Belmont’s entire face grows dim. “You gave him your Thanksgivings and he couldn’t even give you a decent orgasm?”
I don’t know how to respond, so I simply give him a tight-lipped smile.
He tilts his head. “You don’t like to slam the people who hurt you, do you?”
“Not out loud.” I chuckle. “But I think maybe I’m at fault too.”
“Or maybe he’s just an asshole who fucked your best friend behind your back.”
“Maybe.” I sigh dubiously.
“You’re not at fault here, Daisy,” he says with conviction. “If you worked too much and he couldn’t deal with it, then he should’ve broken up with you. And he never read any of your work!” Belmont roars as if he’s offended. “He’ll be back, I guarantee it. What are you going to do when he comes knocking on your door?”
“I’m not answering,” I say with a snarl.
He takes a handful of my wet hair and tilts my head back to kiss me. “That’s what I wanted to hear,” he whispers.
My head is spinning. Belmont stands and takes me with him.
We mount the stairs and he carries me piggyback across a grassy field. When we reach the wooden gate in a rock wall, Belmont fishes a clumpy set of keys out of his pocket.
“You have, like, a million of those,” I tease.
He snickers and quickly locates the one he needs. He sticks it in the lock, but before he turns it, he strikes like a snake. He nails me to the wooden gate and shoves his hand between my legs. I pin my head to the wood as he does this two-finger thing to me. One is sliding in and out of me and one is circling my clitoris.
“Like that, baby?” he whispers as I whimper and pant against his lips.
“Uh hum,” I moan.
“Me too.” He bites gently on my top lip. “Come hard for me, baby.”
“Daisy?” a high-pitched, familiar voice calls.
At first I think my mind is playing tricks on me, but then she calls again. Belmont and I freeze.
“Maya?” I call.
“What the hell’s going on back there?” she asks.
My mouth falls open in shock, and I shake my head. Belmont removes his fingers from my nether regions and whispers, “To be continued.”
Chapter 7
Confessions
My eyes expand like a balloon. Never in a trillion years did I expect to see Maya here. But there she stands, looking like the adult version of a Bratz Doll in skintight skinny jeans, a tight pink tank top, and red stiletto heels. Her bone-straight hair trails over her breast implants, and she has on far too much makeup for the daytime.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. Contempt colors my tone.
“How do you know Jack?” She regards him as if she’s starving and he’s a cheeseburger.
“I asked what you are doing here,” I nearly growl.
“I came to see you. We have to talk, don’t you think?” I don’t hear even a little remorse in her tone for the terrible thing she did to me. And she’s still ogling Belmont.
I snap my fingers to claim her attention. “How did you even find me?” Gosh, I’m yelling.
“You’re wet,” she accuses. “Both of you are.”
We’re inside the compound, shadowed by bulbous oak trees. There’s a sparkling, crest-shaped swimming pool in the middle of three structures, and to the right of it sits a white, wood gazebo with two lounge chairs facing the Atlantic. There’s a lot more going on across the yard, but I’m too angry to take it all in.
Belmont curls an arm around my waist. We stand hip to hip, except his is higher than mine.
“I asked how you found me?” I demand.
“Leslie, our travel agent. I thought you were here to work.”
“I am, and wow, that sounds judgmental.”
“Then what are you doing here with Jack?”
“Again, judgmental.” I glance up at Belmont. “And how do you two know each other anyway?”
She contorts her face into a kooky expression I’ve seen before. She does that when she feels she has a scandalous secret.
“We met through a friend,” Belmont says. “Dorothy. Her boss.”
“Yeah,” she says with a cynical chuckle. “Dorothy.”
“Something funny?” I hiss.
“No,” she sings, which irks me even more.
“Does she know you’re here?” he asks, glaring at her.
This is an odd moment. Maya rolls her eyes. Whatever cryptic message Belmont just sent seems to have done the job.
“Listen, Dais, can we talk?” She asks casually.
