Ground Rules: Rewritten

by Roya Carmen

  “Wow, little butterfly, I’m astonished I’m still alive. You almost suffocated me.”

  I cringe. I’m so embarrassed. “I’m so sorry.”

  He laughs. “I’m teasing you, Mirella. That was an amazing show. The female body completely unhinged in the face of sexual pleasure.”

  “Really?” I say, still a little self-conscious.

  “It was beautiful. I love the way you respond to me.”

  “Well,” I stifle a laugh. “You’re pretty good at that.”

  A wicked smile stretches across his face. “Um…remember the plan for tonight? We kind of veered off course.”

  I cock a brow.

  “The Bordeaux,” he reminds me.

  I bite down a smile. “Oh yes, we were supposed to sixty-nine. You didn’t even get yours.”

  He laughs. “Yes, well the night is still young.”

  I pull him up to me and rip his belt right out of its loop, hard. “Oh yes, it is.”

  He kisses my neck. “You’re insatiable, butterfly.”

  Chapter Twelve

  …things could get interesting.

  GWEN DRAGS ME ACROSS THE MALL as she sips a bubble tea through a thick straw. We nip through the busy crowds—mostly moms with strollers and groups of teenagers. Gwen is always on full speed when it comes to shopping. I can never quite keep up with her. Even the impossibly high black heeled boots she wears are not slowing her down.

  It seems strange to shop for bathing suits when it’s not quite spring yet. As soon as we step in the brightly lit store, I’m overwhelmed, so many colors, patterns and styles.

  This shopping trip has been in the works for a while. Gwen had promised to buy me a bikini a while ago, despite my objections. And she figures this trip to Hawaii is the perfect excuse.

  So we compromise on our desired suit; a two-piece. Something sexy but not too revealing. I’m still not sure.

  “And no tankinis. Those are basically one pieces, just more practical for pee breaks,” she clarifies as she tugs a few bikini bras off the walls. “They’re for moms.”

  I laugh. “I am a mom.”

  She shrugs, holding a bright bikini top next to my chest. “Oh yeah, I keep forgetting. My point is, you don’t have to dress like a mom just because you are one.”

  I sigh. “The yellow. Not happening.”

  I study the options displayed on the rack. There’s the bandeau top. Nope, not unless I want everyone to see my boobs—but then again, they’ve all seen them, with the exception of Bridget. I ponder this for a moment. “Nope,” I tell Gwen as she holds up the striped rectangle of Lycra.

  The next options are your basic brassiere style tops and halter tops. The halters are quite nice.

  Gwen holds up a red thong bottom. “Weston would just flip for this.”

  I bite my lip and imagine myself in a stringy red bikini. “Sorry, can’t do it.”

  Gwen shrugs, her brows furrowed. “I don’t get you, Mirella, You have a body that won’t quit, and you won’t show it off.”

  I shake my head. “I probably have a few pounds to lose.”

  “You really want to look like those emancipated models who look like thirteen year old boys?”

  The woman does make a point, I muse, holding a pretty yellow and black two piece—a frilly skirt bottom and halter top.

  Gwen rolls her eyes. “Please, not the skirt.”

  I laugh. “It’s cute.”

  She rips the hanger from my hand. “It’s kind of nice, but I thought you said no yellow.”

  “I like it. Maybe with the halter top.”

  She nods in approval and grabs the top. But we’re not quite done yet. “This one’s nice, but I’m looking for something which will completely blow his…their minds away,” she adds with a cheeky smile.

  And that’s when we both see it, off in the distance—a navy blue two piece with boy style bottoms, white polka-dots and red trim, topped off with big white buttons. Very retro, very sexy.

  As Gwen tilts her head and studies it like an algebra problem, the faint lines in her forehead grow deeper. “That is totally you. But I’m just not sure if it’s quite sexy enough.”

  I smile. “It kind of has a fifties pinup girl thing going.”

  She snorts. “But it’s not sexy enough. That suit screams demure silk slip, bed, lights off, missionary.”

  I laugh out loud. The skinny shop girl finally peels her eyes away from the young blonde she’s been assisting to check us out.

