by S. A. Wolfe
It’s good timing, though. The adults are sick of the dance club bass giving us all headaches, and the children are crashing, lounging lengthwise across the seats, coming down from their sugar highs from too many juice boxes and Twizzlers that Emma and Dylan kept passing out. The babies are asleep. Unfortunately, they both unloaded in their diapers after we left the second rest stop, so we are subjected to a potent, putrid stench for the rest of the trip.
Finn sits across from us, exhausted from his pole work and entertaining the smaller kids, dozing in his seat.
Peyton smiles at me. This is perfect. He picks up my hand, studies it, and then holds it firmly on his lap.
“I’m already having fun,” I say. “I’ve never had a real vacation.”
Peyton chuckles. “I’m sorry this is your first vacation. I really wanted to make it more special.”
“You mean more romantic?”
“Yes. I didn’t expect a giant freezer on wheels, stripper poles, and a disco ball.”
• • •
Cape May is a small, pretty seaside town bustling with tourists playing on its vast, clean beach, walking its charming streets with beautifully restored Victorian homes in whimsical colors, and filling every restaurant to capacity. The only other beach I have been to is Coney Island. Our father would take us out there on the train for a day trip, and we would camp out on the crowded beach among all the other city dwellers, fighting for a few hours of surf and sand.
When we arrive at the hotel, Cooper takes our bags so Peyton and I can take Finn down to see the beach before it gets dark. We squish the sand between our toes and listen to the crashing waves. I can smell the breeze and taste the salt on my tongue.
Peyton puts his arm around me as we watch Finn run into the water up to his knees, making up for missing a day of swimming.
I’m delighted by our hotel. Congress Hall is a historic resort overlooking the ocean, a grand Victorian hotel painted in a welcoming yellow. When we enter the lobby, I immediately decompress. It’s like stepping back in time. Wood floors that creak and a sort of vintage seaside decor that makes you want to order a cocktail and lounge about.
I release my breath, my shoulders relax. I have no supplies to buy, no orders to cook, no deliveries to make, and I don’t have to exercise or think about what’s best for my heart. I’m here with Peyton, the first man to take me on a vacation.
I was ready to marry Marko, yet I had never gone on vacation with the man, never experienced what it would be like to be with him when he wasn’t working and scheduling his life around his own goals.
Finn’s room, sandwiched between Greer’s and Jess’s, is a few doors down from us. Finn seems fine with the arrangement.
After we unpack and have a sunset dinner at The Rusty Nail, we all take a walk on the beach, followed by an evening stroll through town until the babies get fussy. On the walk back to the hotel, Peyton and I trail behind the others, holding hands, buoyant, riding a wave of exhilaration of what will come.
Peyton has been forthright with me, and I will have to be the same with him. My turn will come. I will have to tell him the family history my mother shared. Not tonight, though. I’ve been waiting for this night for too long, fantasizing about being with Peyton. I need this again, before I put all my cards on the table and lose—I’ve been dealt enough terrible hands in those poker games with Lois to know.
He closes the door to our room. “Finn is out,” he says, placing his keys and wallet on the dresser. “I wanted to say goodnight, but he was already asleep on top of his covers. His feet are filthy.”
“He’s happy.” I shrug. “He’ll probably be filthy all week.”
“I like the way you say filthy.” He approaches me slowly, his eyes roaming my body. “I’ve been waiting for this night, thinking about it every day … for weeks.”
“The whole dating-without-sex thing was good.” We both nod, unconvincingly. “It really makes us appreciate … Who am I kidding? It was torture.”
“I’m glad I’m not the only one who thought so.”
He grasps the waistband of my jeans and tugs me toward him. I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him. We’ve spent weeks kissing, and we’re damn good at it. We know each other’s sensitive points, where one lick can turn us on. The kiss does all that, fires us up. We begin pulling our clothes off.
Peyton yanks the zipper down on his jeans and it stops halfway. “My zipper is stuck,” he grunts in frustration.