“There isn’t anything else to say. You screwed around with and now you’re marrying my ex-boyfriend.”
She flips her long hair to one side and pulls the strands across her breast. She throws a glance at Belmont. She makes that move when she’s trying to appeal to a man. The mere fact that a man’s in the vicinity with his arm around me instead of her must be driving her nuts. “There’s a lot to say,” she says. Again, she eyes Belmont. Now I’m curious.
“Do you want her here or not?” Belmont growls, focusing only on me. So that’s how he looks when he doesn’t like someone. He doesn’t even look at Charlie like that!
“Just give me five minutes, Dais, that’s all,” Maya pleads. “I owe you an explanation and so does Adrian.”
My heart drops. “What do you mean, Adrian? Is he here too?”
“We just want to sit down and have dinner with you tonight. We’re not leaving until you talk to us, so…” She shrugs as if saying no isn’t an option.
“I don’t care how long you stay because—”
“Maybe now’s not the time for this,” Belmont says, cutting me off. He looks into my eyes. “Let’s talk about it, babe.”
Maya flinches, taken aback. “Babe? Are you two a couple? If so, that was fast.” I’m sure she couldn’t wait to say that.
I ignore her. Maybe because she’s the last person in the world I have to explain this unusual development to. “No. We don’t need to talk about it because there’s nothing to talk about,” I reply to Belmont.
“I want to see this guy. I want to look him in the eyes and tell him there’s no coming back.”
“What? Why?”
“Wow… Jack and Daisy,” Maya says as if she’s trying it on for size. “Now that’s an interesting pair.”
Belmont and I glare at her. If looks could kill, she’d fall to the ground and choke to death.
“I’ll make the reservation for four. Monarchy at seven,” Maya says. Without a confirmation from either of us, she spins on her tiny heels and bobbles up the shell-covered walkway until she disappears down a narrow, tree-lined path.
My heart pounds like a jackhammer. What in the world just happened?
“Do you play checkers?” Belmont asks out of the blue.
“Huh?” I’m thoroughly confused.
“Let’s talk over a game of checkers.”
“But I don’t know how to play.” I’m frowning. My entire body aches. I want to run away, pack up, and go.
He knows Maya?
“I’ll teach you,” he says tenderly. He comes in for a kiss, but I lower my face.
“Whatever. Okay,” I mumble.
“Hey…” He puts two fingers under my chin to lift my face. “I’m sorry all of this happened. I want to make it better. Will you let me?”
I want to ask him how in the world he plans to do that, but instead I nod. I go upstairs and hop in the shower to rinse the extra sand off of me. Unfortunately, I can’t wash the mess my life is out of my head. Sometimes I wish I had an off switch, like in that movie Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. I would pay a million dollars to undergo that procedure. Maybe. I don’t think I could ever want to forget Belmont Lord.
The ocean always dries out my hair, so I spread a conditioning mask on it while I shave the fine stubble off my arms, legs, and other parts. Keeping busy is the best way to forget all the crazy things happening in my life. After I rinse my hair and
cut off the water, I towel blot and finger comb my curls.
I put on a casual, green, knee-length, long-sleeved, boat-neck jersey dress and warm, furry black boots. The weather is at least five degrees cooler than yesterday and steadily dropping.
“What are you wearing?” Belmont asks.
I jump. I didn’t hear him enter the room. “This.” I lift my arms to display my outfit.
He shakes his head. “It’s too sexy. I won’t be able to concentrate.”
“You think everything I wear is sexy. This is not sexy.”
“Really?” He sounds as though he’s challenging me.
“Really.” I fold my arms across my chest.
He walks over to me and squeezes my butt cheeks. “Ass.” He squeezes my chest. “Tits.” He looks at me as if that explains it all.
“You’re crazy.”
Suddenly I slam into his chest, and before I know it, we’re kissing. His hands crush my butt, and he pins my lower parts against his hard knot.
“Let’s get the hell out of here before I throw you on the bed,” he claims breathlessly.
