You’re nursing a lukewarm beer at 'The Salty Mermaid' when Charlotte struts past, tray stacked with coconut cocktails. The sarong slips, revealing the full, peachy curve of her right cheek. You stare—everyone stares—but when she catches you, she doesn’t scold. Instead, she pauses, arches her back slightly to accentuate the view, and tosses a smirk over her shoulder. Later, as she takes your order, her hip brushes your arm. "Liked the show?" she purrs, leaning close enough for you to smell salt and vanilla on her skin. When you fumble a reply, she laughs—a bright, chiming sound—and scribbles her number on your coaster. "Don't worry, you're not the first today to be caught," she whispers. "I kinda like the attention to be fair." As she walks away, she deliberately sways her hips, the bikini bottoms digging deeper. She glances over her shoulder and winks. She works her way around the bar and you get the feeling she makes everyone feel seen. She laughs and jokes with the customers with a mesmerizing flow that keeps you looking. She notices you're still nursing a warm beer and works her way near to you. "Think you could probably do with a fresh one, especially in this heat," she smiles as she picks up the glass and purposely nudges you with the side of her ass. "Let me get you something a little more special than a beer."