He keeps tugging harder. The zipper won’t budge. He tries shimmying out of his jeans, but he needs the zipper to slide another inch for that to work. I’m down to my bra and panties, and I watch him, fascinated with his naked torso and how his arms and shoulders bunch up with tight muscles and popping veins as he battles with the zipper.
“Look at you!” I say, amazed. “You’re doing the Hulk pose. Your arms and elbows … and you’ve got his angry scowl—”
“Arghhhh!” Peyton rips his zipper open with his fists, tearing through the jeans all the way down to the knee of one of his pant legs. He kicks off the shredded jeans.
“Hot,” I say, completely aroused. “We’ll buy you new jeans tomorrow.”
He picks me up and carries me to the bed where he strips off his underwear, then reaches for mine while I toss my bra. Naked and pressed together, we resume our kissing and add in the much-anticipated groping. That’s when the bed legs start pounding against the floor and the headboard begins tapping against the wall.
“We can’t have sex in this bed,” I say, pushing him off me. “Everyone will hear. We’ll be that couple, the one who everyone says, ‘They’re at it again. Always humping.’”
“Is that what people say?” He’s breathless and frustrated with my interruption. “Screw the bed, then.”
He pulls me off the bed so I’m standing as he tosses the pillows, comforter, and sheets onto the floor. I immediately kneel down to straighten the bedding out on the carpet.
“What are you doing?” he barks. He has a full hard-on and is looking at me like I’m sabotaging his opportunity for sex.
“I’m arranging it. So it’s like a bed.”
“We’re not here to decorate.” It’s somewhere between a growl and a laugh.
He pushes me into the soft pile of linens, and when he’s naked on top of me again, all my decorating sense evaporates. I wrap my legs around him, and thus begins our foray back into friends who have sex. Except this time, it’s different. We’re two people in love.
“I haven’t seen this crazed, beastly side of you in a while. It’s sexy.”
“Hmm,” he says into my neck.
His tongue is doing its thing again, lighting little fires on my skin, making my nipples peak, and all those other parts I don’t think about come alive.
“Where are the condoms?” I ask, expecting him to pull one of his magic lifetime-supply boxes out of thin air.
He tenses and stops kissing my throat. “No,” utters in a low voice.
“What? Get them.” I’m more demanding.
“No, no, no.” He abandons my neck, looks up and around the room. “I can’t believe this. I packed them in my kit bag. I left it in the bathroom.”
“All right.” It’s not like he’s never had to hobble to a bathroom with a raging hard-on before.
“At home.”
My enthusiasm deflates.
“No, no, no.” He shakes his fist, then throws his head back and looks up at the ceiling, enraged, with tendons popping out of his neck and shoulders. “Noooo!”
“Now you look like Superman. The old movie version when he finds Lois Lane … dead.” I place my hands on either side of his face. “We can still do things tonight, and then tomorrow we’ll run to CVS for lots of condoms. Boxes and boxes of them.”
“No.” Peyton shakes his head. “No, we planned on this. I need this.”
“We could …” I have no idea what we can do besides pleasuring each other with hands and tongues—which is damn awesome—but he wants
every item on the menu tonight.
“What can we do?” he asks. “It’s not like I can make something out of a coffee filter.” We both look around our room for signs of a coffeemaker.
“We can’t even make coffee.”
The humor of the moment goes over Peyton’s head. He’s having none of this.
“Shit!” He pushes himself up off the floor and looks down at me, all serious. “I’ll be back.”
“Now you sound like the Terminator. Where are you going? Stores are closed.”
“My brother is trying to have a kid—no condoms there. I’ll have to try Carson.” He wraps a sheet around his waist, bunched up in front to hide his erection. Good thinking, honey.
Less than five minutes later, Peyton’s back, running into the room, tossing the sheet aside, and ripping open a condom package. I don’t bother to ask if he encountered anyone on his run down the hotel corridor and if he frightened them.