  “What do you want it to scream?” I ask Gwen, already knowing the answer.

  She stares up at the ceiling, mulling it over. “I want it to scream banging on the beach, pinned against a black motorcycle, doggie-style, under kick-ass fireworks.”

  I gasp, turning to see shop girl with her jaw to the floor. I grab the retro suit and scurry away, mildly mortified.

  And on my way to the change rooms, on a whim, I grab a cute black tankini. My safe suit. Something tells me this is the one I’ll be wearing most of the time.

  Gwen darts after me. “I’m not paying for that one. It’s way too square.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll pay for this one myself.” A girl needs a safety suit. What if I drink too many tropical drinks and get bloated?

  “Things should be interesting,” Gwen says as we walk back to the parking lot.

  We both have our hands full of bags. We ended up getting three bathing suits and a cover-up for me, and Gwen made quite a few impulse purchases, including a slinky blue dress for me, which she refuses to give to me right away. She says she wants to hold on to it for a few days. So mysterious.

  I look up at her. “What do you mean?”

  A wicked smile stretches across her face. “Well, it will be just the four of you, for a week, in Hawaii, you think?”

  I gasp. “What are you saying?”

  She shrugs. “Like I said, things could get interesting.”

  My heart beats a little faster. Her words rattle me. “I’m not into foursomes or anything like that.”

  She laughs. “You never know. The mood might strike.”

  “Uh…no, it most certainly won’t,” I snap and my voice cracks a little.

  “Is this conversation unnerving you, Mirella? You seem flustered,” she teases.

  I glare at her. “You’re such a trouble maker.”

  She smiles. “You think Gabe will be jealous, seeing you with Weston?”

  I bite my lip. “No, we talked about it. Everything will be on the up and up. I’ve talked it over with Gabe and Weston. Weston and I won’t touch each other.”

  She pulls a face, her eyes wide. “Are you serious? Can you keep your hands off him for a week?”

  I smile. “I hope so.”

  “And what about Gabe and Bridget? You’ll have to watch them like a hawk.”

  I shake my head. “They’re not horny teenagers, Gwen.”

  “Well, from what I’ve heard she sounds like a nymphomaniac.”

  I laugh. “You’ve heard nothing.”

  My laugh fades as my thoughts drift. I’m not worried about Bridget and Gabe. I’m more concerned about Bridget and Weston. What I’m concerned about is seeing them together, canoodling in their beautiful Hawaiian retreat. I’m afraid I’ll turn green with jealousy…and green is really not a good color on me.

  “Promise me you’ll be careful,” Gwen says as we hop into the car.

  I swallow hard, doing up my seat belt. “I promise.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  This could be fun, after all.

  CLAIRE WON’T LET GO. She’s absolutely breaking my heart. She and I have never been separated for longer than twenty-four hours. “Seven whole days,” she says with the saddest pout I’ve ever seen. “I’ll miss you so much.”

  Chloe pries her from my grasp. “They have to go, Claire.”

  Gabe pinches her cheek. “It’s okay,” he tells her. She smiles at him like she always does. She just adores him, such a daddy’s girl. “We won’t be gone that long, a
nd you’ll have so much fun at Auntie Gwinnie’s.”

  I feel so guilty, leaving them. And I tell myself this is the only time I will ever leave them. Next time they’re coming with me. I won’t go anywhere else without them.

  As Chloe gives her dad one last good-bye hug, I can’t help but wonder if we are making a huge mistake, if this might be the worst idea ever conceived. I can’t imagine how this is ever going to work—the four of us in Hawaii for a whole week. Part of me can’t believe Gabe and I are doing this. But I know exactly why we are—because we crave the excitement, the thrill. After all, we’ve never ever been on a big trip, just the two of us, since the girls were born. I try to justify this trip using the argument that we deserve this trip. At least that’s what I tell myself.

  I shake my head and try not to think about it all.

  Gwen holds Claire tight under her arm and kisses the top of her head. “We’ll have so much fun. We’ll go shopping. We’ll play games. We’ll watch movies with popcorn.”

  I smile at her with such emotion, I have to hold back the tears. Gwen has been so good to us. I still feel so bad about the fight we had.

