It’s also an unusual one to experience around others. Instead of feeling drained by being around him for such an extended period, I’m refreshed. Ready to start the day.
Typically, by now, even with my bestie Claire, I’d be feeling restless. I’d need to be alone to recharge. By degrees, I can feel myself ease into a true calm.
I break off the last bit of banana, hand it to him, and toss the peel onto the side table. I lick my fingers, and he tightens his arms.
“What’s Claire got planned for us today? Do we have a site-packed day?” The way I’m pressed against him, I not only hear the words but also feel them rumble against my back.
“Actually, no. Just one site.”
His hand moves up and cups my breast, and I shiver.
“I like the sound of that. How far away? Do we need to get started soon?”
“Nope. It’s in Daytona Beach. Some place called Dunlawton Sugar Mill Gardens.”
His chin lifts from my shoulder. “A botanical garden? That doesn’t seem to fit the theme.”
“You’re right. It doesn’t.” I shift in his lap so I can see him. “That’s because what we’re actually supposed to see is located there. The Bongoland Ruins.”
“What’s that?”
A spurt of happiness buoys my voice. “I don’t know.”
He squeezes my breast. “Awesome.”
We sit there, quiet, but together. He slowly kneads different parts of me—an elbow, a thigh, a wrist. And it doesn’t feel like foreplay. More like a subconscious thing he’s doing as we watch the day unfold along the beach. And I like it. I really really like it.
Every once in a while, one of us points out some antic on the beach, and we take guesses as to the perpetrator’s backstory.
I even feel comfortable enough to tell him I’m going to paste in yesterday’s pics into the journal, and he seems completely fine with me doing something separate from him. We move downstairs to a shady spot by the pool, and while I do the minimum required for the journal, he sits down at the pool’s edge.
But as I tape in the last pic, the easiness starts to dissipate. And for the strangest reason. It’s because I am so at ease. I’m forgetting that this is just sex.
And I can’t forget that.
This is a fun interlude with a player. Nothing more.
Once I drop him off in Atlanta, this will all be over.
Aiden
Our steps slow as we exit the elevator at the Sun Viking Lodge and head to Jane’s car. I’m reluctant to leave. It’s as if, by moving slow enough, we can somehow keep the bubble we enjoyed in that room and have it travel with us, instead of making it burst by moving too quickly.
Fuck. I need my man card taken away.
I squeeze Jane’s hand and nod to the sign labeled Viking Kafe. “Going to load up on some more grub.”
“Good idea.”
We purchase some muffins and fruit, as well as some bottled water, and head to the car.
Unfortunately, it’s been baking in the sun for most of the morning, so we open the doors while we toss in our bags.
We roll down the windows, and she reaches in and turns the key in the ignition to let the A/C crank for a bit before we get in.
This time it won’t start.
Not even on the third try. “Pop the hood. Let me take a look.”
She does, and I scoot around to the front of her car. I open it up. The cables running to her battery look secure, but there’s a bit of crud built up on the ends. “I’ll be right back. You have jumper cables, just in case?”
“Yes.”
Soon I’m back with a can of Coke and a rag. I loosen the cables and pour the liquid over the crud and watch it dissolve. I clean the ends and secure them back in place. I lean out to the side. “Try it now.”
She tries again, but no luck. She looks at me with a worried bite of her lip. “Jumper cables?”
“Yep. I’ll see if I can find someone who’ll give us a jump.”
Shortly, I’m back with one of the hotel’s maintenance men, and he maneuvers his truck into place.
The battery takes the jump—hallelujah—but the guy refuses a tip.
Soon we’re heading south toward Bongoland, and I angle the A/C vent for maximum blowage. “The battery’s only a year old?”
“Yep.”
“Looks like you got a dud.” I fish out my cell, type auto stores into Google Maps, and direct her to the nearest one. “We should get you a new one, just to be safe.”
