Flipping through the plethora of posts from well-wishers, I found the blurry image. It had been uploaded at three-thirty-five a.m.
“There and shared—holy crap!—forty times already. We’ll be trending soon.”
I flipped through the boatload of pictures from last night, some of which were more than a little embarrassing. In many, our flaming red eyes peered into the camera like drunken gremlins. I chuckled at the comments, fully humored and feeling quite loved. Then an older post froze my blood. The perfect semblance of a bridal whore, my head was thrown back in laughter as a kneeling sailor was about to kiss my ass—literally.
Praying Pete hadn’t seen it, I texted Anita: Get that bachelorette party photo off FB right fucking now. If Pete sees it, he’ll divorce me! PLEASE!!!!!!!
Tina—quel surprise—had posted it and tagged Anita and me. So there it was polluting my page. I quickly removed it and blocked her, but I feared the damage was done; it had already been shared seven times. What happened in Virginia Beach needed to stay there, dammit!
I hopped over to Pete’s page. Deeply buried under all the reception pictures was a shot of Pete in a bar with a fairly innocent-looking band of drunken men. And under that, Tina’s flippin’ post. Her lovely message read, Pete, looks like your fiancée is already shopping for husband #2 LOL
Gasping, I quickly glanced at Pete. He was smiling away as he hummed to the radio. He hadn’t “liked” it, so most probably he hadn’t seen it yet. Surreptitiously, I logged into his account and removed the post, blocking Tina there as well. I noticed he had three pending messages. And though I absolutely positively shouldn’t have, I did the unthinkable.
1. Anita: Y’all be safe!
2. Jimbo: Where R U
And…oh holy fuck! 3. Barbara Fisher, aka Babs, aka the blond bitch of insecure women’s nightmares: Can’t wait to see you
What?! I scrolled up the conversation strain to the beginning.
Babs: Hey you sexy devil
Pete: Hey Babs
Babs: You sure you wanna get married?
Pete: Yep
Babs: Let’s meet for a drink
Pete: Can’t
Babs: Where’s your bachelor party gonna be at?
Pete: Don’t know
Babs: You remember that night down at Dawson’s Creek?
Blood drained from my face and my stomach lurched. What fucking night? When?
Pete: Yep
Oh, God!
Babs: That thing you did with your tongue drove me crazy. Meet me there tonight
@# $% ^&*()_# CUT HER @#$%^&*()*!!
There are worms you simply do not need squirming through your brain matter—especially en route to your honeymoon. This was one of them.
My phone vibrated. Anita: Did ya like the sign? Hope y’all have an awesome honeymoon! What’s wrong with the post? It’s funny!
I huffed in frustration. When Pete glanced over, I forced a happy to be married and on my honeymoon smile, and then frowned at the screen.
The sign was hilarious. Thank you. No, it’s not funny. Take it the fuck down. And tell Tina she’s a dead woman!!!!!
My hope was that the resort did not have wifi. But then I thought, if he had met her, I wanted to monitor the situation and then shove it back in his face. As my imagination ran wild, my angel and demon shoulder ornaments fighting tooth and nail, I wondered what the procedures for an annulment entailed.
“Somethin’ wrong over there, Susie-Q?” Pete asked, snapping me to attention. I was about to lie and say everything was fine, but before we got on that plane, I needed to clear the air.
“How was your bachelor party?” Admittedly, my voice sounded a little too high-pitched and a lot too saccharine.
“A drunken disaster.”
What does that mean? “Oh? Who was there?”
“The usual offenders. You?”
How to play this? “It was pretty quiet, really. I mean, Anita and I may have had a few too many, but, you know…” I shrugged.
I hate myself.
He nodded thoughtfully and then lifted my hand to his lips. “I do love you.”
“Love you too, sweetie.”
♥
The looping exit ramp was designed for a thirty mph ascent. Pete took it at sixty, which was still too slow. “I’ll drop you off with the bags then park.” He kissed me quickly. “Don’t leave without me.”