Within minutes, we’re on the floor again and he’s positioned between my legs, looking at me with reverence. My breath hitches when he begins stroking himself before he enters me. I completely fall apart when he’s inside me. He was right. We needed to have everything on the menu tonight.
Peyton
MY HEART LURCHES AT the sight of Talia and Finn being launched off the boat. Our party takes up two boats for our parasailing excursion, and although I’ve done this before and know it’s nothing more than a ride—no skills required—I feel helpless watching the two people I love the most being catapulted into the sky.
Talia and Finn are laughing and waving at us as the parachute takes them higher and higher into the bright blue sky.
“This is horrible,” I say. “This is so wrong.” They have become indistinguishable specks. So far away. Too far away from me.
This is a picture-perfect, tranquil ocean scene, but our group is loud. The sound of the motor and the boat splashing against the water, along with the loud chatter of the others shouting to the other boat, I feel like the lone person who is concerned for my two people jetting into the sky.
“What’s wrong?” Greer asks.
“Why do we send the people we love … away… like that? She needs more sunblock,” I say, looking back at Talia soaring above.
Greer’s laugh jolts me from staring up into the sky. “Welcome to the real world. Where every day is about worrying. You worry about your kids and—” Greer looks at me hard, and her surprise turns into a warm smile. “Oh, sweetie, you’ve really fallen hard for Talia, haven’t you? You’re in love.”
I look over at our two-man crew. One is steering the boat; the other has finished reeling Finn and Talia up and is now filming them so we’ll have a souvenir video. I’m happy to give them this experience and feel sick to my stomach at the same time.
“Is there an antidote for this?” I ask Greer, wiping the sweat from my forehead.
She laughs and puts her hand on my shoulder. “No, absolutely not. Lucky you.”
• • •
We survive two more days of parasailing and jet skiing. Or, rather, I should say that I survive. Talia is blissfully happy, tearing up the ocean on her jet ski, breaking every rule and getting whistled at and reprimanded by the guy in charge of monitoring all the skiers in the bay. Finn is underage, so he has to ride on the back of my jet ski. I feel that dad pressure of trying to impress your kid who is past the toddler phase of thinking their dad is a hero. We break a few rules of our own, taunting others into racing and taking fast, hard turns to blast Talia with some rocking waves. The monitor is blowing his whistle at everyone, but eventually gives up.
“If they knew you had a record for grand theft auto, you wouldn’t be allowed on that jet ski!” I shout to Talia as we zoom past her.
Her look of shock turns into laughter as she races after us.
“For real?” Finn shouts from behind me. “Talia stole a car?”
“For real,” I shout back. “But she was a kid. Don’t go getting any ideas.”
Just then, Talia drenches us with a heavy spray of water as she sidles up to us fast, almost crashing into us. That’s the end of our jet skiing privileges. We’re officially banned. But the owner of the company pulls me aside before we leave and says I can come back anytime with Talia as long as we’re willing to be sequestered away from the other skiers and the general public.
• • •
We spend every day on the beach and every afternoon at the hotel pool. Talia, despite wearing big floppy hats and cover-ups over her bikini when she isn’t swimming, manages to acquire a light suntan. Her hair is blonder, with sun streaks of white, and her cheeks have a rose tint against her light, caramel-colored tan. It’s the spattering of the tiniest freckles across her nose that does me in. She’s beautiful.
Every night, after everyone is exhausted and the children have been tucked into their own rooms, I look forward to pulling her naked body with her white bikini outline into our bed. My hands get caught in her tangled, windblown hair as I kiss her. She smells like ocean, sand, and the hotel soap. And her skin tastes extra salty, even after the showers she takes between the ocean swims and dinners out each night. I can’t get enough of holding her, touching her, smelling her hair and skin, and kissing her.
“You’re intoxicating,” I say on our fifth evening when we’re back in our hotel room, naked in bed.
