Road-Tripped

by Nicole Archer

  She glanced around the campground. Nothing but retirees as far as the eye could see. Even if she were interested in her sister’s suggestion, the pickings weren’t just slim—they were downright skeletal.

  “Not long until we see each other,” Effie said, filling the silence. “I’m excited.”

  “Yep. Yosemite.”

  “Oh, by the way,” she added. “Thanks for the hideous towel.”

  “Hard to dry off with a two-foot dick between your legs, eh?”

  “Actually, it was kind of freaky.” She paused. “I didn’t send you anything because I have no idea where you are.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “I see a cute guy in a wet suit. Gotta blaze.”

  They said their goodbyes, and afterwards, Callie sat down and laid her head on the picnic table. Eighteen more hours till the day was over, five more weeks until the trip ended, and she could barely make it through another minute.

  “You okay?” Walker said from the camper steps.

  Thanks to him, she was nowhere near okay. But she clamped mouth shut and didn’t say a word.

  “Skip emailed.” He sat next to her. “He told me it was your birthday. Why didn’t you tell me last night?”

  She shot him a Murphy-Are-You-Fucking-Kidding-Me-Glare.™ “Gee, I don’t know, Walker. Guess I was too busy prancing around, shaking my ass, and teasing your cock.”

  He folded his hands behind his neck and closed his eyes. “I don’t know whether to scratch my watch or wind my ass around you.”

  She stared at him. “What does that even mean?”

  “What am I supposed to do, Callie? I’m not any happier than you about this situation. What do you want from me?”

  “Basic human kindness for starters,” she said then quickly shifted her tone to apologetic. “Honestly, Walker? I don’t remember saying you were a rebound. I probably said a lot of things that night. Eli and I had a lot to drink. And I was hurt and angry. I would apologize again, but I already have—several times—and it hasn’t done any good.”

  He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

  “In my defense though,” she added, “how did you expect me to react? I know we said no strings, but—”

  “No, you said no strings.”

  “Regardless, don’t you think I’d find it a tiny bit jarring to see you kissing Sabrina not even an hour after we’d slept together?”

  “I didn’t kiss her!”

  “She was all over you way before that bullshit kiss!”

  “I had nothing to do with that,” he shouted. “And I reamed her a new one afterwards—”

  She cut him off with the slice of her hand. “No, you helped her throw me under the bus in front of the client.”

  He jumped up and waved his arms wildly. “I didn’t help her do anything. You realize how many people would lose their jobs if we lost that client? Yourself included? People have families to feed. She was trying to keep him happy—”

  “By kissing you? That’s a pretty elaborate ruse for such a . . .” She swallowed her bitchy comment and continued. “The minute we stepped inside that studio you latched on to her and didn’t give me a second glance—”

  “You told me to keep our relationship a secret!”

  “I said keep it a secret, not act like I have a communicable disease. Furthermore, you could have told me what happened—”

  “I tried! You wouldn’t listen.” His voice boomed throughout the campground.

  “No, you didn’t try,” she snapped. “After she mauled you in front of me, what you did was show up with a bag of condoms.” It was a fucking idiot move, and if he didn’t get that, she needed to hammer it in.

  He closed his eyes and worked his jaw for a minute before he spoke. “You wouldn’t have listened.”

  Slumping over, she blew out a deflating sigh and gave up. Why was she even arguing with him? “Fine, Walker. You were right. I was wrong. I don’t even care anymore. I just want off this fucking non-recreational vehicle.”

  He frowned so hard it looked like he’d fractured his face. “It sucks to hear you say that.”

  She blinked away her tears. “Know what sucks? I thought you were my friend. Now, you won’t even look at me or talk to me. Guess I was just a warm hole on the road, right?”

  “Just like I was your hard dick on the road?” he shot back. “Why’d you even sleep with me in the first place?”

  “Why does it matter? You said no strings—”

  “No, you said no strings.”