I raced down the narrow concourse to our gate. “Wait, wait!” I yelled, waving my arm. “My husband’s coming right now.”
“I’m sorry, but we have to close the door.”
“No! Please. It’s our honeymoon.”
The airline representative gazed at me impassively. “There are two hundred passengers on the flight who would like to take off.”
“But—”
Suddenly, Pete was beside me, panting. “Ya waited.” His smile was nearly euphoric.
“Did you honestly think I’d get on the plane without you?”
“I wasn’t countin’ on it.”
I simply gaped at him for a moment before delivering the bad news. “We’re screwed. They won’t let us on the plane.”
“Won’t let us on? Surely not.” He turned on his thousand-watt smile and released a full metric ton of Southern charm. “Now, what’s your name?”
Before I’d finished the second verse of “Dixieland” in my head, she was all perky smiles and talking into the intercom.
“Y’all can go on down. But just this once, okay?” She batted her long eyelashes at my husband, and I swear I nearly puked.
“Thanks, darlin’,” Pete said with a wink.
Unsure whether I was astounded, envious, or simply disgusted, I marched ahead. “You’re a damned snake charmer.”
“And yet you’re completely immune,” he replied. “That’s one of a million things I love about you.”
♥
Concourse E of Atlanta’s Hartsfield–Jackson Airport is one of the busiest strips of metal and carpet on earth. Where most of the international flights board, the people watching is fantastic. Pete and I grabbed seats by the shiny grand piano and listened to Broadway show tunes while munching our food court brunch.
Slurping a creamy latte, I thanked God yet again for the gift of caffeine. The haggard-looking man seated next to us moaned in ecstasy as he bit off another mouthful of a loaded Nathan’s hotdog. He caught my stare. “Been in Bangladesh three weeks. A hot dog is all I’ve prayed for.”
A group of US soldiers, dressed in fatigues, dropped their bulky camo duffels inside the loose circle they’d formed. Along with casual stances, several wore blank expressions. A few scanned the crowd disinterestedly, and one looked flat-out terrified.
It gave me chills to watch them. As we thoughtlessly went about our busy, often frivolous activities, these men and women lived in a world we couldn’t imagine, experiencing horrors lingering only in our forgotten nightmares. And the same war had been raging for so long the average American took little notice unless something truly spectacular happened. I met Pete’s eyes.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, kissing my cheek. He strode over to the troop and inserted himself like a quarterback, shaking hands with each of his players. As they came alive, the soldiers began chatting animatedly. Pete said something, and the entire group exploded with laughter. I watched in sheer fascination as my husband—man, it was weird saying that—worked another magic feat.
After much backslapping and half-hugs, he slung his arm around the terrified kid and pulled him aside. Placing his hands on the boy’s shoulders, he spoke private words to him. By Pete’s stance, I could tell they were very heartfelt, and the soldier listened intently, nodding vigorously several times. Eventually, he straightened his spine, and a smile slithered across his pale face. Pete patted him hard on the back then shook his hand in an incredibly dignified manner. My heart swelled with pride.
“Where are they going?” I whispered.
“The thick of it,” Pete replied. “God bless ’em.
”
25
Unexpected Turbulence
“Alright, now let me tell ya what I’m plannin’ to do to you once we’re settled in the hotel,” he whispered, a sudden and brilliant smile lighting his face.
Evidence had confirmed that the tender, wondrous, and in all ways perfect wedding night he’d foreseen some nine months prior was merely the figment of a dreamer’s imagination. Though, I suppose, even prophecies have a certain margin of error. “Please,” I replied, breathless with anticipation.
He brushed my cheek with his lips and nipped my earlobe. “First, I’m gonna—”
“Beverages?” the perky flight attendant asked from out of nowhere, jolting us both. Pete shifted in his seat.
“What?” I asked, dazed.
“What would you like to drink?”
“Um, uh…do you have Fresca?”
“Sure.” Her smile was bright and far too sunny for this…well, sunny morning. “And for you, sir?”
“Whatever my lovely bride’s havin’ will be just fine,” he replied, staring at me hungrily.
