The New Rule: (The Casual Rule 2)

by AC Netzel

  My petty insecurities over these random girls are a complete waste of time. His past is his past. It has nothing to do with me. Just like my past is my past. It has nothing to do with us. I’m done with stupid self-doubt about something I can’t change. I’m done feeling jealous because some girl looks at him. I’d look at him too. I’d look at him all day.

  I’m his present. That’s all that matters.

  I look back at Stuart and smile.

  “What are the two of you talking about?” Elizabitch calls out from her lounge chair disrupting the one nice moment I’ve had since we’ve arrived.

  “Just small talk, dear.” He winks slyly at me.

  I have a new appreciation for Stuart. I understand why he married Elizabitch… to appease his family. They wouldn’t approve of a gay lifestyle, and he didn’t want to lose them. That’s so sad. But he does care for Elizabitch—in his own way. My heart breaks for him a little. He can’t be who he really is. But he seems to be at peace with his decision. I guess that’s all that matters.

  “Thank you, Stuart. You’re a good friend,” I say sincerely.

  “Friend?” he asks, testing the word. “Yes, friends. But let’s keep our little friendship under wraps.” His gaze shifts toward Elizabitch and Cam-eel. “Wouldn’t want the old ball and chain to get jealous,” he jokes.

  I smile and nod. “Okay. We’re secret friends.”

  Ben walks back with our food in three brown paper bags.

  “Hey Stuart, would you like some?” he asks, offering some french fries.

  “No, thanks. I’m watching my waistline,” he says with a hint of humor in his voice, patting his rounded stomach. “The ladies demand it of me.” They laugh. “Well, I’ve kept your seat warm long enough. I better get back to Elizabeth. Julia, it was nice talking to you.”

  “You too, Stuart.”

  My new secret friend, Stuart and his scrotum, stroll back to his lounge chair and Ben sits, holding out the opened bag. I grab a few fries and open a packet of ketchup, carefully making a line of ketchup across each fry. Ben rolls his eyes.

  “What?” I ask.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m putting ketchup on my fries. What do you think I’m doing?”

  “No, that’s what I thought. You do that one at a time?”

  “MmmHmm.” I nod as I jam a fry in my mouth.

  “Only you.” He shakes his head and laughs. “So, what were you and Stuart talking about?”

  “Nothing in particular. Just chatting,” I say.

  He nods as he bites into his hot dog.

  “Before, when you were standing at the Snack Shack… you were looking at me like you had something on your mind. What were you thinking about?” I ask.

  He places his hot dog down on a napkin lying on the lounge chair.

  “I was thinking…” He pauses, brushing a few errant strands of hair behind my ear. “So, this is love.”

  His words pull at my heartstrings. I close my eyes in a failed attempt to hone in my emotions. My eyes mist up again.

  “That has to be the single most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  He smiles shyly, running a knuckle down my cheek.

  “I was also thinking… Maybe I should order some onion rings for you.” He hands a small paper bag to me.

  I open the bag, see an order of onion rings, and laugh. “That’s the second most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  He chuckles, taking my hand in his and kissing the back of it.

  ~o0o~

  I’m about to have a seizure. Ben’s father walks up from wherever the hell he’s been hiding out to meet the family at the cabana. I know golfers have a reputation for wearing some God-awful outfits, but this one is downright dizzying—a merry-go-round gone berserk kind of dizzying.

  He’s wearing the most obnoxious orange, lime green and beige tartan pattern pants I’ve ever seen. His polo shirt is also bright orange with a matching golf hat. There’s a lot of matchy-match going on with this ensemble, which makes it even more ridiculous. Circus clowns would be embarrassed to be seen in this getup. There was actual effort put into bringing this cringe-worthy outfit together.

  Three Words… Get a stylist.

  After saying a brief hello to Beverly, his mother, and the rest of the family, he walks over to us, blocking my sun. Ugh, he can’t move over five inches? I guess sun-worshipping etiquette isn’t followed at “The Club.” Ben stands from his lounge chair and shakes his hand.

  “Dad, you remember Julia?”

