by Kim Jones
“Lot of good it did her,” Dallas mumbles.
Red laughs. “Karma’s a bitch, ain’t it?”
“What do you mean?”
Her eyes turn to me and I’m forced to pull my gaze from Cook to meet them. “He left it all to Cook.” Her focus returns to the beach. I do the same—the muscles in my body relaxing when he’s back in my sight.
“He saw how quick his oldest son was willing to betray his only brother. So he gave it to the one who was loyal. Who put family first. Even though Cook knew he wasn’t getting anything, it was him who stayed by his father’s side.”
“While his sorry brother was fucking the girl he wanted to marry,” Dallas adds, a hint of disgust in her voice.
“Surely he can’t look any better than that?” Red motions with her hand toward Cook. “I mean come on … look at the guy. I’d fuck him if he didn’t have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of. He’s…”
“Delicious,” I breathe, earning me looks from every girl in our circle.
“Shut the fuck up,” Red whispers in shock, leaning up and pulling her sunglasses off her face to narrow her eyes on me. “Are you—“
Kat interrupts her before she can finish. “She’s the one I was tellin’ you about.”
“You’re the Patchwhore?” Red’s incredulity is almost offensive. Dallas scolds her, but she ignores it. “You’re the same girl who’s been fuckin’ around with all those Eagles when you could’ve been fuckin’ that?” She points to Cook. I shift under the scrutiny of her disbelieving glare.
“Well … I mean … it’s … complicated?”
“Complicated?” she nearly shouts. “Okay.” She shifts her chair to have a better view of me and leans forward—pulling a cigarette from her pack. “I’m going to ask you a series of yes or no questions—“
“Red!”
She swats Dallas’ hand away, telling her to shut up under her breath. “Have you been with Cook?” I flush, looking to Kat for help. She dips her head inside the ice chest. Coward.
“I’m really not comfortable with this,” I say, wringing my sweaty hands in my lap.
“I didn’t ask if you were comfortable. It’s a yes or no question.”
“That’s enough, Red. Leave her alone.”
Red whips her head to Dallas, motioning with her finger between the two of them. “We’re married. Stuck with the same dick for the rest of our lives. Now.” She holds her hands up. “I’m not complaining. It’s good dick. But I’m interested in that dick.” Jutting her thumb toward Cook, she pauses to light her cigarette before turning back to me.
“Here’s the deal, Carmen. Being an ol’ lady is great. I love my husband. Wouldn’t trade him for anything. Would kill a bitch if she looked at him wrong. But sometimes, I enjoy living vicariously through others. In this instance, it’s you. So please, for the love of all that’s holy, please tell me y’all are having sex.”
Kat’s laughing. Dallas has her head in her hands. I’m crimson. And Cook is watching us. His focus mainly on me. That crooked smile promising. That V making my mouth water. Those fingers making my sex water. I want him to fuck me in the water. And because I like her, despite her personal questions, I’ll let Red watch.
“No Red,” I say. “We don’t have sex.” Her body sags in disappointment. Lips drooping in a frown. Then I look at him. Shoot him my best playful smile. And say the words that will make Red’s day—knowing good and well he can read my lips.
“We fuck.”
I’m buzzing by the time the sun sets. But all the alcohol in Louisiana can’t dull the ache I feel from my recent knowledge of Cook and his heartbreak. Not only was he cheated on by the woman he loved, but it was with his own brother. And on top of that, he’d lost his father during that time. If it’s gut wrenching for me, I can only imagine how he must feel.
Throughout the day, we spoke a few times, but he mostly stayed around the men. Even though he’s obviously off duty today, he still seems to be in Prospect mode—watching everyone around him. Alert. Quick to respond. Making sure to socialize. Staying close to Ronnie who looks like a completely different man in swim trunks and flip flops.
“Let’s go dance by the fire,” Red suggests, stumbling as she stands. She reaches out for Dallas’s hand to pull her from her chair. The movement causing both of them to fall on their asses. I laugh, but it catches in my throat as I stand—swaying from the movement.
