweaty heat of the club are almost too much to handle and it feels like sensory overload. I pull back and my head bumps into the wall.

Come home with me, he says, giving me a lazy grin. The intense look in his ocean-blue eyes answers the question for me before my brain even has a chance to decide.

Why? I exhale, though I know perfectly