  “Yes, of course. Good to see you again, Julia,” he says.

  “Nice to see you too, Mr. Martin.”

  “Julia,” he reprimands, frowning. “As I recall at Christmas, I told you to call me Dick.”

  “Sorry. Good to see you, Dick,” I correct myself, thinking about how inappropriate that greeting just sounded.

  Dick, Dick, Dick. Damn, still immature.

  He turns to Ben. “Have you given any thought to our last discussion?”

  Ben’s demeanor changes immediately. His jaw tenses, his eyes narrowing. “No. Dad, it’s a holiday. Can you let this go for one fucking weekend?”

  “Ben, this is your future.”

  “That’s the part you seem to miss… It’s my future.”

  This stupid dick-for-brains is here for less than a minute, and he’s already locking horns with Ben. He’s made it clear in the past that he’s not happy with Ben quitting his job at his father’s brokerage firm. Every time Ben talks to him it’s the same damn conversation.

  “How can you live off of an author’s royalty? It’s hardly a drop in the bucket.”

  “Don’t worry, Dad. I won’t come knocking on your door looking for a hand-out.”

  “That’s not what I’m saying and you know it. Instead of squandering your grandfather’s inheritance on your current living expenses, you should invest it. Save for your future.”

  “Tell you what… I won’t worry about your financial portfolio, and you don’t worry about mine. It’s a sunny day. Pour yourself a scotch and enjoy the rest of it with your wife and family,” Ben says, stressing the word “wife.” I suppose he’s not happy his dad left his mother alone to fend for herself.

  “Fine, fine. Have it your way. This conversation isn’t over.” Dick wags his long bony finger at him. I never noticed how skeletal his fingers are. Those crypt keeper fingers make me dislike him more. He walks back to the cabana to join Bev and his mother.

  I glance at Ben. He’s got a fire in his eyes. His jaw clenched tight, and he’s staring straight ahead with a scowl. He’s tense. Very tense.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” I ask.

  “No. Just drop it, alright?” he says brusquely.

  “Sure.”

  He sighs. “I’m sorry. He has a way of making me so fucking angry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

  “It’s okay.” I try to lighten his mood. “You can make it up to me later with some angry sex.”

  “Angry sex?” he asks, amused.

  “MmmHmm.” I nod, biting down on my bottom lip.

  “You like angry sex?”

  “Sometimes.” I shrug. I lean in close to his ear. “It’s kind of hot. Sweaty. And very, very, dirty.”

  He inhales deeply, closes his eyes, and I see it… a tiny smile fighting its way out. Mission accomplished.

  “There’s a lot I’m angry about,” he whispers darkly.

  “Write them down. I don’t want you to forget one single angry thought. Then take it out on me in bed.”

  He shakes his head and takes my hand, skimming his thumb gently across my knuckles. “You are perfect.”

  ~o0o~

  Ben and I are touring the grounds of The Club, hand in hand. I’m certain he used this leisurely stroll as an excuse to get away from his father for a little while. It’s fine with me, the less time I spend with the Martin family and Cam-eel, the better.

  Why is she hanging around with us anyway? Doesn’
t she have her own family to annoy? Of course, if she went back to her family’s cabana/shack, she can only ogle Ben from a distance. And her accomplice, Elizabitch, would be too far away to plan my demise.

  Although the buildings seem dated, like the rich folks are slumming it, the grounds are beautiful. The grass is green and lush, not a weed found. Bursts of lavender, rose, salmon, and violet line the cobblestone walkways, as the impatiens begin to blossom. Roses are climbing up a white gazebo off in the distance. Giant hydrangea and peony bushes border the fence that surrounds the perimeter of the pool area. It must be stunning here in the summer when all the flowers are in bloom.

  Not that I have any intention of ever stepping foot on this property again.

  “Over there are the tennis courts.” Ben points to what looks like six courts. “Looks like Elizabeth and Camille are playing right now. Want to watch?”

  Sure, on a cold day in hell.

  “Let’s keep walking,” I say, jerking his hand in the opposite direction.