  That was the second time he’d pointed that out. But, she filed it in the back of her mind under Confusing Topics to Analyze Later. “Because I cared about you,” she said. “And I thought you cared about me.” Not to mention, he was insanely attractive. “You made me laugh and inspired me to write. And for the first time in years, I felt happy.” That she had to use the past tense to tell him those things made her indescribably sad.

  “And you weren’t a rebound,” she added. “I was over my ex the minute I left Chicago. You meant much more to me than that. Much more.”

  A gust of wind off the ocean whipped her hair across her face. The seagulls flying overhead dipped and changed course.

  “You promised if we slept together you wouldn’t hate me or ruin the trip.” She sniffled and rose to her feet. “You lied.”

  He grabbed her hand. “Don’t go. I’m sorry. Really. This was all just a big misunderstanding. And I don’t hate you. Not even close. Can we start over again please? Let me take you someplace special for your birthday,” he said. “Let me make it up to you.”

  She closed her eyes and tried to slow down the hundreds of miles of pent-up emotions whirling around in her brain. She should have been overjoyed to hear those words. But after an emotionally exhausting last few days, she felt diluted and worn out instead.

  “I don’t know.” She dragged her heaviness up the camper steps. “I think I’m just gonna go back to bed. Maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll wake up when this day is over.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Surprisin’

  Biloxi, Mississippi

  About as low down as a whale turd, that’s how Walker felt after his conversation with Callie. What a bunch of tangled mistruths and assumptions. They’d wasted four days thinking the worst instead of just talking.

  Time to pull his head out of his ass and repair their relationship—starting with her birthday.

  After poking around on the Internet and making a few calls, he drove to Biloxi. When he arrived, he climbed the ladder and found Callie writing on her laptop.

  “Ready for your birthday surprise?” he asked.

  She looked up with an unfocused gaze. “Where are we?”

  “At a gas station.” He tossed her the bar rag. “Blindfold yourself, woman.”

  “Did you wash this?” She sniffed and wrinkled her nose. “It’s crusty.”

  “Did you wash it when you made me wear it?”

  “This isn’t one of your spankerchiefs, is it?”

  “The hell?”

  “You know, your jizz rag?”

  “You scare me.”

  Two slices of blue cut him. “Is it?”

  “Hush, or I’ll stuff it in your mouth. Get over here, woman.” He knotted the supposed cum rag around her head.

  Once he parked, he led Callie through the hotel lobby and up to the room. An old client had hooked him up with the penthouse suite. Following the bar rag removal, she blinked a few times and surveyed the room.

  A chandelier in the living area dripped red crystals, and under it, a circular red velvet couch surrounded a mirrored coffee table. An entire wall was dedicated to a flat-screen TV.

  In the master bedroom, a giant canopy bed rested against a wall of windows. A gas fireplace filled the opposite wall. Pretty silly considering the temperate weather in Biloxi.

  The other two rooms in the suite were slightly smaller and didn’t have windows.

  Callie ventured out to the balcony. “An oc
ean view!” Her eyes widened. “Where are we?”

  “Penthouse suite in the Biloxi Grand Luxor.”

  “You did this? For me?”

  From the sound of her voice, you’d think she’d just witnessed a miracle. Like it didn’t seem possible he’d done something nice. But he hadn’t. He hadn’t even taken her on a date. From now on, he was going to treat her right.

  If she’d even let him.

  “Go check out the bathtub,” he said.

  “Holywhoreshit,” she shouted from the bathroom. “An infinity pool. It’s huge.”

  An image flashed through his mind—her in the tub, between his legs, all slick and wet. He’d have to earn that chance though, and it wouldn’t come cheap.

  Bouncy and eyes sparkling—she danced out of the bathroom. He’d pay the devil to see her like that every day. “Figured you’d want a real bed and bath on your birthday.”

  She wrung her wrists and stared at the floor. “You didn’t have to do this, Walker.”

  He took her hands. “Let me treat you on your birthday. Will you do that for me, please? Will you just let go and enjoy yourself and not worry so much?”