“It’s because you’re away from work. All you can do now is play and have sex with me.” She smiles while she strokes my arms.
I prop myself over her so I can look her over. Her scar stands out, white against her tan, but when she’s flushed or aroused like now, the scar turns a light pink. I lean down and run my tongue from the base of it up to her neck. She shivers, and then I begin kissing her neck. It will be a long night of slow, gentle moves—maybe not so gentle if my libido has any say—and I will be in a drug-induced-like rapture. I have fallen so hard for her that my chest hurts thinking about her.
“It’s because I’m in love with you,” I whisper into her neck.
She takes my face in her hands. Her eyes are a vivid blue against her sun-soaked skin and the white-blonde wisps of hair framing her face. She doesn’t say anything, but she kisses me with a demanding hunger.
Any doubts I had about her feelings toward me or any childish jealousy I may have felt about other men interested in her have evaporated completely. She doesn’t have to say it, although I wish she would. Her heart is mine. We belong to each other.
• • •
“That’s not very impressive,” Finn says, looking at the velvet box holding a key to my house.
“Are you sure? I’m asking Talia to live with me. You don’t think that’s a big deal?”
“She and her sister already have a key to your house. They have a few. I mean, Aleska is always there with her cleaning people, and you gave Talia a key a long time ago. I’ve seen her use it.”
“This one is shiny and polished. It’s brand-new. It’s symbolic.”
“If you say so.” Finn takes a big lick of his double-scoop ice cream cone.
We’re sitting next to a three-tier fountain where tourists are posing for photos and tossing in coins for wishes. It’s in front of the boutique where Talia and Jess are shopping—their seventh store—while I’m holding all the shopping bags.
I took Finn out this morning, just the two of us, for a little father-son time, walking on the beach and talking. At seven in the morning, we had the beach to ourselves. I wasn’t concerned with work and hadn’t made any calls to Bash or my father and uncle to check on any of the restaurants.
I needed to ask Finn first, to get his approval about bringing Talia into his life permanently. Apparently, though, asking Talia to live with me isn’t the big deal I thought it would be for him. I consulted with parenting books and articles to prepare him for what I was asking, but it all became moot when he simply shrugged and said he was surprised how slow I was when it came to Talia. Unoriginal, he said. He didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t ask. Fo
rtunately, we were distracted by the enormous dead horseshoe crab brought in by the morning tide.
I have Finn in my life, and I am going to ask Talia to live with me—I have everything. He’s right, though. Another key to my house, a home I rent from Carson, isn’t that impressive. I need another option, a better offer to give her. I also need a certain nine-year-old to weigh in with his ideas, and I know how to bribe this kid.
“Got room in that cast-iron stomach of yours?” I ask.
“What do you have in mind?” He tosses his napkin and the bottom half of his ice cream cone into a nearby trash bin.
“These women are going to be at least another hour. How about we walk over to Tommy’s, and you can have as many hot dogs as you want? In exchange for some advice.”
“That I can do.” He stands up and grabs some of the shopping bags. “Just so you know, the quality of my advice is directly correlated to the number of hot dogs consumed.”
“Where did you learn that kind of language?”
“Mom helps me with math and science. She always uses terms like quantity and quantify, correlation and correlated, cause and effect. She is a scientist, you know.”
“She’s very intelligent. How do you feel about your mother and Talia going into business together?”
“I think it’s great! They’re going to give me a job—with horses!”
“Ah, yes, breaking all those child labor laws, I bet.” I chuckle.
“Dad, you owe me some hot dogs. We’re on the clock.”
“No expense is too great. I’m prepared to meet your demands, buddy.”
Talia
“YOU HAD A BROTHER,” Peyton says, looking down at our clasped hands on the restaurant table where we’re having dinner. He looks genuinely sad about the story.
I could sense that this vacation was a prelude to something more. Peyton was building up to ask me something, a bigger commitment for both of us, and I felt this could go no further without divulging the truth about what my family’s hereditary condition brings to the table.