“I need to pee,” I announce, contemplating wading into the water so I don’t have to make the hike up the beach to the cabin.
“One dance. Then we’ll all go.”
I agree as she refills my drink. Together the four of us make our way to the massive fire pit. Laughing and singing along to Dierks Bentley’s Somewhere on a Beach.
Three songs later, I’m fighting the urge to hold my crotch like a five-year-old and cross my legs. Everyone is too busy dancing, singing into imaginary microphones to pay much attention to me when I tell them I have to go. Like now.
I sprint toward the wooded trail, as fast as the deep sand will let me. Stumbling more than a few times, I finally make it to the clearing at the top of the slope.
I’ve made the trip to the small wooden cabin a few times, but this is my first time alone. Crashing through the door, I stutter an apology as I nearly knock someone over on my race to the bathroom. Finding it empty, I throw myself inside—already shedding my bottoms before the door closes behind me.
Relief can’t begin to describe what I feel. Elbows on my knees, I steady my swimming head and try to control my breathing. Drinking Kat’s potent margaritas all day without water or food is quickly catching up to me. Finishing off the rest in my cup, I promise no more alcohol after this. But even as I think it, my mouth waters for another.
Looking at my reflection, I notice how glassy my eyes look. My hair is a tangled, damp mess. My skin is pretty red—especially my shoulders. Thankfully, I already had a base tan. Judging by previous experiences, the redness will fade overnight to a golden brown.
Someone knocks on the door. “Jussa minute!” I slur, washing my hands quickly. I offer a tight smile to the girl as she brushes past me—just as anxious to get in here as I was a few minutes ago.
Laughter and chatter carry through the cabin as I slip out the front door. It’s darker now—the moon casting an eerie glow on everything it touches. But in the thick woods that lead to the beach, there’s not a hint of light anywhere.
I can hear the music and voices in the distance as I make my way down the trail. I try to follow them, but soon find myself fighting against thick underbrush rather than the cleared path. “Shit,” I hiss, tripping over a stump. Branches pull at my hair. Twigs scratch my bare arms and legs. If I weren’t so numb, it might actually be painful.
When I was seven, I’d wandered into the woods near my house. I’d gotten lost—separated from the older, neighborhood kids I’d followed. It was the most miserable three hours of my life. When my father finally found me, I was so terrified I wouldn’t let go of him. Deciding my fear was punishment enough, he’d let me off the hook for doing something so careless. I’d vowed to never do it again. Until now, I’d kept my promise.
Panic starts to creep its way up my spine as I relive the nightmare. Then reality starts to set in. I’m lost in unfamiliar woods. In the dark. Nearly naked. Without alcohol. And I think I lost a flip flop. Worse. Case. Scenario.
“Carmen!” I freeze. Not so much at the sound of my name, but at who’s saying it. “You out here?”
“H-here! Cook, I’m over here!” I try to move toward his voice, but only manage to tangle my leg around a briar vine. “Crapcrapcrap.”
“Stay where you are. I’ll come to you.”
“I have no choice,” I mutter. “I’m hung up on a mother-friggin’ … something.”
He chuckles. “Figured as much.” Cocky bastard…
Standing in an awkward position, I try to remain still as I wait. But my impatience is growing by the second. “Could you
hurry up?”
“Demanding little shit, aren’t you?”
I smile. “Pretend I said please.” Light blinds my eyes and I turn my head away—pulling my hair in the process. “Ouch.”
“Only you could get lost on a trail you’ve walked five times today,” he says, untangling my hair from the limb.
“It’s easier in the light.”
“Hush, gorgeous. Or speak without movin’ your hands.”
I ignore him. “I’m surprised the skeeters haven’t carried me off.”
“Skeeters?”
“Mo-skeeters. Whatever y’all call them here.”
He lets out an amused laugh. “Skeeters and y’all. You’re definitely buzzed.”
“I am,” I say on a sigh. Not quite drunk, but close.
He kneels down and I move my head, relieved to find I’m free. “It’s Kat’s fault. She made them damn margaritas. They made me have to pee. Now here I am. Damseling and distressing and nearly eaten by the forest.” I can feel his smile.