Her eyes lit. “Are y’all on your honeymoon?” Atlanta-based crew.
“Yes, ma’am. Got married last night.”
“Well, congratulations!” She handed over our cups, and then said, “May I see your boarding passes, please?” Pete obligingly fished them from his pocket. I bristled.
“Why do you need our tickets?”
“Oh, I just need to check something.” She left the cart to the other attendant and disappeared. A moment later, the intercom squawked. “May I have your attention, please? The captain and crew of Flight thirty-four-twenty would like to congratulate our newlyweds, Mr. and Mrs. Walsh. Please give them a round of applause.”
Cheers erupted from the already reveling passengers aboard this vacation charter. “A reminder, lavatories are located at the front and rear of the aircraft.” Boisterous laughter and whistles echoed off the cavernous fuselage.
“How embarrassing,” I muttered, hiding my face in my hands. Pete, on the other hand, was shaking with laughter.
“Please follow me,” the possibly evil flight attendant said, grinning smugly. She opened the overhead compartment and Pete seized our carry-on bags.
I glared at her, but hopped up and followed Pete as we “’scused” ourselves through the cabin to the front of the plane. “Here ya go,” she said, ushering us into two oversized and very cushy first class seats. Mimosas and buttery biscotti were offered by another smiling face.
“This is nice,” Pete said, reclining his seat to stretch his long legs. “Too bad it’s not an overnight flight. I hear those open all the way out.”
“Is that so?” I said.
“Uh huh. If I’d known we’d be sittin’ up front, I would’ve taken you to China instead.”
“China, huh?”
“Yeah. Great Wall, Forbidden City. Plus, it’s a really long flight, I hear.”
“I’ve heard that, too.”
“Maybe we’ll go for our first anniversary.”
“Hmm.”
I removed the travel magazine from the seat pocket and started flipping through it. An intercom announcement woke me sometime later. We were instructed to fill out the paperwork being distributed, so we could pass through customs.
“Look,” Pete said. “We get to check the family box.” His eyes literally glowing, he lifted my hand and kissed my ring. “We’re officially a family.”
“Family,” I repeated, smiling. I wasn’t just a “me” anymore; I was an “us”.
He began filling in the blocks. Suddenly he turned to me, his expression the very definition of mischief. “So, which one of us should I put down as Head of Household?”
I snorted and closed my eyes again. “Knock yourself out, big man.”
By the time pens were collected and drinks served, I’d fully given up on sleep. Pete had taken my magazine and was reading an article about an up-and-coming Napa Valley chef. He glanced over at me and from out of nowhere said, “Ya know, we’re not technically married.”
“I believe Mr. Dupree would say differently. Are you having second thoughts?” The Babs issue had neither been discussed nor resolved. Regardless, my heart began racing.
“Well…I am havin’ thoughts.” He raised an eyebrow and smiled salaciously. “But they’re of the primary nature.”
“What are you talking about?”
“See, the thing is, according to Catholic Church, a marriage isn’t finalized until it’s been consummated.”
“Ah. Therein lies the problem with your argument. We’re not Catholic.”
“Well, there’s the whole bible thing.”
“What bible thing? Are you about to unload some chapter and verse on me? Because if you use the word obey, I’ll—”
“Okay, well, it’s tradition, anyway. I mean, how can we be officially married if we haven’t even experienced one another?”
I looked to the heavens then back at him. “Did you get into my Xanax while I was sleeping?” I snatched the magazine from his hand and flipped to an advertisement for duty-free handbags. Gucci.Very nice.
“Do ya wanna?” he asked.
“Wanna what?”
He nodded to the illuminated lavatory panels. “Ya know…consummate?”
“Are you serious?”
Eyes scorching, he nodded and sank his teeth into his lower lip. I squirmed, considering the very real possibility that he wasn’t kidding. I glanced around our section; the flight attendants had disappeared.
Pete gently took my face in his hands and kissed me deeply. My insides unfurled like a morning glory. “You go first,” he whispered. “And I’ll knock when the coast is clear.”
