Man, it rides my ass that I haven’t come clean with her. Damn-it. I will. I just need more time. I need her to feel for me what I feel for her. Meanwhile, I will explore all of Holiday Jones because sex with her is only part of why I am stupid crazy about the girl.
Chapter Seven
Snafu woke us by jumping on the bed. I’d fallen asleep on Max’s thigh with Max out cold, flat on his back in the middle of the bed.
“It’s his dinner time. Guess we’d better get up.” Max waited for me to move. Smart man.
“Yeah. I need to be going. I’ll be walking home in the dark.”
I get up and begin the roundup of my clothes. Max steps into the bathroom to clean up and by the time I’ve gotten dressed and straightened the mess we’d left, he and Snafu join me in the kitchen. He still smells faintly of coconut. I’ve always liked coconut. Now I love it.
“I don’t want you walking home in the dark, Holiday.” Max holds my hands and stands looking down at me. “I can’t drive, so I’m calling a cab for you. I’ll pay for it.”
“This is Palm Beach. The cops ride bicycles and drive ATVs. A big bust is an expired parking meter at the beach. I’m perfectly safe.”
Max cups my face and captures my lips in a tender caress of a kiss. He lingers with his forehead pressed to mine. “I will worry. Let me do this for you, please.”
“When you ask like that, how can I say no?” Mom had loved me with everything in her, but as soon as I got old enough, I took care of her. Carl said I was the most self-sufficient person he’d ever met. No one had ever asked to take care of me—until Max. A sweet glow suffused me.
Max murmured, “Good, stay for dinner. Afterward, I’ll call a cab.”
We ate linguini in garlic-butter sauce with capers, bits of prosciutto and fresh grated Asiago cheese.
“Wow…you cook, too. You are starting to assume god-like proportions, Max.” I elbow him as we sit on the sofa, slurping linguini into our mouths and watching “Pawn Stars” on the History Channel. He rolls his eyes.
“It’s not hard to boil water and melt butter, Hol.”
“It’s more than some could manage,” I say with a laugh, thinking of Carl and some charred spaghetti noodles. I slurp more glorious carbs into my mouth and wipe the garlic-butter off my cheek with my finger. Max takes my finger and puts it in his mouth to suck the butter off. The feeling of his tongue reminds me of earlier activities. Miss Kitty gets out the pompoms and starts to lead a cheer. It would be so easy to throw the bowl aside and jump his gorgeous bod. “Tell me about your family. Are they here in Florida?”
Max shakes his head. “My mom and dad, older sister and younger brother are all back east. We’re from Portsmouth and most of the extended family still lives around Portsmouth.”
“All I know about Maine is they have lobsters and moose. Are your family lobstermen?”
Max chuckles. “Most people think of Portsmouth as being Maine, but 99% of it is in New Hampshire. No, not lobsters…Dad is involved with wood and paper products. Almost all the family works with him in some way.”
“You didn’t want to?”
“Making tongue depressors and post-it notes didn’t appeal to my sense of adventure. I went into the army straight out of high school and then into Ranger School when I turned twenty. After Ranger School I was accepted into the Rangers and stayed deployed most of the time.”
“And now you care take expensive property. Any plans to return to New Hampshire?”
My heart pounds. I act casual, twirling my fork in my linguine. We both know why I’m asking. Max gazes at me thoughtfully for a long moment. He opens his mouth as if to say something then stops. He closes his eyes and shakes his head. When he opens them again he gives me a quiet smile. “N-no immediate plans. There’s this cute…blond girl I’ve just m-met. I really like her. I’d like to see where…that goes.”
“Oh.” I melt—utterly. Slather me in garlic-butter and call me linguini. My heart bursts with happiness. Can this really be happening to me? A tiny voice of caution keeps my feet on the floor and my eyes on my pasta. Only the zings of surprise when I learn something new about him remind me I haven’t known him long at all. I feel so comfortable with Max—as if he’s my BFF. My heart smiles, knowing Max feels the same. His now mostly-easy speech is a dead giveaway. He still stutters from time to time but the long pauses between words have vanished.