  The breath she exhaled sounded like it had been pent inside her chest for years.

  He dug out the gift certificate from his pocket. “I booked you a spa appointment in thirty minutes. Go hog wild. Get a tune-up. Put mud on your face. Get your back walked-on. Treat yourself like a queen.”

  “But—”

  “Hush, it’s already paid for. And here”—he handed her his credit card—“buy something fancy to wear. I’m taking you out tonight.”

  “I’ll pay for it myself.”

  “Callie—”

  “No, you’ve done enough already.”

  He shoved the card in her pocket. “Consider it a birthday gift. And no t-shirts! Get a dress.” He opened the door. “I’ll meet you back here at eight.”

  “But what about you? Where are you going?”

  “Don’t worry about me.” The answer seemed to disappoint her, but he had shopping to do.

  “If you wear a short enough skirt, the party will come to you.”—Dorothy Parker

  Despite the ninety-minute massage, her muscles ached. The stress from the last few days was still deeply embedded in her body.

  And Walker didn’t help one bit. In the last few hours, he’d done a complete one-eighty—going from acting like she didn’t exist, to pampering her like a queen.

  Her emotions had whiplash.

  The last time someone did something special for her birthday was never. Daniel had forgotten it the year before. The year before that, he was out of town “on business.” He did give her a present the first year—earrings that gave her a rash.

  While the sentiment was incredibly thoughtful, it was also bittersweet. In a way it was like the Gift of the Magi—he’d booked a penthouse suite, and she had no one to share it with.

  Part of her wondered if he still wanted her, but after all the things she’d said that night in Orlando, he wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole, let alone his nine-inch dick.

  Maybe Effie was right. A little birthday nookie might be just what the doctor ordered. Fancy hotel casino in a beach town? There had to be a veritable cornucopia of men who’d be more than happy to service her. Plus, she wouldn’t have to worry about the messy complications of a work road trip afterwards.

  If only she enjoyed casual sex. Unfortunately, liking a person was a prerequisite for an orgasm. That’s probably why she could only count her relationships on one hand. Walker happened to be the ring finger.

  A birthday kiss was more in line with what she needed. That’s what she’d do—troll the casino for a birthday kiss. But first she had to attract a kisser.

  In addition to the massage, she had her hair and makeup done and had everything waxed. Once she was rubbed down, made-up, primped, polished, and stripped of hair, she paid a visit to the hotel’s overpriced boutique. “I need something sexy to wear tonight,” she told the saleswoman.

  The woman gave her a grimacing once-over. “You sure do.” She took off her reading glasses and left them dangling on a thick gold chain around her neck. “I’ve got just the thing. I’m Sadie. Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”

  She disappeared through a door and returned a minute later carrying a blue dress wrapped in plastic. “This just came in. I ordered the wrong size by mistake. Not many women will fit in a dress this small, but I bet it’d perfect on you.”

  Callie snatched the hanger and dashed off to the dressing room. After she tried it on, she frowned at the woman in the mirror. The robin’s-egg-blue silk dress plunged down her back and stopped a few inches above her butt. Only a thin silver ribbon held it in place. In front, the dress scooped down and barely covered her breasts.

  Sadie rapped on the door. “Let me see.”

  She crept out of the dressing room, wincing as she walked.

  Sadie’s eyes flew open.

  “I know,” Callie said glumly. “I can’t pull this off. Do you have something else?”

  Sadie laughed. “Trust me, you’re pulling it off. In fact, I bet there isn’t a man in this state who wouldn’t want to pull it off for you.”

  Turning to the mirror again, she tried to envision what Walker would think. Truly, the dress was stunning. The color made her eyes stand out, and the design made her breasts look big. Well, bigger. The hem landed right above her knees, highlighting her shapely calves. And the gathers at the waist gave the illusion (key word: illusion) she had hips.

  “I don’t know.” She swirled around. “It’s pretty, but I’m not sure I’m sexy enough for this dress.”