  “I set up the guest room all special for you girls,” she goes on, her smile lighting up the room. “And I got you toys and coloring books and all kinds of neat stuff.”

  I sigh. “Gwen, you shouldn’t have. You spoil them too much.”

  She shakes her head. “There’s no such thing.”

  I know she doesn’t approve of this whole thing, but she says I’m her best friend, and she doesn’t want to lose me. She tells me she’ll be open to any way I choose to live my life, and she’ll try not to judge.

  “Thanks so much, Gwen. You don’t know what this means to us.” Sure, Gabe’s family could have taken the girls but it’s not that simple. It seems everyone is working these days, and Gwen was going to spend the spring break alone at her house. When she told me she’d love to take the girls, I couldn’t believe it because I know she thinks this trip is a big mistake. She’s begged me to be careful more than once.

  I tell myself she’s overreacting, but there’s a small part of me that worries she might be right.

  Maui is beautiful, I muse as I look out the small oval window. It’s magical. The vibrant greens and blues, you almost can’t believe it’s real. I’m so glad to finally be here. I didn’t think my nerves could handle the long trip. Why is Hawaii so far?

  We are flying first class. Gabe and I both comfy in spacious seats, watching separate movies. The flight attendants have been doing their jobs a little too well. Their constant “excellent customer service” has started to grate my nerves. I suppose this is what rich people have to put up with, being continuously bothered.

  Despite the constant frown on Gabe’s face, I can tell he enjoyed the extra leg space. He’s so tall, he’d be folded like a pretzel in coach. Gabe listened to his iPod for much of the flight, completely ignoring me. He has not been as enthusiastic about this trip as I have, but I think he was a little intrigued by the whole prospect.

  He’s still pouting like a child.

  Us four, together for a week.

  Could go well, or could possibly go horribly.

  We’re meeting Weston and Bridget at Kahului airport. I’m so glad they didn’t fly with us, I can only handle so much unease in one day. It will be strange enough meeting up with them on the island.

  As we make our landing, I close my eyes and hold my breath. This is the part I hate the most about flying. As we finally reach the safety of the ground, Gabe shoots me a smile.

  Well, how about that.

  This could be fun, after all.

  Weston and Bridget are waiting for us at baggage claim. Bridget waves at us, dressed in stylish paisley patterned capris, a pink tank and ropy wedge sandals. She looks fabulous as always. I feel a little ridiculous in my sequin flower covered tank top and bohemian maxi skirt.

  She smiles that huge megawatt smile of hers. She’s walking perfection, on a different plane than the rest of us. As she hugs me tightly, I finally dare shoot Weston a look. He smiles at me shyly. I’m apparently not the only one who feels a little ill at ease.

  Bridget wraps her arms around Gabe, a little too tightly and a little too long, if you ask me. Weston and I share a rather quick chaste hug. I don’t think we even touch. God, we are odd.

  I’m in Hawaii, and it’s where I want to be, but I’m already missing my girls. And I’m so damn nervous. I just know my nerves are never going to survive this week.

  Weston and Gabe pull the luggage as we walk to the car. Bridget and I lag behind and chat.

  “I can’t believe you only have one bag between the two of you. You know you’re here for a week, right?!”

  “Well, we are a little less high-maintenance than the two of you.”

  Oh crap! Did I say that out loud?

  She laughs. “Yes, you are quite right about that. You should see how much baggage I bring along when I travel. Weston hates it.”

  “I’m sure Weston has a lot too,” I venture.

  “Mostly emotional,” she says half-laughing, and I’m not sure if she’s kidding or not.

  We reach the black Escalade, and there are two locals waiting for us; a jovial beautiful young woman and a middle-aged man who says a quick “aloha” and grabs our suitcases.

  “Aloha,” the beautiful young woman cheers, hanging a fresh flowered necklace around my neck. The scent is overwhelming.

  “Wow. I’m impressed. We just got here and you’ve already been lei-ed,” Gabe jokes, thinking he’s so clever.

  “Ha-ha.” I smile. “Your turn.”

