by Shelby Gates
“I have roots,” he said. “Here.”
“But you're never here, are you?” I didn't want to admit that I had no idea when he was in town and when he wasn't. Dylan was four years older than me and Paige and we'd never spent much time together, even as kids.
“I'm here enough to have a condo where I keep my belongings and I manage to get over to Mom and Dad's once in a while for a home-cooked meal. And I have a fish.” He winked. “Those are roots enough.”
“And living out of a suitcase? That doesn't bother you?”
“Nope.” He glanced down at his outfit, a pair of navy slacks and a light gray polo. “I bring a few days worth of clothes, my laptop.” He grinned. “And condoms. What else do I need?”
I bit back a smile. “Sounds like you have everything covered.”
He let out a sharp laugh. “You can say that again.”
I got his double meaning and blushed a little.
“So, yeah,” he said. “Roots enough to still call this place home and still manage to get my punk ass sister's best friend to the airport when she needs a ride.”
I smiled. “Thank you. For the ride.”
“You're welcome.”
The gate agent spoke into the microphone again, this time calling my boarding group. I stood up and reached for my roller bag.
I swallowed down the butterflies that had suddenly taken flight. “Guess that's me.”
He studied me, his blue eyes a mirror of his sister's. “Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?”
“Traveling.”
“Because I want to see the world. Or at least the country.”
“You don't act like someone who wants to be doing this.”
I hoisted my purse on to my shoulder. It was a bigger one than I was used to carrying and I'd crammed it full of crap. It felt like it weighed a hundred pounds—or maybe that was something else. I shifted on my feet, stretching my back and neck, trying to work out the tightness that had settled in to my muscles.
“Well, I do,” I said stubbornly.
He nodded. “Okay. If you say so.”
I pulled my boarding pass from the pocket of my shorts and unfolded it. “And I'm going to have a great time. Exploring.”
“You should,” Dylan said. “You're a lucky girl.”
“I am?”
Lucky was never something I'd considered myself. My life, especially after high school, had mostly been a series of disappointments. Some big, some small, but all of them piled up on top of one another to make me feel like the unluckiest person on the planet.
He grinned and stood up, slinging his own bag over his shoulder. “Duh. You're pretty. Smart. And loaded. The world is your oyster, Jess. Indulge and enjoy.”
Indulge and enjoy. Those words suddenly seemed exotic and erotic. Words that I'd never associated myself with.
“Let me know how it goes, Jess,” he said. “Or maybe we'll cross paths in some airport or something.”
My spine went rigid as visions of him watching me pick up some stranger in a bar danced in my head. The last thing I needed was for him—or anyone else, really—to figure out what the trip was really about.
Stop, I told myself. Indulge and enjoy. And relax.
“That would be cool,” I said, forcing a smile on my face. “I'll keep an eye out for you.”
He laughed and nodded. “Me, too. Have fun, Jess. Be safe.”
I watched him walk down the corridor toward his own gate. I turned toward the line forming at the counter, my eyes focused on my fellow passengers as they disappeared down the jetway.
I took a deep breath.
Indulge. Enjoy. Relax.
I joined the line, heading to Alabama, thinking those three things were far easier said than done.
FIVE
The first thing I noticed about Mobile, Alabama was the humidity.
The flight from Vermont was smooth and I'd actually managed to sleep for a bit, my nerves somehow settling a little once we'd become airborne. It was like I'd finally taken a breath, actually committed to going. No one stared at me on the plane, looking to plant a scarlet letter on my chest, so my secret was still safe. I'd de-planed and navigated through the Mobile airport and found the rental counters on the lower level. The rental agent, a young kid who looked like he'd just finished eighth grade, didn't try to upsell me or talk me into getting insurance coverage I didn't need. Instead, he smiled and, with a deep southern twang, directed me out of the terminal and to the lot across the way to where the cars were parked.