All too soon, dinner is over. Chumlee from “Pawn Stars” scores another big deal on an antique ice cream maker and it’s time for me to leave. Max and Snafu walk me down the drive and through the walk gate beside the wrought iron entry gates guarding the driveway. Without lights, the darkness is almost complete. I’m glad Max knows the gate is there. I’d never have found it. There’s a small bench and that’s where we sit and wait for the cab. When it comes, Max leans in, tells the driver where to go and hands him some bills.
“See you tomorrow. I had fun today,” he says as he hands me into the back seat. He slams the car door and the cab pulls away. I know I should play it cool. I can’t. I hang out the window and wave until we turn the corner. Max stands by the bench with Snafu sitting at his feet. He laughs and waves back.
***
Shit. I blew a golden opportunity. I’m such a god-damn coward. I started to tell her. I couldn’t fucking do it. I can’t un-hear the words, I’d never trust a relationship with one of the entitled on this island. Each day that passes without my telling her makes it that much worse. My family’s money has never mattered to me—but it matters to her. I’ll tell her tomorrow. I will.
***
I awake to the sound of thunder so loud it rattles the windows at Studio 6. It’s 4:45 a.m. and it’s raining—as in a palm-frond-lashing, rain-pelting, thunder-rolling, lightning-cracking rain storm. I never asked Max what to do if it rained. I eye my prepaid cell phone, a parting gift from Carl. Useless. I don’t have Max’s number. I’m going to have to drive the Wombat to Max’s house. The on-foot-beach route is out of the question. In Florida, more people die from lightning strikes than any other accidental death. I don’t want to be among them. So, that’s the plan. I’ll take the Wombat—if it will start—and hope I don’t break down on the way.
Since I have the luxury of extra time this morning, I flip through the course catalog for Palm Beach Junior College and plot out my semester hours. I’m determined that no more time will slip through my fingers. I’m implementing the Holiday Jones Self-Improvement Plan come hell or high water. From the sounds outside, both have arrived. I get lost in the course catalog. So many fascinating subjects. I’d loved school. When I graduated, I’d applied for a financial-hardship scholarship and gotten it, but then Mom became ill and my Holiday Jones Self-Improvement Plan derailed. But I’m back on track now.
A violent crack of lightning, simultaneous with a boom of thunder, startles me badly, and the lights go out. Great. I scoot over to the window to read. Two hours elapse and then I’m scampering through the deluge and leaping into The Wombat to chug to Max’s. Miracle of miracles, The Wombat starts. The water on the road splashes up through the hole in the floorboard and The Wombat rocks in the wind. I have problems seeing the road though the wipers are on high, and every couple of minutes I have to rub another hole through the condensation on the windshield. I hope Max isn’t waiting on the beach for me. The beach is the most dangerous place to be in a Florida lightning storm.
When I get to the property, the big black gates bearing a stylized “H” are closed, so I park on the apron, pull my orange rain poncho over my head and backpack, and skinny through the walk gate. By the time I trot up the main drive, around the big house and to the pool cabana, nothing on me is dry. I knock on the louver door and wait. No answer. God, please tell me Max and Snafu aren’t waiting for me on the beach. Please tell me they haven’t been standing in this tropical storm since 6:30, waiting. Oh, Max. I turn and trot through the downpour, my anxiety rising. It’s difficult to see more than a few feet ahead. The wind whips the rain into sti
nging pellets and foliage whirls through air. My poncho becomes an orange flag, whipping around my body and doing no good whatsoever. I’ll bet this storm has a name. It’s violent enough. I’m almost down to the beach when I see them. Oh, Max.
“Max!” I wave and shout again and keep trotting forward. I cup my hands to my mouth and scream, “Max! Behind you.” Snafu hears me and bounds through the rain toward me. Lightning cracks not too far from us and I flinch. “Max!” The rolling thunder makes it hard to hear. Finally he turns and sees me. When I reach him I wrap my arms around him. “Thank god. Don’t you know how dangerous it is to be on the beach in a lightning storm?”
“I was afraid you would try and walk. I didn’t want to miss you. Let’s get inside.”
We get to the cabana as quickly as possible. Once through the louver door, Max hustles us to the kitchen and we shed our wet clothes. I’m down to my bikini top and my boy-cut underpants. Max is standing in what God gave him. I think God had a particularly inspired day when he created Max. Wow. Just...wow. He sees me admiring him and stops schlepping our water-logged clothes into the sink. His glance takes me in and pauses at my panties. An eyebrow climbs his forehead.