“And if we’re caught?” I asked.
He smiled wickedly. “What are they gonna do, throw us off the plane?”
“You’re a freak,” I said, unable to suppress my smile.
“I’m pretty sure ya already knew that.” Then he looked at me quite gravely. “Susan, if I don’t have ya soon, I’m gonna lose my mind.”
♥
The lavatory was your standard London phone booth. Pete knocked lightly. I scooched back, straddling the little toilet as he squirmed through the door. His expression mirrored that of a teenager about to commit a minor felony. “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” I hissed over the loud fan.
He slid the lock in place, pulled me against his chest, and then cradled my head as he ran his tongue up my neck. “Drivin’ to the airport, I could barely focus on the road.” He sucked and nipped back down the path he’d just made. “Every time you reached in your purse to check your phone, I wanted to do this.” His hands followed the contours of my shoulders and arms, before taking the business bypass to my breasts. I arched against his hand, and when he rubbed his thumb across my nipple, I nearly convulsed.
“And when you crossed your legs…” His fingertips slowly traveled up my already spread thighs and under my light cotton dress. “And ya crossed ’em an awful lot…” he whispered, his warm breath seeping straight into my brain. He grazed my panties, following the lacy seam. I moaned softly. “I wanted to do this…” He met my eyes and firmly pressed his thumb against the center of my sexual universe. I gasped.
“I do love that sound,” he said, his lips finding mine. His tongue slid into my mouth at the exact second his fingers slid into my body, both moving at the same leisurely pace.
I groaned against his mouth, and he replied in the same language.
Lifting me up, he set me on the tiny countertop, deftly removing my panties and unzipping his fly in one swift move. His rock hard erection popped out like a jack-in-the-box. My shoulders against the small mirror, I braced my arm against the paper towel dispenser and my elbow against the tissue slot, hoping neither would break as he entered me.
He sank in slowly and deliciously, and I sighed in ecstasy.
“And I really love that one,” he said.
He began moving with determination, and I had to
reposition myself several times to keep from slipping into the shallow metal sink or sodomizing myself with the blunt faucet.
Suddenly, a scratchy voice filled the heated space. “This is your captain speaking. Looks like we’ve got some rough air up ahead. Please make sure your seatbelts are securely fastened.”
“Oh shit,” I yelped as the airplane hit an invisible pothole. Pete lost his balance and slammed into the opposite wall. At some point during his miscalculated return, I head-butted his chest and fully lost my leverage. He caught my flailing self by wrapping his arms around me.
“Y’alright, Susie-Q?”
I nodded, wide-eyed.
Just then the plane pitched again, this time tossing us against the door. “Oh, Lord, we’re gonna have to hurry this up. Hang on.”
Anchoring my legs around his waist, he positioned himself again and rammed inside me. I squeezed tighter, crossing my ankles to secure our connection. Slightly concerned we might crash, I was only partly invested in the task of losing myself.
My energy had just begun building when Pete exploded inside of me. I focused with all my might on the sensation of his violent throbs, letting them work their magic. My insides seized up; this was it. The plane listed sharply to the right, and suddenly the door sprang open, sending us sprawling into the aisle.
Horror-filled, I looked up and into the eyes of half the plane’s passengers. After a solid beat of stunned silence by all parties, I scrambled to my hands and knees and backed into the stall. Pete crawled in right behind me.
I glared at him. “This one’s on you.” I snatched my panties off the rubber floor and shimmied into them. “And I’m not leaving this damn bathroom until the plane lands.”
A prim knock was followed by a concerned voice. “Is anyone hurt?”
“We’re fine, thank you,” Pete responded cheerily.
“I’m so relieved. I’m sorry, but you’ll need to return to your seats as soon as possible.”
Pete stood and zipped his shorts. Then he reached down to help me up. “I hate you,” I seethed, taking his hand.
Back Where I Belong: A Wonderfully Witty and Completely Absorbing Love Story (Susan Wade Series Book 3) Page 19
