She moved to the center of the circle and gave Paul an arrogant I'll-show-you glare, her eyes growing glossy as all the drinks she'd downed relaxed her a little more with every second.

The music started and she swayed to the rhythm. It took her a few seconds to get the feel of it, but she started rolling her hands to the sultry beat, like the rolling waves of the ocean, or like a hula. Her waist rolled slightly, but she was just getting into the song when it changed. The DJ decided the song wasn't getting the girls excited enough. The next one was livelier and started out with a rhythmic clapping.

It reminded Rhees of drill team. She started clapping, slapping her thighs, and marching around the floor, military style. Even though she executed the moves with precision, people were amused with her interpretation of the music and laughed. She didn't notice anyone else, but she caught Paul's eye. His lips twitched as he watched and it made her realize how stiff she must look, dancing around like a tin soldier. It incensed her that she was only proving him right. The music changed. She knew the song and smiled.

"Six Underground", by the Sneaker Pimps. Rhees had been on a high school dance team. One day they were bored and choreographed the song, karaoke style, as a gag. She loved the song and started right into the performance; however, being intoxicated, she forgot to lip sync the lyrics the first part of the song. She promenaded around the dance floor holding an air microphone, singing, and dancing as though she were performing on a stage.

She executed the hip hop moves, popping her body slow and then fast, and then slowly again to the way the bouncy music dictated, and then out of nowhere, she stopped singing, spun to the ground and rolled around seductively without a break in the routine. She arched her back, and then rolled onto all fours, crawling gracefully toward Paul like a cat on the prowl, using her shoulders, bouncing them as well as various parts of her body to the beat. Her spandex dress pulled taut and relaxed again, accentuating her attractive figure.

It was hot, seductively hot. No one had seen such a thing at past dance contests. The spectators and the other dance contestants were so spellbound, they watched with their mouths hanging open. The DJ was so engrossed in her performance, he wasn't paying attention. The song grew closer to the end, but after getting back up once, she'd dropped again and gyrated exquisitely on the floor.

Someone in the audience started yelling at the DJ to change the song. Others joined in the chant to get his attention. If the song ended, the contest was over, and they wanted more, curious to see what the new girl would do next.

The DJ finally regained his senses and pushed a button at the last second, not caring what song was next as long as the contest continued. The song had a bouncy quality and Rhees grabbed Christian and started doing the bunny hop. The other contestants joined in and everyone laughed, but the DJ was frustrated at his mistake. It wasn't exactly what he wanted to see, and it wasn't soliciting any money votes. He changed the song again.

He ran through a string of songs, not playing them very long, but testing Rhees, wanting to see how she would interpret each one. She did the Charleston, the Swim, more hip hop, and some modern jazz moves to songs that most people wouldn't consider the right music for the moves, but she made it work.

She grabbed Christian again and broke into the cha cha. He happily went along with her, complimenting her on her style. The music changed again. The primal drum beat pounded and Rhees immediately responded to the rhythm. The song was "There, There", by Radiohead.

Rhees' style was unique and she didn't follow Christian's lead in the traditional sense, but his skill as a dancer helped him keep up and improvise so they both looked good. He stayed at her side with the new song, trying to look good as she ran through the isolation drills she'd learned in belly dancing classes at college. Near the beginning of the song, a long, droning sound, like a guitar being played too close to the amplifier, whined through the quality sound system at the Starfish.

Rhees lowered herself very slowly into a backbend and hung there, letting her hair drape on the floor to the pounding rhythm before leisurely raising back to a standing position, one vertebra at a time. When she'd righted herself again, she glared at Paul, who watched with amused awe.

"Stiff?" she mouthed to him.

The music, and the alcohol, carried her away and she was lost, Paul forgotten as well as everyone else. She let herself go for the first time in her life. She broke into a Latin ballroom style dance and Christian clapped his hands excitedly. He ran to a girl on the sideline, grabbing the fringy wrap she had tied around her waist over her shorts.

"Can we borrow this? Thank you!" He ran back without waiting for the girl's answer and barely managed to slow Rhees down long enough to tie the wrap around her hips. He offered his hand just as the song's intensity increased to the next level. Rhees took his hand and, with Christian to use as resistance, she swung her body more arduously than before. The fringe flew, accentuating the way her hips shimmied wildly.

Christian did his best to keep up. It took every bit of his experience, instinct, and senses to know when to support her, spin her, dip her, but he did it all with the utmost respect.

"Shakira has nothing on you," he said. Rhees didn't pay attention.