  He tugs at my hand, pulling me close to him. I look up at him; he leans down and kisses me. Our kiss starts off sweet then deepens, our tongues entwined, dancing. He pulls my body against his with one hand; I wrap my hands around his neck, melting into our kiss. Innocent to sexy in a split second.

  “What was that for?” I ask.

  “Do I need a reason?”

  “No.”

  “Good.” He releases his hold, and we resume holding hands, as we leisurely stroll back toward the pool. After a few minutes, he squeezes my hand. “Sometimes I need to remind myself,” he says quietly.

  I tilt my head, look at him, and frown.

  “That’s why I kissed you,” he explains, looking straight ahead, his expression serious, never making eye contact with me. “To remind myself it’s all real. I never thought I’d have… what we have.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The way my life was structured before I met you… I never had a fear being alone, in fact I liked it.”

  “And now what do you fear?”

  He looks down to the ground, then back up at me. He faces me, skimming his thumb across my bottom lip.

  “Losing this.” He runs a finger down my cheek then kisses me softly on my lips.

  This beautiful man, once afraid of commitment is now afraid of life without it. It must be one hell of a mind-fuck for him.

  I smile warmly and bring his hand up to my lips and kiss it.

  He smiles back and holds my hand. I rest my head on his shoulder and we continue to walk quietly down the cobblestone path.

  ~o0o~

  We arrive back at the Martin Cabana. Ben’s grandmother is napping on a lounge chair under a huge umbrella. Beverly is snoring away on another lounger.

  “Where’s your dad?” I whisper.

  “Who knows? It’s always been this way. He disappears to the golf course, the bar in the clubhouse or gets involved in various other activities,” he says cryptically. “He claims it’s all about making connections. My mother could care less where he goes… as long as her social standing is intact; he could…,” he pauses, “golf all day.”

  That was a weird pause. But as the words leave his mouth, I look across the pool, and it all makes sense. Off to the side of the Snack Shack is Ben’s dad, laughing with some middle-aged woman in a crisp white tennis outfit. His hand firmly planted on her ass as he leans in whispering something in her ear. I peek over at Ben, judging by the look of disgust written all over his face; he sees it too but says nothing.

  Apparently, a golf player isn’t the only kind of “player” Dick-for-brains is. It’s clear what kind of “connections” ol’ Dickie likes. The fucking asshole isn’t even discreet.

  He’s wearing bright orange, for crying out loud. He looks like a horny Cheese Puff. It’s impossible to miss him, even if he thinks he’s hidden.

  Hypocrite. Mr. High and Mighty likes to pretend he has a moral compass. From the looks of things, that moral compass only points south—straight to his roaming dick.

  I’m piecing together why Ben developed such an intense fear of commitment. Look at the examples he had: A mother who tossed him aside for social engagements; a father who’s clearly a cheater… and doesn’t try very hard to hide it; a sister who puts her agenda before her brother’s happiness by trying to sabotage the one relationship that makes him happy just to appease her Bitch Twin friend.

  Thank God he had his grandparents. From what he’s said, they were the real deal. A true love story… And probably the only reason he took a chance on us.

  My heart breaks for him.

  “Hey.” I grab his arm. “How about I get you a beer?”

  He blinks a few times and comes back to me from whatever mind-space he drifted off to. “Sure. Thanks. There’s some in the little fridge in the cabana.”

  “Okay, make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.”

  Ben walks to his lounge chair while I walk into the cabana, careful not to wake his mother or grandmother. Stuart, Elizabitch, and Cam-eel are nowhere to be found. At least I have that going for me.

  I grab two beers out of the mini-fridge and turn around to meet Ben. I startle when I see Cam-eel standing in front of me. The way she’s staring at me is disturbing. It’s making me uncomfortable. She removed the cover-up she was wearing while playing tennis and is back to her Star Spangled Psycho bikini.

  “Just grabbing some beers,” I say. Why do I have this ridiculous need to explain myself? I don’t owe this Cam-eel person anything. I try to walk around her, but she blocks me.