“Betty Boop, Holiday?”
Chattering, I nod. “I l-like B-b-betty Boop.”
“Who’s tomorrow?”
“Ah…C-c-cookie M-m-monster.”
He silently laughs and picks me up in a kiss. I wrap my legs around his waist, hug his neck and surrender to a desire that rivals the storm outside. We wind up in the shower with steaming hot water pelting down on the two of us. I slowly stop shivering. Max undoes the strings holding my top and drops it to the shower tile with a splooch. “Holiday Jones. You’re some kind of magical. I’ve known you for four days. How can I feel like this?”
His hazel eyes hold mine. The incredulous joy I see in them brings tears to my eyes so I’m glad of the water from the shower that pours over my face. “I’m so into you I’m lost, Max. I don’t know how to be careful. What I feel is too big.”
“Oh God, Holiday. Don’t be careful.”
I want to do something for this wonderful man. I want to give him pleasure. I release his waist and slide down his front, careful not to trap his gorgeous cock. I kneel in front of him and capture his cock and balls in my hands. Max looks down at me and smiles. His eyes get that sleepy look. “You sure about this?”
I nod and nuzzle his cock. “Hey, Rex. Remember me?” I smile and rim the head of his cock with my tongue. I open my lips was wide as I can and slide the entire head into my mouth. It’s a tight fit. Max groans his appreciation and holds my head gently. I’m going to rock this man’s world. I suck hard and mouth as much of his length as I can. Max yelps and pulls away so suddenly I land on my butt on the shower floor. He cradles his groin.
“Teeth! Hol…no teeth.”
“Sorry. I’m so sorry. Rex is so thick. I didn’t realize…oh…” Mortification swamps me until Max starts laughing. I have to laugh too. He extends a hand to me and pulls me up.
“You’ve never done this before, have you? It’s on your bucket list. I should’ve remembered.”
“I wanted to do something extra nice for you and I know guys think a blow job’s a big thing.”
“Ah.” Max turns off the shower, grabs some towels and we pad into the bedroom. As we dry each other off, I covertly study Max’s cock. It bears three suspicious reddish-purple crescents that could possibly correspond to three teeth in my lower jaw. I sigh. There’s no avoiding it. I bit him on the dick.
“What did you mean by ‘Rex is so thick’?”
Oh…this just gets worse and worse. I cover my head with a towel, scrub at my wet hair and mumble, “Cock-a-saurus Rex. So…Rex. It’s my nickname for your cock.”
Max lifts the towel off my face and peers at me. “Cock-a-saurus Rex?”
I can feel the heat rising up from the middle of my chest to my neck and into my cheeks. I look at Max and shrug. “Cause it’s a monster.”
I strip off a sodden Betty Boop, wrap myself in a towel and pick up a random copy of The Palm Beacher from a bedside table. I snuggle on the bed, flipping through the magazine. I figure, sooner or later, Max will stop laughing. Eventually, he gazes at me from where he lays and a look of gentle amazement replaces the humor.
I stop flipping the pages. “What?” I ask softly.
He simply shakes his head and rises. He crosses to the bed, lifts the covers and slides in. I watch from my seat against the headboard.
“Come snuggle with me.” He picks the covers up in invitation and I accept. Max strips the towel off me, first thing, and then spoons around me, his arms wrapping my waist, his chin resting on the top of my head. Warmth from his bare flesh blankets me and I relax into him. “Thanks for the thought,” he murmurs.
“Are you brave enough to let me try again?” I feel him laughing.
“Sure, as soon as the teeth marks fade.” He gives me a little squeeze. “Just kidding, babe. Just kidding. I have a suggestion though.”
“Yeah?”
“Start when I’m not hard. I’m not such a mouthful and it still feels damn good.”
“Good point. Um…other than the teeth thing, is there anything else I should avoid?”
He’s laughing again. “Not that I can think of. You warming up?”
“Yeah. You’re better than a hot rock.”
“What’s a—no—I’m not going to ask.”
I let out a long breath. “You know those exotic lizards they sell in pet stores?”
“Okay. Yeah, I guess so.”