  The beautiful young woman reaches up to wrap the string of flowers around his neck. He bends down to accommodate her and shoots her a flirty smile. Geez, we’ve barely set foot on the island, and he’s already flirting with the locals. He looks good with his dark skin, devil-may-care hair and white linen shirt. He fits in instantly. He seems relaxed, like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

  Me? I’m another matter.

  As soon as we turn into the driveway of the villa, I am in awe. It’s such a beautiful spot; a palatial multi-level cream stucco residence with a rust colored roof, surrounded by lush tropical shrubbery.

  Our driver, Rafael, helps Gabe with our luggage as we make our way to the front door. I trail behind everyone, almost afraid to go in. I can’t believe this is really happening.

  As soon as we enter the house, I spot the pristine ocean views across the palatial room, vibrant pinks and purples of the sunset, as far as the eye can see. My jaw drops as I take in the room; modern sleek lines, marble floors and coffered ceilings, windows offering panoramic views of the tropical scenery.

  “Welcome to our little home-away-from-home,” Bridget offers, her high-pitched voice breaks me from my temporary state of paralysis.

  “Little?” I joke, reaching to touch one of the gigantic tropical leaves propped up in one of the many glass vases. I probably shouldn’t touch anything, but I can’t help myself.

  “What do you think?” Weston asks, his gaze on me.

  I’m absolutely speechless but thankfully, unlike me, Gabe hasn’t lost his ability to speak.

  “Pretty swanky,” Gabe says with a smile on his face. I think he’s temporarily forgotten he’s not happy to be here.

  The ambiance is very Zen, with its soft hues of creams and whites and sea blue accents. I know I probably should have automatically entered a certain state of relaxation as soon as I walked in, but unfortunately, that’s not the case. I’m wound up so tight even that heavenly looking hot tub I spot in the backyard is not likely to loosen me up.

  Rafael and Bridget make their way upstairs with our luggage. “Come with us.” She motions to Gabe, “I’ll show you your room.”

  And within seconds, Weston and I are left alone in this beautiful space. He shoots me another one of those quiet smiles. He’s beautiful in light khakis and a plain white tee, but I can’t quite look at him.

  I make m
y way around the palatial room, around the large modern sectional sofa, and I stare at the artwork—vibrant colors, impressionist renderings of the local scenery.

  I struggle to make conversation. “Nice artwork,” I offer. He has yet to utter a word. Why does he make me do all the work?

  “They’re all by the same artist, a local. I think he’s about a hundred years old.”

  “Kudos to him. Renoir probably did his best work when he could barely move his hands anymore,” I add, trying to impress him with my rather modest knowledge of art.

  He smiles. I think he’s on to me. “Can I offer you a drink?”

  “Oh God, yes,” I say a little too loudly. I need to take the edge off. “Uh…I mean, yes, please.”

  He laughs at me. I’ve just gotten here and I’m already amusing him. I suppose I’m serving my purpose, if nothing else.

  “Would you care for a mai tai, or maybe a piña colada? Or a pineapple iced tea for something not alcoholic?”

  “Oh, no. I’ll take the alcohol please,” I say, a little too eager. For the life of me, I need a stiff drink, and I don’t care who knows it. I should probably go for a scotch. If only I drank hard liquor.

  I take a seat on a large slipper chair, which sits just across the sleek sectional. It stands out, doesn’t quite fit in. The green and blue palm tree covered fabric is so ugly it seems odd, sitting here, among all the contemporary furniture. I trail my finger against the soft velour. It might be ugly as a bulldog, but it’s quite comfy. I shoot off a quick text to Chloe. I know she’s sleeping, but I told her to check her texts first thing in the morning.

  We’ve made it here safely. Miss you already! <3

  Be good for Gwen and Greg.

  Tell your sister I love her too.

  Let’s Facetime around lunch. Bye :)

  “I make a mean piña colada,” he says with the giant grin he’s been wearing since we entered the Villa. He’s clearly happy to have me here.

  I get to my feet. “Sounds good,” I tell him as I make my way to the curvy modern stools lining the kitchen island. As cool as the rest of the space is, the kitchen feels warm with its teak cabinets and black granite counters.