Twenty minutes later, I’m washing my hands in the store bathroom after having switched out her battery for a new one in the auto store parking lot. It’s stupid, but I feel a bit of pride that I was able to do this for her.
Jane
We pull up at the entrance to the botanical garden, but the gates are closed. “Crap. I thought it’d be open.”
Aiden has his phone out. “It says on the website it’s open until five.”
We get out of the car anyway and approach. That’s when I see a smaller sign.
Closed for maintenance today. Sorry for any inconvenience.
Surprisingly, I’m disappointed.
But what can we do? Claire will understand. I lift the camera to take a picture of the sign as proof, and a warm hand clasps mine, staying me.
“Come on.” Aiden glances at me with a mischievous smile and nods his head along the fence. “Let’s walk the perimeter. Maybe we can see from here what Bongoland is.”
We’re about to step away from the gate, when I’m again pulled up short by Aiden’s hand.
“Hello there,” he shouts.
I whip around. Inside, a distance away, a figure is patrolling the grounds.
Aiden waves, and the figure changes direction and strides toward the gate. As the person nears, I can see it’s a petite, trim woman in a guard’s uniform.
“Terribly sorry,” she says, “but we’re closed today.” Her blonde hair’s cut in a bob that sways with her head shaking no.
Aiden steps closer to the gate and grips one of the bars. “I see. Any chance you can let us in?”
The timbre of his voice has changed, and I glance at him. He’s smiling at the woman with his head at a slight angle.
The woman sighs, and, good Lord, her stance seems to go a little soft as she stares at Aiden in obvious appreciation. “Sorry. One of the employees called in sick. It wouldn’t be an issue, except that we’re already short staffed on account of Tammy up and quitting last week without notice.”
“So you don’t have enough staff around to watch all the visitors.”
“That’s right.” Now her hair swishes forward from her nod.
“But what if you only let us in. We wouldn’t be too much to handle. I promise.”
“Well…” Her gaze darts to mine and back again.
And then Aiden engages his full charm mode, blasting the poor woman. “Please? I’ve promised my girlfriend a visit to Bongoland, and we’re leaving today for Atlanta. I have this whole romantic picnic planned, which”—and here he looks at me with sheepish apology—“I just let slip.” He’s only missing a lip bite to effect the full-on oh-shucks look. And far from making him look like a pouty boy, he looks hot as hell.
The awww practically oozes from the guard’s eyes.
She steps forward and unlocks the gate. “If it’s just you two, and you promise to—”
“We’ll be good,” he quickly promises.
She tries to look stern, but it’s clear she’s fallen prey to his charm.
We step through, and Aiden winks. “You’re the best. Thank you! Which way to Bongoland?”
The security guard rattles off directions, and we wend our way through a surprisingly well-maintained botanical garden with paths branching everywhere. The day is gorgeous, birds are chirping in the trees, and we stick to the shade.
“You’re such a charmer. You had that poor guard almost turned into goo on the ground.”
He winks at me. “Got us in, didn’t it?”
> I smile. “Yes.” But an irrational jealousy has sprouted, which is stupid because I have no claim on him. He can be charming to whomever he wants. I yank the poisonous feeling out of my heart before it can take root.
But wow, yeah—shit. That reaction. I couldn’t have received a better warning if my heart had been wired with a warning bell. I’ve let myself read too much into what’s going on between us. Seeing him put on that charm is a reminder. A good, well-timed reminder. Aiden’s the playboy Claire warned me about.
He must pick up on my mood, because he nudges my shoulder, both eyebrows raised. “You okay?”
“Totally. Thanks for getting us in. So what are your guesses for what awaits us?” I ask, wanting to keep the mood light. Determined to be just what the occasion calls for. Nothing more.
Chapter 15
Jane
We pass the time making outrageous guesses as the botanical garden unwinds from manicured paths to ones wild with Spanish moss-laced oaks, palmettos, and other scrub.
Aiden pulls our joined hands up and points. “Ummm. What the hell is that?”