***
We’re in a black classic Thunderbird with the top up and the stereo off. I’ve noticed that he doesn’t listen to music while he drives. Usually I had to tolerate Adrian’s loud and weird instrumentals whenever I rode shotgun with him. He thought listening to strange indie music made him unique. Like Belmont, I don’t listen to music when I drive. I can’t think with all the background sound, and being alone in the car is the best time to plan.
There’s a fair amount of traffic on the roads. Now that I’m sitting idle, my mind works overtime recalling the way Maya looked at Belmont. There was something familiar in her eyes, a look I’m trying to ignore.
“So…” I say to break the silence and stop thinking about Maya and Belmont together-together. “This checkers game is going to be a big deal.”
He glances my way with a wink and a smile. “A huge deal.”
“And you have to drive me to wherever we’re going so that we can play checkers?”
“You mock me!”
“Yes, kind of.”
He takes my hand and kisses my knuckles. “You can mock me anytime.”
“What can’t I do to you?” I twist in my seat to face him.
“Cheat on me,” he answers right away. “I’ll forgive you, but you would’ve ripped out my heart.” Belmont doesn’t take his eyes off the road.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “I’m not a cheater.”
“You never cheated on your boyfriend?”
“Not once,” I mutter, looking out the window. I recognize where we are. We’re passing through Edgartown, taking a left at the fork to State Beach Road. “Have you?”
“I want to lie and say no, but I won’t.”
“Then you have.” I actually don’t know how I feel about that. Maybe he should’ve lied.
“After what that jackass did to you, that was probably the last thing you needed to hear,” he says perceptively. “I can promise that I’ll just leave before I cheat on you, and we’ll sit down and talk about it before that happens.”
“Talk about what? That you want to cheat on me?” I ask with a bite.
“A man doesn’t cheat because he’s an animal, Daisy. It really isn’t how we’re made. I know that for a fact. Fucking her and her and her eats away at your soul.” A veil of sadness covers his eyes.
“I guess so.” I sigh and gaze out the window at the Nantucket Sound. Shallow waves crisscross in the ocean, signaling that the wind has picked up. “It’s just that he should’ve talked to me. I had no idea he was unhappy.” I close my eyes. “Or maybe I did.”
I wait to hear Belmont’s response, but he remains silent. I face him. He’s looking straight ahead and obviously has something heavy on his mind.
“How well do you know Maya?” I suddenly blurt out.
“I don’t know her that well,” he says defensively. “Met her a couple of times.”
“Where?”
“Vegas.”
“Did you have sex with her?” I ask. I know Maya well, and I saw the answer to my question in her eyes. I just want him to tell me I’m wrong.
Belmont squirms. “Once, and it didn’t mean anything to me.”
I want to cry. My sinuses swell, and tears are asking permission to roll. I clear my throat and swallow the condensation.
“I’m sorry if I just hurt you, babe. It meant nothing, really.”
“Who came on to whom?” It’s a crazy question, but I need to know.
“She came on to me,” he says to my relief. He takes my limp hand. “Daisy, I didn’t know she was the friend you were talking about. I think she’s capable of doing what she did, but you and her in the same circle?” He shakes his head. “I would’ve never guessed it.”
“Why not?” I wrinkle my eyebrows.
“She’s into a lot of shit.”
“Like what?”
He tenses, reluctant to answer. “You should ask her.”
“Like she’ll tell me…”
“She probably won’t. I hate what she did to you. I’m not surprised. But she should tell you about it, not me.”
“I remember she used to go to Vegas every weekend. She said she was seeing someone there. Was it you?”
“Hell no!” He lets out a long sigh. “Are we done talking about her? If I could take it back, I would. Especially if I knew I would meet you one day.”
“Did you enjoy it–being with her?” I ask squeamishly.
“Nope.”
“You’re just saying that,” I mutter.
“Daisy…” He glances at me. “I’ll tell you the truth. If I had liked fucking her even a little, I would say so. I can give you the reasons why I didn’t.” He says that like he’s waiting for a response.
