Perfect for the Beach
“she said weakly as he staggered up to the table.“You—you—”“Care for a drink?” Rich asked. “You look like you could use one. Or five.”“Mr. Crusher, are you sure you don’t require an ambulance? I didn’t mean to intrude, but you practically fell out of the elevator. Pardon me for saying so,” Ken-the-manager stammered, “but you don’t look well.” Rasp-rasp, as he rubbed his hands together.Robin tried not to shudder. Cripes, hasn’t the guy heard of hand lotion? He sounds like a snake getting ready to molt. Or whatever snakes do.John grasped the back of her chair to steady himself. “I’m fine. Go away. Robin, you—you—”“Treacherous idiot?” Rich supplied helpfully.“You stay out of this. And don’t hug me ever again. Come on, Robin. Back to our room. Gotta figure this out.”Her eyes widened. “Really? You want me to come up?”“Errr … Mr. Crusher … I thought you were in a single for the week,” the manager ventured.“I, uh …”“Better check your reservations computer,”
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