The song reached its final climax, and she danced feverishly, her face beaming as though she loved what she was doing and had fallen prey-lost-to a different world. As the song ended, the tempo slowed and she rolled her waist slowly again against Christian who plunged her into a dip and held her there through the final beats of the song.

That was it. The DJ knew that even Rhees couldn't top that performance, and he let the music end. The people in the audience applauded and started dropping money into Rhees' cup as the other bartender made the rounds with the voting tray.

Christian finally let go and congratulated her with a big hug, but then he turned to Tracy and Regina.

"Did you see that? Do you realize how much money we're going to get tonight?"

Rhees turned and took a step toward them but stumbled. It made her giggle and she couldn't stop giggling because, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't seem to regain her balance and straighten herself out. She thought Christian had slipped his arms around her again to steady her.

"Whoa, Christian. You may have to dance me all the way home. Apparently, I can dance, but I can't walk worth beans." She giggled.

She looked up and realized Paul held her up and not Christian.

"Stick up my ass, my ass! You ass . . . hole!" she slurred and giggled again at what she thought was her outrageous, but creative, vulgar insult. She would've fallen if it weren't for Paul's arm around her, and she grabbed him back for support. "I might be a lot of things, but I am not stiff."

"Yep, I was wrong," Paul patronized her. "You're anything but stiff. We just need to get you drunk more often."

Paul took her home.

Chapter 7.

Rhees' alarm went off, and she moaned. Not usually one to sleep in, today she really wished she had a little more time. She rolled over and moaned again. She was suddenly wide awake. She jumped up and barely made it to the toilet before she threw up.

She rinsed her mouth and turned on the shower, something she didn't usually do until after work. She laughed to herself. This was supposed to be a vacation. She felt extra grimy and needed to rinse off. She stepped in and her loud, routine gasp-groan escaped. The one that reflexively slipped out every time she voluntarily immersed herself in the cold water pouring out of the open pipe above her head. The islanders didn't know what a showerhead or a water heater was. Other people might not mind a cool shower in the hot, humid climate, but she'd never liked cold water.

She walked back into the bedroom with nothing on but a towel on her head. She leaned down to her duffle bag to pull out something to wear and noticed the wad of cash sitting on the table. It took a second to remember where it came from. There were too many things she didn't remember about the night before.

She'd won the contest and her personal take was seventy-three dollars, a dance contest record. A fifty-dollar bill sat tucked in the wad, which could only mean that one spectator had donated fifty dollars to one contestant. She closed her eyes and sighed.

She hoped it wasn't Paul, but then thinking about a total stranger paying that much sounded even worse. She hoped it was Paul after all. She put on her swimming suit and tried to decide what shirt to wear over it. She realized she was going to be late today. She glanced at her clock to see just how late she'd be.

"Nine forty!" She racked her brain, trying to figure out how it could possibly be nine forty. Had she hit the snooze button, like, a million times? "Crap! He'll never let me live this down." She raced out of her apartment and headed toward the shop, stopping once to throw up on the side of the road. "Never again!"

"You're late!" Paul growled.

"Dock it from my wages," she growled back. Paul turned away so she wouldn't see his grin.

"You missed tanks, and the bathroom hasn't been cleaned all day," he pushed. It was hard to say it with the usual crabbiness through the wide smile on his face.

"Sorry about tank duty."

Unbelievable, he thought. She actually felt bad about missing an opportunity for him to abuse her again.

"But even so, that darn bathroom is still cleaner since I've claimed the job . . . all to my freaking self!" Her voice crescendoed with each word.

"Darn? Freaking?" he ridiculed her.

She stuck her tongue out at him and walked toward the bathroom. He watched her, smile still in place, until she rounded the corner from the tunnel and headed toward the bathroom.

Tracy and Regina walked into the office from the main door.

"Claire, we have to go to the mainland tomorrow. Can you make sure you let Paul know?" Tracy said.

Paul walked in from the tunnel as they said it. "Why do you need to go to the mainland?"

"We need a few things we can't get here," Tracy said.

Rhees perked up. She'd been thinking the same thing and she finally had a little extra money. Paul responded before she could ask to tag along.

"You know I'd rather you didn't go alone. I can only imagine the trouble you two could get into." He chuckled. "Seriously though, I'd be worried about you the whole time. Let me see if I can get a group together, all right?"

"You don't have to . . ." Tracy started to say, but Regina nudged her with her elbow.

"Thank you, Paul," Regina said sweetly. "Will you be coming along with us this time?"

"I actually do need a few things, but I can't go tomorrow. Can you wait till the next day?"

It surprised Rhees to see him so genuinely friendly and happy.

"Sure. We are in no hurry," Regina said. She seemed a little too eager to wait.

