Fantasy Suite, Interior. Night. Ian and Pink Flamingo kiss at the door of a room festooned with romantic cues, including candles and wine. The couple raises a glass. Ian: "To you and me. Me and you. And not holding anything back." No. Sorry. My dialogue wouldn't be as shitty as that.
Back at the big bounce, Chad climbs over a boat to meet Meredith on the other side. Meredith hands him a "passionfruit mimosa" which, after frangelico and sour mix, contains 2000% of the USDA recommended daily allowance for super-gay casual drinking. But in the good news column, it also has niacin!
The big-ass yacht takes...well, not sail. It takes motor. They jet across the water, each of them now in the middle of another drink entirely, Meredith slurring that she wants people to know she's sincere. Oh, she's nothing but. Really. Nothing. Chad awkwardly tells her how "exciting" it is that it's "so normal" between them, and I'm sure she'll curl up tonight with the knowledge that Chad is attracted to her, which he expresses right here in no uncertain terms. He celebrates in a confessional that this date saw the two of them becoming more "kissy" and "touchy-feely," using words in a lexicon indicating that if one of the many empty wine bottles they've generated today should spin in Meredith's direction, they'd get to spend "seven minutes in heaven." I mean, "kissy"? Act your age, mama. Not your shoe size. Oh, wait. Your shoe size exceeds your age by, like, fourteen. Do your shoes also still live with their mother?
Nighttime now, they part to change for dinner, Chad's off-the-rack Chess King purchase making its final, salmon-y TV appearance. While he sets about finding a shirt where the hanger marks haven't dented the shoulders (which actually happens to me all the time, but it seems like it would be endemic to Chad's dorkiness...sorry, but it's true), Meredith confessionalizes, "I shall eliminate him without care or remorse." Whatever. That's what it means in Spanish.
La di da, we're at a hotel called "The Water Club" (2 Tartak Street, Isla Verde, which is, like, a suburb of San Juan, PR 00979) in an upstairs lounge called "Wet." Yes. Fine. I looked it up on their website. Shut up. Over two frothing, brightly-colored gaytinis (give these men a beer, for Chrissakes), Chad makes a toast: "Here's to a good beginning, a fantastic middle, and a great ending." Just like the script to Key Party! Or a bit like a Snickers Bar, what with that undeniably delicious creamy nougat center. Chad leans in to kiss Meredith in a very chaste fashion, and then tells her, "I think we should have, like, a first, like, kiss, kiss, romantic kiss." Uh-oh. He's freakin' out. Abort! Abort! Meredith tells him to "just do it," and then sits up all put out at his hemming, berating him, "I know it's hard, but just, like...." He stammers onward that he wants it to be the right time because they're both seventeen and the subject in question is "sweet, precious virginity." Honestly. You're both over thirty. But it's too late, because the mood is already lost. Jesus. "Y'know, we know we can be jokesters together," he says, apparently in an effort to save his rapidly shattering ego. "But, like, a kiss can tell a lot. I feel like there's a time and a place and a moment to do that." There is a time! IN YOUR TEENS! Get it over with!