So when I walked out of the sliding glass doors, my purse looped over my shoulder, my roller bag dragging behind me, I literally came to a screeching halt when a blanket of humidity wrapped itself around me and gave me a warm, sweaty hug.
I took a deep breath, made sure I could get air in my lungs and found my rental car on the lower level of the parking garage. It was a white Ford Taurus that pretty much screamed tourist but at least it would get me from Point A to Point B. The guy in the booth checked my paperwork, then pointed me in the direction of the highway. Only one wrong turn later, I was on my way, headed toward my destination.
Paige, Mimi and I had spent a few nights researching places to stay in each state. It was a great way to keep the topic of conversation away from speculating about all the guys I was going to hook up with—because they both had very vocal opinions about that, too. My very first requirement was that if the state was on the coast, I was staying on the beach. I loved Vermont, the mountains and the countryside and the vibrancy of the seasons, but I'd always been fascinated by the ocean. It was an unknown to me, something that I'd probably romanticized because I'd never had access to it, but I was in love with the idea of staying on the beach, of hearing the waves crash and sinking my feet into the sand and watching the sun rise or set over a horizon of open water.
So we'd immediately zeroed in on beach areas in Alabama and I'd settled on Perdido Beach, a small strip of land about an hour southeast of Mobile, near the Alabama-Florida border and on the northern end of the Gulf of Mexico. Crossing the bridge over Mobile Bay made me smile and by the time I turned southward and hit Perdido on the massive sparkling blue gulf, I was grinning from ear to ear.
There was nothing familiar looking about Alabama. Palm trees. White sand beaches. Scrubby grass that looked more brown than green. A gulf that looked as big as the universe. Stucco buildings with red-tiled roofs, housing everything from chain restaurants to souvenir shops. Shirtless guys on bikes, girls wearing nothing more than bikinis as they strolled the sidewalks. Vermont, this was not.
I picked up my phone to check for directions to my hotel and a text from Paige flashed across the screen. I swiped the screen and called her.
“So?” she said, not bothering to say hello.
“Hi, Paige,” I said. “My flight was fine, thanks for asking.”
“Good to know. I texted in case you were...in the middle of something.”
“I haven't slept with a guy yet,” I told her. “I mean, I haven't had sex with a guy yet. Or a girl.”
“What the hell is taking you so long?” she asked, only half-joking.
“Well, I guess I could have pulled Dylan into one of the family bathrooms at the airport and had a quickie,” I said. “But I'm trying to go in alphabetical order. By state, not guy.”
“Ewww,” she said. “Do not discuss sex and my brother in the same sentence.”
I chuckled. “What do you want?”
“I'm just checking up on you,” she said. “Making sure you got in okay.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Are you at the hotel yet?”
“Almost there,” I said. “Still driving.”
There were several buildings along the Gulf, high-rise condos and hotels. They all sort of blended together and I was glad I'd chosen a smaller, more intimate place to stay.
“So what's the plan?” she asked.
“Excuse me?” I pulled to a stop at a red light and scanned the road
stretched out in front of me. I had another block or so to go. “I'm going to find a guy to have sex with. Duh.”
I tried to sound flippant but my insides had once again twisted into knots. It had been easy to focus on the travel part of my trip, on the fact that I was going to be seeing parts of the country I'd never seen before. But Paige wasn't calling to ask about that.
“Good,” she said. “Just making sure you haven't gotten cold feet. Or a cold vagina.”
“Paige!”
She laughed. “Call me tomorrow. I want to hear all about your first night.”
The call ended and the screen immediately reverted back to the map. It indicated I was close to my destination and I glanced up and saw the sign for the hotel almost immediately. The Beach House Inn. The hotels surrounding it dwarfed the three-story building that I was going to call home for the next couple of days. I pulled into the mostly empty parking lot, breathing a sigh of relief that the inn looked like the pictures displayed online. A long, white stucco building, three levels of rooms, all with exterior doors facing the parking lot. I knew what was on the other side of the building. Balconies that faced the Gulf. And miles and miles of soft, white sand.