We approach, and it’s…a small concrete dinosaur in bad shape. Opposite, an old mechanical wheel and gears sit under a wooden roof.
Nearby, we find a path lined with big three-toed stone footprints painted green. A hand-painted sign announces, “Do Not Feed the Dinosaurs,” with most of the word “Not” missing because of a big bite taken out of the sign.
“What the hell?” Aiden says, his voice amused.
We walk down the path, and then we see it. A huge concrete stegosaurus corralled by a black metal fence.
Oookaaaay.
I point. “There’s another sign.”
We sidle up to a sign that reads BONGOLAND in blocky letters and learn that this was a failed theme park in the early fifties.
“Concrete dinosaurs?” Aiden says.
“Apparently so. That was not one of our guesses.”
He laughs. “No, it wasn’t.”
Apparently, it was named after a baboon on the premises, and there used to be a train that brought tourists around the theme park, which also featured a replica Seminole village and a human sundial. It closed from lack of interest.
We turn around, and there’s a giant T-Rex.
“Its head,” I say. “Oh my God.”
“Well, the sign warned us that the guy did it to the best of his ability.”
The body of the T-Rex is bad enough, with its legs almost looking like separate attachments on its sides. But the head… It’s thin and narrow, and while it does have a lot of teeth, it looks like a dopey grin. It reminds me of the plaster horse at Solomon’s castle.
I hand Aiden my Polaroid, try my best to imitate the grin the T-Rex is sporting, and he snaps a pic.
A sign nearby warns of the danger of the dinosaurs, with another big bite taken out.
We wander the paths and find one more, a Triceratops, all that’s left of the old theme park.
It’s quirky and sad.
I sit down on a nearby bench. “I picture this guy all excited about this theme park and how fantastic it will be. The crowds.”
Aiden settles next to me and pulls out the muffins and fruit he bought earlier. “And then it’s a flop.” He passes me a muffin and a banana.
I peel the banana and look around. “Yeah. He and his friend put all this work into it, creating these dinosaurs to the ‘best of their ability,’ and wait for the crowds. Stay up nights talking about their big dream.”
I don’t know why it’s affecting me so much. I just hate picturing the disappointment. Especially when it follows the excitement and hope of a new venture. There’s something so vulnerable about that excitement that makes the disappointment brutal.
“Don’t forget the train and the Seminole village they built.”
We eat the rest of our food in silence.
Once we’re done, Aiden stands and holds out a hand. “Come on, baby doll, let’s see if we can find the human sundial.”
I give a start at the nickname, but I put my hand in his, and he pulls me up.
“What was that?” he asks.
“What?”
“You went stiff and got a funny look on your face. We can skip the sundial.”
I laugh. “No. It’s not that. It’s just that, that’s what my dad calls me.”
“Baby doll?”
“Yep.”
He steps back. “Yikes. Yeah, I’ll be skipping that one then.” He laces his fingers with mine and picks up our trash that we’d stuffed in a plastic bag. “Good memory or bad?”
“The nickname?”
“Yeah.”
I shrug. “Neither really. He’s a lot like you, actually.”
He groans. “That’s not good. How so?” We start walking down the path, deeper into the property. An overhanging tree momentarily casts his face in shadow.
“He’s a charmer.”
“You think I’m charming?” he teases.
I give him a get-real look. “You know you are. You charmed us in here, didn’t you?”
“Guilty as charged,” he says, voice light, but I see a shadow cross his face, quickly masked.
It works out well for my mom. She adores my dad and vice versa. There’s nothing he won’t do for her.
But I learned pretty early on that charm is cheap. My dad would always pour it on thick whenever he failed to show up at a school recital like he promised or some such thing like that. He’d make other grand promises too…and never deliver. He would for mom, but not for me.
I don’t think I was quite what either of them expected. They both wanted a princess-type to dress up. Instead they got a mousy girl who’d rather bury herself in books or browse the aisle of an office supply store than a clothing store.