  “You think you have him wrapped around your little finger, don’t you?” she says, her voice dripping with contempt.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t play coy with me, Julia. It doesn’t suit you,” she growls. I recognize the unmistakable scent of tequila on her breath. Guess they stopped off for happy hour at the clubhouse after their tennis match, and I get to deal with Cam-eel the drunk. Super.

  “Get to your point, Camille. Ben is waiting for me.”

  “Ben.” She laughs. “You think you own him? Well, let me tell you something, Little Miss Perfect, you’re just a passing phase. He’s only interested in you because you were a challenge. We both know you played him just to keep him around longer. Pretty soon he’ll tire of you… like all the other girls and you’ll be left out, flat on your ass.”

  “Look, Camille, I think you had a few too many drinks. Why don’t you sleep it off before you say something stupider than you already have?”

  “Stupid? You think I’m stupid. Look at yourself. You think a guy like Ben is going to stick around… for you?” She cackles. She actually cackles like a witch—like a crazy drunk-ass witch. “He’ll come back to me. He has before. Did he tell you that? He can’t get enough of me.”

  I have a hollow feeling and my stomach sinks. He never actually said it, but he did allude to it once. I knew they hooked up after their casual relationship ended years ago. I suspected it was more than once, but I didn’t press it. I didn’t want to know. This information doesn’t exactly surprise me… but it still hurts.

  He’s with me now. I know he’s staying. I’m certainly not going to doubt who we are because of the ramblings of a drunken delusional jealous bitch.

  “You’re not so special,” the delusional jealous bitch slurs. She shifts her body back and forth, trying to keep her balance.

  I roll my eyes at the absurdity of this conversation. This girl is off her inebriated rocker. I’ve had enough of her verbal assault.

  “Do you think you’re special, Camille?” I ask, my voice low and contemptuous. “Ben’s had lots of girls. You were just another number.”

  “You should know… you’re one of his many,” she spews.

  “So you had sex with him. Big fucking deal, you were just another lay. Apparently he wasn’t too particular back then. Maybe I was ‘just another number’… once upon a time ago. But I’m not anymore.”

  “Well
, he sure as hell enjoyed himself while he was fucking me.”

  Okay, that was way below the belt. She’s trying to upset me and I’ve done nothing to provoke it. You want to play dirty? Oh honey, you haven’t seen dirty until you’ve unleashed the bitch inside of me. She’s obviously never crossed an Italian before. You don’t fuck with an Italian. I square my shoulders back and stand tall.

  Walking next to her until we’re practically touching, I whisper in her ear. “Did he ever whisper ‘I love you’ while he was with you? Did he ever hold you in his arms all night? Tell you he misses you? He needs you? You are his world?” I want her to strain to hear me.

  She gasps, caught off guard by my words. I know the power words hold. How they can cut you deeper than a knife. She turns her head slightly and stares at me, saying nothing.

  “Yeah, I didn’t think so.” I smirk. “Want to know why? I’ll give you two reasons. One, he never made love to you. He fucked you. So what? It was meaningless. It. Meant. Nothing.” My tone is deathly quiet and condescending. “Don’t delude yourself into thinking you were someone special. He probably screwed half the girls here. Before and after you. Am I right?”

  I want my words to shred her. I want her to hurt.

  She stands motionless; her smug expression slowly fades as my words wash over her. She knows I’m right. But I’m on a roll and I continue.

  “And two, he never loved you. He never loved anyone… before me. So why don’t you wipe that smug look off your face. He won’t tire of me because I have something he never gave anyone else… his heart. Get used to it, Camille. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Is everything alright in here? You’re taking forever,” Ben asks as he leans on the doorway of the cabana, startling both of us.

  I smile in his direction. “Everything is fine. Just a little girl talk. I’ll be right there,” I answer sweetly.

  He shakes his head. “I’m lonely out here.”

  “I’ll be right over. I love you,” I say as I envision holding a dagger high above her chest.

  “I love you too. Come out and join me,” he says as he turns back outside and leaves.

  His words send the dagger plunging straight through her heart.