I hurried to the office to check in and was greeted by a woman who looked a lot like my mother. I thought about the conversation I'd had with her and my dad before embarking on my trip. She'd been puzzled by my decision; Dad had just been pissed. He couldn't believe I was willing to throw away free money on something as frivolous as a trip across the country. I didn't add that I'd be sleeping with fifty guys along the way, too
She smiled when I walked in. She had dark brown hair cut short and wore lipstick two shades too red for her fair complexion. A pair of reading glasses were attached to a necklace looped around her neck. “Can I help you?”
I reached into my purse and pulled out the copy of my reservation. I slid it across the counter. “Just checking in.”
Her smile grew wider. “Lovely,” she said. She settled her glasses on the bridge of her nose and peered at the computer. “We have you on the first floor—you'll have direct beach access from your room.”
I nodded. “Perfect.”
She tapped at the keyboard, then swiped my credit card through the reader. “One key or two?”
It felt like a loaded question. “One.”
She handed me the key card and a tri-fold brochure. She spoke quickly, as if there was a line of people waiting to check in and she wanted to hurry me through the process. But I was the only one in the office. “Amenities are all listed in here. Beach Bites is our on-site restaurant and bar. Opens for breakfast at eight am. Bar closes at midnight. Pool is free for guests to use but no outside visitors, please. Beach chair rentals are available—you get a discount. Just show the boys your room card and they'll add it to your bill.”
I tried to remember the barrage of information she'd just fired at me and sincerely hoped it was all available in the brochure. I thanked her and left the comfort of the air-conditioned office to head outside and to my room. Another car had pulled into the parking lot while I'd been inside and a couple got out. The girl was probably my age and wore a white tank top that proclaimed “MRS.” in large, blocky letters. Her husband, a burly guy with a sleeve of tattoos decorating his right arm, reached for her hand and pulled her toward him for a kiss. His hands drifted to her ass and she looped her arms around his neck and he pushed her up against the trunk of the car and I was pretty sure he was going to do her right there in the searing hot parking lot. It was the very opposite of how my honeymoon five years earlier had been.
I hurried to my room, dragging my bag behind me, trying to get out of the heat and trying to get the image of the honeymooning couple out of my head. Brian and I had never been like that. Not ever. Not even the first time we'd had sex. Our relationship had been...perfunctory. No passion. No romance. Sex had felt like a chore, mostly because he was always worried about something, always in a hurry. In the beginning, he obsessed about defective condoms. We'd had one break—the second time we had sex—and it had sent him into a spiral of worry about pregnancy and STDs. Reminding him we were each other's first sexual partners had done nothing to ease his concerns.
And then, when we were married and the condoms got packed away in favor of birth control pills, he'd find other things to worry about. Was I sure I'd taken them? Was I taking them at the same time every single day? There had been multiple times that we'd had sex and he'd simply pulled out before he came, as if he actually believed that this method was more effective than me occasionally taking my pills an hour late.
I dropped my purse on the counter in the little kitchenette. I didn't need to be thinking about Brian and our disaster of a sex life. I needed to focus on the here and now, on the fact that I was free to explore everything I'd missed out on in the six years I'd spent with Brian. This was my time—indulge, relax, enjoy. I couldn't do any of that if my ex-husband kept creeping into my thoughts.
I glanced around the room. It was sparsely decorated but clean and cool, the wall-unit air conditioner humming steadily. A king size bed with a seashell comforter took up most of the room and there was a long, low dresser against the opposite wall, a television mounted above it. The kitchenette had a set of cupboards, a mini refrigerator and a microwave the size of a toaster. A coffeemaker sat on top of the fridge, along with a small package of chocolate chip cookies. A “Welcome to the Beach” sticker was slapped on the front of it. I grabbed the bag and tore it open and pulled out a cookie.