I was—and am—a third wheel in my own family.
Aiden
We don’t find the human sundial, but we do find another necessary attraction, apparently, because Jane turns to me and holds out her Polaroid and journal.
“Watch these for me?” She thumbs behind her to the ladies’ bathroom.
I toss the trash in the garbage by the building and take her things. “You trust me with your innermost secrets?” I hold up her journal and waggle my eyebrows in a mock-sinister expression.
She rolls her eyes. “Nothing secret in there. Look away.”
She disappears inside, and I lean back against the building. I lift the journal. Hell, I’m as curious as the next guy, and she doesn’t seem to care. I open to the last entry.
Even so, I don’t read the captions. She said I could look, but it feels like a line I shouldn’t cross.
I smile at the one I took of her by the giant Viking. She’s doing a serious face, trying to look like the fierce warrior. It’s as if each time she does these imitative poses, I see her peeking out from her shell. Being daring. Being herself.
And it’s one hell of a turn-on. Because it’s just like her transformation in bed.
I run my finger alongside a Polaroid of the restaurant where we ate last night, which led to the stroll on the beach, then the blistering hot sex and her calling me Supermouth and fiddling with my joystick.
I chuckle and flip back another page, and there she is in front of the giant potty chair, umbrella in hand, but half of her hair blocking her face from the wind and rain.
There’s the one of her in front of the Spook Hill sign.
But as I flip back through the memories we’d made in such a short amount of time, something bothers me, and I can’t quite name it.
I turn to another page, and it dawns on me.
Despite taking selfies of us together at each of our stops, every single memory she chose to record in the journal is of just her. Alone.
I push away from the wall, still looking at the one of her at Solomon’s castle. This journey is about her, prompted by her friend Claire. It’s not about me, or us, but…
An unwelcome hurt suffuses me, and I blow out a frustrated breath. I don�
��t know, it just…feels strange that we explored these places together—hell, I even had to push her to spend more time at some of these—and it’s as if I’m not even part of this trip. Not worth recording.
It’s stupid, but I can’t dislodge the feeling. As if she’s ghosting me again, but this time, I’m the ghost.
The door creaks open just as I get to the first page, and I snap the journal shut.
Jane emerges with a big grin. “I’ve gotta take a pic of the inside.”
“Of the bathroom?” I hold out the Polaroid.
She looks around, but of course no one’s near. “Come see.”
I peek inside the sanctum-sanctorum that is a woman’s bathroom, but it looks pretty basic in its essentials. Except for the walls. They’re covered in primitive but colorful drawings of dinosaurs.
She lines up a shot and takes her pic. I hand over her journal, and she stuffs the photo into the back. “Now, let’s go find that sundial.” She grins and pushes past me.
I shove aside my pity party and follow. This is her trip. I’m aided by the sight of her ass cupped in her Capri pants, and my dick gives a little, hello-there kick.
Deeper within the grounds we stumble across the remains of an old sugar mill. Explains the name of the botanical garden. We stroll along all the paths and outdoor exhibits, everything well-labeled, Jane fully engaged, but an antsiness has me by the short hairs, and I can’t shake it.
I’m sure the site’s interesting and historical and all that crap, but I can’t focus. Not on it, at least. No, I’m focused on Jane. Focused on how she moves. Focused on how she interacts with everything we find.
It’s as if we’ve reversed roles. Now she’s the enthusiastic explorer of this site, and I’m the reluctant tag-along. But it’s more than that. Today’s Thursday. By this time tomorrow, we’ll be in Atlanta. I’ll be with my team, and she’ll be turning around and heading back home. Our time’s growing short, and that doesn’t sit well with me. Not at all.
The more I watch her, and the more my role as a ghost on this trip sinks in, the more I want to insert myself. Make a big enough splash that she has no choice but to acknowledge my part in her journey. It’s an immature reaction, I know.
Risking It Page 10