“Well, they are cold-blooded so you have to buy them a ‘hot rock’ to keep them from becoming sluggish. Carl had one.”
Max tightens his arms around me. “Holiday Jones, you are as far from cold blooded as a body can get. But, I’ll volunteer as your ‘hot rock’ any day.”
I smile and close my eyes, blissfully warm and amazingly content and listen to the storm rage around us.
I awake to the quiet chirping of the birds and bright sunlight. Somehow, I’ve done a 180 and I’m curled on Max’s stomach, my arm around his waist. He’s propped against the headboard reading.
“Tifway Bermuda Lawn Maintenance. Is that the latest best seller among caretakers?”
Max looks at me over the top of the pamphlet. “Hey, sleepy head. Yeah, I’m trying to get the putting green back into shape.” He grins. “Storm’s over. Time to earn your money and take Snafu out for some exercise, then I’ll feed you lunch.”
“Absolutely, but I should probably move The Wombat off your driveway apron before I get a ticket.” I frown. “Max, after I earn my keep, will you go with me to see Bennie-Under-the-Bridge and Crazy Kate? I’m worried about them after this storm.”
“Let’s get your van moved, take Snafu out for a spin and then I’ll be happy to go with you.”
***
“You’re sure you don’t mind calling Fred and telling him my van’s broken down?”
“I’m sure I don’t mind.”
“You’re the best, Max. Thank you.”
When she smiles at me like that, I’d fucking jump the moon for her.
“Fred used to date my mom, and he’s kept The Wombat running forever. Fred’s like a televangelist for anything with an engine. He simply lays his hands on The Wombat, says, ‘Be healed,’ and I drive off into the sunset. Unlike most faith healers, Fred’s cures are for real.”
“You don’t tow it to him?”
“No. I just tell him where it is. Half the time he won’t let me pay him. He says he has old parts just lying around. I don’t believe him, but…” Holiday shrugs. “Hey, my cab is here.” She jumps up and hugs my neck. “Thanks so much. Ask Fred to please leave a bill this time. See you tomorrow. Oh…wait, today’s Friday. Guess I’ll see you Monday.”
She sounds as let down as I feel. It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her to come Saturday and Sunday, but it might be good for both of us to have a couple days to ourselves. I wave to Holiday as her
cab leaves the driveway. She hangs out the window and blows kisses—the kook. Snafu and I walk back toward the house and I eye the pink and white pile of rusted metal squatting in my driveway. The Ali Baba we shot at in the sandbox drove better shit than that bus.
The piece of crap held up until after we visited the homeless Holiday has taken under her wing. Holiday dropped Snafu and me off and was going to head home for a catering job when the engine died. She couldn’t get it started again.
I call “Fred the Mechanic” and leave a message with my address. Maybe two hours later, a Willie Nelson look-alike shows up on a Vespa scooter pulling a trailer. Where does Holiday find these people? I wander down the drive to meet him.
“Hi, I’m Max.” I hold out my hand and we shake. He has an old USMC Vietnam tat on his right forearm and the grimy calloused hands of a man who uses them for a living.
“Fred, the mechanic.” Fred stares at the van like it’s evil incarnate. “It won’t start?”
“No.”
He shakes his head. “I worked on this rust bucket when Patty was alive. It was junk then. I keep telling Holiday to get rid of it.” Fred gave a disgusted snort. “I guess she’s got a sentimental attachment. Do you care about Holiday?”
“Yes. I do.”
“Then drive it into the ocean and let the fish have it.”
I scratch my head. “Well…as you said, there’s a sentimental attachment. What does the van need to make it safe and reliable?”
Fred pins me in a steady squint. “Starter motor. Battery and battery cables. Alternator. Brakes. Floorboard. Head gaskets. Engine block. Belts, hoses, plugs…new wipers. Rear suspension. I’m not done. Want me to go on?”
“Might as well.”
“It would cost you less to buy a used Mercedes. How much you wanna spend?”
I shake my head. “Whatever it takes. But Fred…” I hold his gaze intently “…Holiday never finds out. Bill her for the battery cables. I’ll cover the rest.”
He stares at me and I stand there and let him look. He’s entitled. “You a queer or a druggie?”
Undertow: A compilation of short beach stories Page 29