I ate it in two bites, then kicked off my sandals and headed toward the sliding glass door. The curtain was pulled, hiding the view, and I tugged on the cord on the side, sliding it out of the way. I let out an involuntary sigh at the view waiting for me.
The beach. Beautiful, blue-green water and white foam waves that crashed rhythmically to shore. Large gulls soaring overhead and smaller birds racing across the sand on pencil-thin legs. The sand, a blinding, bright white that reflected the sunlight.
I took a deep breath and drank it all in. The weight that had dropped on my shoulders at the airport, that had settled into my muscles as I sat with Dylan, that had eased up a bit as I'd flown across the Bay Bridge and headed toward the beach—it disappeared. Lifted, like some kind, invisible spirit had noticed I was struggling and had reached out and grabbed hold of it and tossed it aside.
I opened the slider and I didn't care that the humidity slammed into me like a wall of liquid air. I breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of the Gulf, listening to the waves and the birds and the distant sound of someone's radio on the beach in front of me.
I didn't think about Brian. I didn't think about the couple in the parking lot. And I didn't think about the reason Paige had sent me on this mission.
All I could think about was that I was finally doing something I wanted to do.
Bound by no one. Bound by nothing.
Dylan's words echoed again.
The world is your oyster.
It was. And I wanted to enjoy, relax, and indulge in every second of it.
SIX
The old, practical me would've sat down, made a grocery list and headed immediately to the store to pick up food, toiletries and anything else the room needed before even touching the sand. That wasn't a bad thing, but it spoke volumes as to how everything had become routine and how I'd fallen victim to thinking that was who I was.
The new me? She tossed the grocery list idea aside and stripped out of her clothes. Dug the brand new blue bikini out of the suitcase, put it on, and walked down to the water.
Groceries could wait.
My feet sank into the soft, white sand as I walked and I couldn't believe I'd waited twenty six years to visit a real beach. I'd been on the shores of the Atlantic in New England, but those weren't beaches I could lounge around on or use the sand as a bed because it was so perfect. This beach looked exactly like a postcard or an ad in a magazine. The sun sparkled on the surface of the water and all I could see for what seeme
d like miles was sand and water.
Maybe I'd have to send Brian a thank you card for serving me with divorce papers.
I skirted the line of over-sized umbrellas on the sand shading families and couples and walked directly to the water's edge. I dipped my toes into the water and stared down in amazement. The Gulf felt more like bath water than cool saltwater. There was no cold shock as the water washed over my feet. I shuffled in further, the gentle waves splashing against my legs, until the water reached my knees.
Then I sighed, loud and audible. If someone had heard me, they'd probably think I was a little weird, maybe even a little obnoxious.
“Pretty relaxing, right?” a voice said off to my right.
I turned, a little embarrassed. Apparently I had been loud even for someone to overhear.
About ten feet away, a man about my age was smiling at me. Not just any man—a tan, good-looking guy with thick dark hair, broad shoulders, and a stomach that looked like it had been chiseled out of marble. Water dripped down his chest and his green board shorts clung to his thighs. I drank in every delectable inch of him.
I resisted the urge to sigh again and adjusted my sunglasses instead. “Very.”
“There's jellyfish about twenty feet in front of you,” he said, pushing the wet hair from his forehead. The gesture was casual enough but it caused my stomach to jump. Even from where he stood, I could tell his eyes were green, flecked with gold, and a day's worth of stubble coated his cheeks and chin. “Just a small school passing through, but you might want to wait there for a few minutes before going further.”
I took a couple steps back. “Jellyfish?”
He grinned, his smile electric, and nodded. “Jellyfish. Can't escape them in the Gulf. But there aren't a ton right now. You picked a good time to visit.”
“How do you know I'm visiting?”
He took a couple of steps toward me and pushed the hair back again from his forehead. “Well, there are a few giveaways,” he said, the tiny hint of a drawl sneaking into his words.