“Hey Cook.” I snort a laugh.
“Hey Carmen.”
“What do you do when you get a skeeter on your peter?” He stands, knocking my legs out from under me as he cradles me to his chest. The quick motion winds me, and has me clinging to his neck.
Smiling down at me, he kisses my head then winks. “You knock it off.”
I throw my head back on a laugh as he carries me back to the trail. “I’m surprised that you even know the song.”
“I’m a vessel of knowledge, gorgeous. Haven’t you figured that out?”
“Vessel of knowledge?” I roll my eyes. “Doubt that.”
“Well I knew you were out here. Stranded in the woods. Tangled in briars. Drunk.”
“Buzzed,” I correct. “And you didn’t know that. You just assumptioned it.”
“Assumptioned … that’s a new one. I’ll catalogue it next to mo-skeeters.” We’re back on the path and he sets me on my feet. “But I didn’t have to assume anything. You’ve refilled that red Solo cup of yours eight times today. You haven’t eaten since you’ve been here. And the only water you had was what you accidentally swallowed in the river during your failed attempt at a back flip.”
I narrow my eyes on his face. My hands still clinging to his arms. They’re so smooth. And warm. And big… “Aren’t you the observant one.”
“Always.”
“Did you watch erryone like that?” I sway just to feel his hands tighten at my waist. It works.
He shakes his head. “Not today. Today, I only had eyes for you.” My heart flip flops.
Flip flops.
“I lost my flip flop.”
He pulls something from the back of his pants and hands it to me. “Would you believe I knew that too?”
I snatch it from his hand, unable to contain my smile as I drop it to the ground and shove my foot in it. “Smartass. There any food left?”
“Afraid not, gorgeous. You gotta eat early around here.”
“Aw man,” I whine, poking my lip out on a pout. “Reckon how long till Kat’s ready to go?”
“She was doin’ a keg stand when I left to find you. My best guess is she’s spending the night.” He’s silent a moment—watching me as I try to come up with a plan to eat and get home. “You bout ready?”
“Yeah … but she’s my ride.”
“Did you really think I’d let you leave with her after seeing you in this?” His gaze blazes fire from my nose to my toes. “Besides, you’re mine after every date. Remember?”
“This wasn’t a date.”
“That’s not what I was told.”
“Same sex dates don’t count.”
“Are you telling me you don’t want to leave with me?” His eyebrows rise in challenge.
I shake my head. Open my mouth. Close it. Then finally stutter an answer. “I mean, I … I um, didn’t really say that.”
“Then it’s settled. You walking or you want me to carry you?” Really? Like he has to ask…
“I need to get my bag. It’s got all my…” I trail off as he releases me, walks a few feet, grabs my bag and slings it over his shoulder—shooting me a cocky smirk.
“I see I was a preconceptconsectional.” His brows draw together in confusion as he turns his head to study me.
“I don’t know what to make of that. A couch on birth control? An idea about a couch on birth control?”
I dismiss him with a wave. “You know what I’m saying.”
“No … clearly I don’t. Your drunken slurs are gettin’ pretty ridiculous.”
“You’re ridiculous,” I fire back, taking his hand as he pulls me behind him. “Everyone knows couches can’t take birth control. Well, one of them can,” I add, feeling his eyes burn into me.
“I’m gonna have to talk to Kat about what she puts in those fuckin’ margaritas,” he mumbles. I giggle. Then I giggle some more.
A smile tugs at his lips as he looks over his shoulder at me. “What?”
“You know you want to ask.”
He laughs. “No. I do not want to ask.”
“If you say so.” I shrug, tilting my head back to look at the trees. Stars. Moon. Anything but him.
“Fine.” He stops suddenly, forcing me to collide into his back. Adjusting my bag on his shoulder, he looks down at me in amusement. “Tell me.”
I grin, knowing I’ve got him. “Tell you what?”
He bites his lip and shakes his head, breathing out a laugh. He can’t believe he’s actually entertaining the idea. I can’t believe he’s doing it either. “Tell me what pieces of furniture can take birth control.”