"Okay, the day after tomorrow-safety in numbers and all that." He smiled at them and winked before he walked out of the office. Regina followed him to the door and watched him walk away until he went around the corner, and she couldn't see him anymore.

"Safety?" Rhees suddenly felt alarmed. Everyone left in the room turned to look at her.

"The crime rate on the mainland is frightening, to say the least. They had another bus hijacking just a couple of days ago. That makes four in just the last seven months," Claire said. Rhees had had no idea. She would have never come if she had. Claire must have noticed her concern. "Don't worry, Duck. Here on the island, we're completely isolated from all that shite."

"Theft is about the only crime you'll see here," Tracy added. Claire and Regina agreed. "You won't get mugged, but if you leave something valuable lying around, it'll likely not be there later."

"Paul doesn't like to let anyone from the shop go to the mainland alone. If he can't put a group together, he always makes arrangements for their safety. There's nothing to worry about," Claire said.

"Remind me to never need anything from the mainland. I'm not sure I trust Paul to arrange anything for me but my untimely demise."

They all laughed, even though Rhees didn't really think it was funny.

Rhees, Claire, and Paul were all in the office at the same time when Claire hollered. "Well blow me down!"

Rhees and Paul looked expectantly at her.

"We just booked a group. Six women from the States. Two weeks from Friday.

"Really? That's good," Paul actually sounded excited. Rhees thought his hatred toward her might be softening, not much, but maybe a little, because he'd started to slip occasionally and let her see some of his other personality traits. Besides ornery and pissed off.

"Yeah, they said they saw the blog posts. They can't wait to come and meet the famous Paul."

"What?" Paul didn't sound quite as happy as he had before. Rhees got up and slinked out of the office.

Later that day, when Paul walked into the office to grab a bottle of water from the fridge, Claire made another announcement. "We've booked another group."

"I heard earlier. That's good news."

"No," Claire said. "We've just booked another one."

There was a thoughtful frown on his face, and he sat down at his computer. Something he hadn't bothered to do . . . in too long.

Rhees sat on the deck writing in her Whine List when Paul slipped down next to her. She hurriedly closed the notebook that held her most personal thoughts.

"Want to tell me what you've been up to?"

"No. Not especially." Her heart beat erratically.

He pulled his legs up and leaned forward, wrapping his arms around his knees. "Where'd you get the pictures?"

"Nowhere."

He shifted his head and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. After what felt like a lifetime, he exhaled loudly. "Were you hoping to ruin my business with your . . . new approach-were you trying to get back at me?"

"What? Is that what you think?" Rhees sounded shocked and wounded. "I was trying to help. I would never do that." He exasperated her.

"I know . . . actually, I think."

"Every day, I read through the comments on our posts. Almost everyone that posts says something about how wonderful you are." She rolled her eyes. "The girls do, anyway. Claire mentioned that we need to book more customers-not just students. I thought, 'we should market our strengths'. I don't understand why, but you seem to make a favorable impression on people, especially the female clientele. They all talk about how they loved being here with you. They can't wait to come back again, to see you, dive with you, do . . . whatever else with you." She had a disgusted look on her face.

He had a serious look on his and shook his head. "I don't like it. You should have cleared it with me first . . . but I'm finding it hard to be too angry when we've got two trips booked in one day."

"I'm sorry. I know how much you like that-you know, being angry with me."

He smirked again. "Pfft! Yeah, my favorite pastime." They sat silently for a while.

"If I had cleared it first, would you have agreed with the idea?"

"No," he said. "But since it turns out you were right-I would have been wrong." He sat quietly for a minute. "Maybe you could post a few more pictures of the other people at the shop, and a few less of me? I don't want to be the only reason anyone might want to dive here. I'd rather pack it up and go back home." He winced at the thought.

"But four out of five girls agree, you are our hottest dive master. Just trying to capitalize on our most marketable asset." She batted her eyes, and he actually chuckled.

"Claire is about as happy as I've ever seen her. I always thought it was all about the diving . . . but you may be on to something. I like how you depict the things I love the most about this place. The daily life, the deck parties, the fun stuff . . . the people. But the diving is great too. So maybe you could try posting a few diving pictures once in a while. Don't you think?"

She nodded. Paul being nice to her-she remembered him being nice to her once, but it seemed like a lifetime ago.

He stood and then paused. His expression darkened. "It may have turned out this time, but it's my shop. You really should have run it by me first. This just shows you haven't changed. I can't trust you." He walked off.

"What is his freaking problem?" She threw her hands up in defeat.

Chapter 8.

"You'll never believe what we just heard," Krista and Dorene squealed as they ran onto the deck.