  The saleswoman huffed. “Let me give you a little piece of advice. In my twenties, I had a great body, but I was so insecure I wouldn’t even sleep with my first husband with the lights on. Guess what? He cheated on me left and right. Now, I’m forty-five, and I’ve got a hot twenty-eight-year-old boyfriend, with a great ass and a six-pack, who thinks I’m the sexiest woman in the world. Know why? Because I don’t give a tinker’s damn what he thinks. This body birthed two children and I’m proud of it.”

  Gripping her shoulders and shaking some sense into her, Sadie cried, “Don’t waste that gorgeous twenty-something body on silly little girl insecurities. How you wear that dress is as important as the dress itself. Wear it proudly. Own it, girl.”

  She looked at the price tag. Owning it would cost a fortune. Sure it’d get her laid, but it’d be cheaper just to hire a male escort service.

  Fuck it. It was her birthday.

  “You have any shoes to go with?”

  “Three be the things I shall never attain: envy, content, and sufficient champagne.”—Dorothy Parker

  Soundtrack: Air, “Sexy Boy

  Dressed for success, Callie wore the outfit out of the store and made it back to the room with fifteen minutes to spare. Fifteen minutes to catch a buzz, gather liquid courage, and get grit in a glass.

  Plain and simple, she was really fucking nervous.

  Someone must have heard her cry because a bucket of champagne was already awaiting her on the table. In no time, she downed two glasses of bubbly, bypassing a buzz and skating right into bombed. Now she was relaxed.

  But her tranquility lasted all of five seconds.

  Walker swaggered out of his room and caused every muscle to tense back up—including the Kegels in her vagina.

  Decked out in a tailored gunmetal-gray suit with a teal-blue tie—he looked like Clark Kent. Just remove the glasses and presto! Superman.

  More like Superhotman.

  He froze and zeroed in on her boobs, lingered there for a moment, then roamed the rest of her body, blazing a trail of heat as he went. After the tour, he strode toward her and set a gift-wrapped box on the table. “Is it your birthday or mine?” he said in a late-night radio voice.

  She loved the late-night radio voice.

  “Damn”—he twirled a finger—“Turn around. Let me see.”

 
Still uneasy about the slutty back, she hesitated. Eh, what did he care? He didn’t want her. She swirled around and watched his expression.

  He pinched his bottom lip. “Damn.” And another, “Damn.” He rolled his neck a few times and paced in a circle, not smiling.

  Not once had he smiled.

  That wasn’t what quite the reaction she’d expected. But she had another friend to cheer her up. “Champagne?” She held up a flute.

  “Who?” He directed his nonsensical question to her tits.

  Not surprising. You could hang a purse on her braless nipples they were so hard. But what could she do? Around him that was their natural state.

  “Where’s the rest of it?” he asked.

  “I drank it.”

  “No, the dress. You’re wearing something over it, right?”

  Since it was a balmy ninety degrees outside, she hiked up an are-you-serious brow.

  “You can’t go out like that! You’re naked. For Christ’s sake, your crack’s showing!”

  She crossed her arms. “Are you okay? What’s up with the wild hand gestures? What are you, in the Italian Mafia now? Is your name Vinnie?”

  He gestured wildly up at the ceiling.

  Owning it, she squared her posture, raised her chin and flashed a movie-star smile. “This is what I’m wearing. And if you don’t like it, you can—” She took a drink and let him fill in the blank.

  That seemed to enrage him. He mumbled a bunch of southern curse words—dag nabbit, land’s sake, and several versions of the Lord’s name in vain—then marched across the room. “Let’s go before I—”

  “Before you what?”

  “Never mind, come on.” He held open the door like the Queen’s Guard, focusing straight ahead.

  Inside the elevator, he stole a furtive glance at the same time she did. For a sizzling few seconds, Walker’s eyes blasted heat. Had she been wearing any at the time, her panties would have melted right off.