“One.” I hold my finger up. “Only one.”
“Stupidest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever done,” he mutters under his breath. His eyes thin to tiny slits as he looks at me. He’s too intrigued not to ask. Too amused by my laughter not to find out. And too damn nosey to just let it go.
“Okay, gorgeous. What single, non-breathing, non-human, magical piece of furniture can take birth control?”
“A love seat!”
My answer has me laughing until I’m crying. He just shakes his head and smiles, mumbling something about how addictive I am … even when I’m ridiculous.
The Great Escape
Hands are all over me. Strong and soft and smooth. Rubbing and caressing and touching. And for the first time in … ever, I let out a very unsexy grunt of disapproval.
“No sex,” I say, keeping my breaths deep and even. “Too tired.”
“We fuck, gorgeous. And, don’t worry, we’re not doing it tonight.”
“Then stop touching me.” My words are barely a whisper. Sleep is so close. But his voice is so nice.
“Almost finished,” Cook says, his tone nearly as low as mine.
“Are you masturbating?” I try to pry an eye open to catch him in the act, but I fail. His deep, throaty chuckle shakes me.
“Unfortunately no. Your skin is cooked. I’m just putting some lotion on it.” Tender hands rub my shoulders.
“It puts the lotion on its skin.”
“Silence of the Lambs?”
I frown. “No. Joe Dirt. He went in the hole. Guy sent down a basket. He was dressed like a woman. Petting a—“
“I know the movie, gorgeous.” The bed dips and his hands are gone. My skin feels colder now without his heat. And it smells like aloe.
“I didn’t know I had any aloe. Where was it?”
“In my bathroom,” he says from a few feet away.
“You brought it with you?”
“No.”
“Then how…” My eyes open and the unfamiliar surroundings are enough to distract me from sleep.
I’m lying on my back in a bed. A big one. The room is dimly lit, but still visible. It’s huge. Pristine and masculine. The walls a dark navy. Furniture a distressed gray. Carpet thick and nearly as white as the down comforter under me.
A wall of windows is to my left covered by floor to ceiling gray curtains. In front of me
is a massive flat screen mounted above a dresser. To the right is a bathroom. And leaning in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, barefoot and shirtless is the master of the master bedroom.
“Where are we?” I ask, partially sitting up.
“Three miles from where we were.”
“Is this your place?”
He nods, pushing off the door and sauntering toward me. “Thirsty?” He grabs a bottle of water from the nightstand and offers it to me.
“How long have I been asleep?” Turning the bottle up, I guzzle half of it. Clearly dehydrated. Damn tequila. Damn Kat.
“About an hour.” That long?
“Why would you bring me here?”
“Because I didn’t want you to puke in my truck.” He smirks when I give him the finger. I don’t remember the ride here, but I do remember that truck. It was nice. Clean. Smelled like leather and money. I’d have died if I puked in it.
“It seems we’re making a routine of this. Me drinking too much. You coming to my rescue.”
“Always damseling in distressing,” he teases, opening a draw on his dresser. He walks toward me, carrying a plain, white T-shirt in his hand. It’s then I notice my cover-up on the floor, but I’m still dressed in my swimsuit.
Breathing becomes nearly impossible when he stops in front of me. He’s so overwhelming—deliciously so. He drapes the shirt over his shoulder, then his cool hands are on my wrists. He feels his way up my arms, his fingers ghosting across my skin that’s now covered in goosebumps.
Gently, he turns me. His fingers trail down my back before unclipping my swimsuit top. My nipples harden the moment the fabric falls away from my body. Then lips are on my neck. Caressing my spine. Hands drift down my sides to my waist.
Hooking his fingers into my bikini bottoms, he drags them slowly down my legs. Kissing my hip. Thigh. Teeth lightly skim my right cheek in a playful bite, followed by another soothing peck from his full lips.
Grasping my elbows, he guides my arms over my head. His touch makes me feel drunk. I sway on my feet slightly, swooning at how his big hands pay attention to every part of me. Caressing even the tips of my fingers.