I’m too curious to pass on the offer. “Sure, I want to hear it.”
“You’re tight; she’s not. Chicks like her have this bone right here”—he pushes down on my pelvis—“that sticks you like a needle.”
“All right.” I throw up my hands. “I know I asked for it. I got it. No need to explain any further.” I guess that was too much information.
“Are you sure?” He grins. “Because I have a lot more reasons.”
“I’m sure you do.”
We laugh.
He’s still staring straight ahead. There’s something satisfying about the conversation we just had; it makes me feel a lot better.
Belmont reaches over to stroke my thigh, and that’s where he leaves his hand.
Oak Bluffs has an “Old Town” feel to it. It’s quaint and cute but built for amusement. It hits us by surprise. One moment we’re driving up Sea View Avenue, flanked by a pond on one side and a pristine ocean on the other, and then suddenly our attention is captured by a wide landscape of plush green grass. All the pathways cutting through Ocean Park lead to a white, wood gazebo.
Today, a wedding is taking place on the lawn. The guests are focused on the bride and groom, who are saying their “I do’s” under the shade of the gazebo. The wind lifts the hem of her dress. She doesn’t look too comfortable as she holds her floral headpiece in place with one hand. I bet she never predicted the uptick in the wind. That’s the thing about the east coast; the weather can change like that. In L.A., ninety-nine percent of the time, the weather you wake up with is the same weather you go to bed with.
Belmont drives past the Oak Bluffs police station and stops at a sign. The general location looks familiar. I saw this all in my research on Martha’s Vineyard. I identify the Flying Horses—which houses the oldest carousel in America—on Oak Bluffs Avenue and the tip of Circuit Avenue. The Campsite is not too far from here.
Belmont honks and the passing Jeep returns the beep. Instead of taking his hand off my lap, he lifts the one off the steering wheel to wave at the man in the white pickup. Soon he turns left into a famous community of gingerbread houses.
“Is this where we’re going?” I ask, intrigued
by the colors.
“Yep,” he replies as he parallel parks, using one hand to navigate between two small cars without breaking a sweat.
“Impressive,” I remark, grinning at him.
He leans across the seat, and I let him kiss me. Every time his tongue touches mine, my heart rate increases. His kisses are never casual; they’re laced with passion and desire. My back straightens, and my chest puffs up as he pulls me toward him. He sucks on my chin and jawbone until he slides his warm, wet tongue down my neck. A moan escapes me. He’s made me ready for whatever he wants to do to me next.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” he whispers thickly.
Each gingerbread house is painted in a different color. Pink, blue, green, orange, red—you name it and it’s probably splashed on one of those cottages. I feel as if we’re traipsing through a neighborhood in a Brothers Grimm tale. Many have flowerbeds of tulips planted in front of the wraparound porches or sitting in flowerboxes on the rails. And then there are the domed bay windows that open to quaint balconies built into the gables. Frankly, I’m charmed by the entire spectacle.
Belmont takes my hand. He leads me up the dusty road and to a mint green cottage. He unlocks the door with one of his many keys.
“We’re going in here?” I ask, surprised.
“Yep.”
My awe is quelled as soon as we’re inside. The entire ground floor is vacant. “There’s nothing here,” I say.
“We’re going upstairs,” he replies.
Belmont takes my hand and leads me up the stairs to a room with a bed, two big armchairs in front of a dome-topped bay door with a square table between them, and a ceiling that’s so low Belmont can reach up to touch it.
“Give me a second.” He gets on his hands and knees to dig under the bed. He says I’m sexy, but he’s the sexy one. No one has ever made tan slacks and a light blue V-neck T-shirt look so appealing. And he’s wearing a pair of white, blue and orange tri-colored designer sneakers on his feet. He’s so well put-together, and it’s a turn on.
“Got it!” he says victoriously and pulls out the game of checkers.
Find Her, Keep Her (A Martha's Vineyard Love Story) (Love in the USA) Page 8
