Annual Leave

by Ben Boswell

  Heather rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “You like the Asian girl’s dress?”

  Heather nodded. “Yeah, I love the flowers. Orchids?”

  “Good, go ask her about it.”

  “Uh, okay.”

  Heather had no idea why she suddenly felt so nervous, but she did. It was, she realized, a sensation she hadn’t felt since, what, high school? But she wasn’t even the one looking for a hook-up. She was just helping Damon out, and that, she realized, was the source of her tension. She didn’t want to let him down.

  She ambled past the two women, executed what she hoped was a subtle double-take, and then turned.

  “Oh, hey, I love that dress.”

  “Thanks,” the young Asian woman replied.

  “Where did you get it?”

  “Believe it or not, in Hawaii.”

  Heather wasn’t quite sure why she wouldn’t believe it, but it gave her an avenue to continue the conversation.

  “Oh, you’re so lucky, I’d love to go to Hawaii.” She turned to the blonde. “I’m Heather, by the way.”

  “Shelby,” the blonde answered coldly. She didn’t seem to appreciate the interruption.

  “Emily,” the Asian woman added when Heather turned back in her direction.

  “That’s a cute dress too,” Emily said.

  Heather twirled. “I got it at the store in the lobby!” she gushed as if that were the most amazing revelation in the world. Then she turned back toward Emily. “Do you go to Hawaii often?”

  “I have family there,” she replied.

  Heather felt the two women suddenly look away from her. She turned to see Damon approach.

  “Oh hey Damon, this is Shelby, and this is Emily. She got the dress in Hawaii.”

  Damon nodded. “Pleased to meet you,” he said as he shook hands with each of them in turn.

  Shelby, in particular, seemed to like what she saw. Heather could feel the two young women regarding her with a newfound interest. Despite her cute red dress, she knew she didn’t seem like the sort of woman who’d be dating a guy like Damon, with his distinctive look and flashy clothes and large diamond stud earring. The fact that she was wearing a wedding ring and him not probably also peaked their curiosity.

  “What brings you guys down to Cancun?” Shelby asked, obviously looking for a polite way to probe their relationship.

  “A wedding,” Damon answered smoothly.

  “But, we’re not, um, together,” Heather added awkwardly.

  “We’re cousins,” Damon said.

  “Cousins?” Emily asked surprised.

  He shrugged. “Guess Grandma had a wild streak.”

  Shelby giggled. Heather felt a sudden surge of jealousy. The little whore was DTF, with her long legs, and her tight pants, and her blond hair. No matter what Damon said about not being into white women, she couldn’t help but picture them together, both of them long and lean, writhing together, limbs intertwined, the powerful contrast between his dark and her pale skin.

  Emily snorted. She wasn’t buying it. “Where’s your husband?” she asked pointedly, nodding at Heather’s wedding band.

  “He crashed early?” Heather replied.

  “Uh huh. Come on, Shel. Remember, we told those cute guys we’d meet them over at the other bar.”

  Shelby hesitated. Whatever cute guys awaited, she was clearly more interested in Damon. Still, she looked down at Heather, and then over at her friend. She nodded. “See you guys around.”

  “Enjoy the wedding,” Emily added.

  They women walked away.

  “That was totally not my fault,” Heather insisted.

  Damon chuckled. “Yeah, I guess we need to retire the cousins line.”

  Heather laughed. “You think?”

  “Okay,” Damon said, “what do you think about that one over there?”

  ***

  They approached two other women. There was a pretty, young black woman from Detroit. Heather made the approach by complimenting her shoes, and things were going well until Jaynee and Damon got into an argument about football. She argued Barry Sanders was the greatest running back ever. He insisted that Adrian Peterson was.

  “Even if he does beat his kids,” he added.

  The other woman walked away.

  “Smooth,” Heather laughed.

  “At least I didn’t say O.J.”

  Then he blew up a promising discussion with a cute, Danish woman, when she, in his opinion, confused Tex-Mex with Mexican cuisine.

  “I don’t like hooking up with idiots,” he explained.

  “Just saying, you’ll catch more fly with honey than vinegar.”

  “See, I’ve never gotten that expression. Who wants to catch flies?”

  Heather nodded, amused. “Good point.”

  He was, she thought, impressively inept with women, but it was fun. Between approaches they sat together nursing their drinks, dishing about the other patrons. He had a quirky, acerbic perspective, and Heather was delighted to not be the target of it, but rather his co-conspirator.

  Finally as midnight approached, Damon suggested they go to the dance club.

  “That’s where the real action is,” he noted. “This was just a warm up.”

  The nightclub in the resort was small, almost cozy. Even though it was open to the public, it was an older crowd, drawn mostly from the resort itself. Still, it had the usual flashing lights, pounding bass line, and hyperactive DJ who overwhelmed the music with his patter, sound effects, and constant transitions from one partially played song to the next.

  Damon dragged her out onto the floor. It was the first time she’d been out dancing since her wedding. Literally. Jeff, like most men, didn’t like to dance. Damon was smooth. For a big man, he was impressively graceful. As the small space filled up, they were forced to dance closer. Matching the other couples on the floor, Damon encouraged her into a playful bump and grind.

  She felt so naughty dancing up close with this handsome man, her body rubbing up against his, his hands casually touching her hips, her upper arms. It was fun… too fun, Heather suddenly realized. She stiffened and backed away.

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  She nodded and forced a smile. “Just really tired all of a sudden.”

  “You’re not going to bail on me? You’re my wingman.”

  “I’m not bringing you much luck anyway,” she replied. They walked together off the floor.

  “That’s true. You’re not very good at this.”

  She laughed. “Oh, you should talk!”

  He glanced quickly over her shoulder.

  “Look, I’m gonna hang out here for a while longer, okay?”

  She felt this weird sense of disappointment. Of course he would remain. It’s not like they were on a date. He was still looking to hook up. Anyway, it would have been awkward if he’d left with her and offered to walk her back to her room. Uncomfortable and inappropriate. But he could have offered.

  “You’ll make it back to your room okay?”

  “Of course,” she replied.

  He leaned down and kissed her on the check. “I had fun. Thanks for hanging out.”

  “Yeah, me too.” She paused a moment. “I guess I better go.”

  Before she could change her mind, she turned on her heels and moved toward the exit. Passing the bar, she almost ran headlong into Shelby, the leggy blond they’d met earlier in the evening. The tall woman was glaring at her.

  “Done with your cousin?” she hissed in a venomous drunken slur. Her eyes were glassy.

  It occurred to Heather that Damon had known she was there. Shelby was hard to miss in her white pants. And she realized suddenly that Damon had been using her to make the other woman jealous. She felt a surge of anger herself.

  “Just warming him up for you.”

  Heather stalked from the club, but she couldn’t resist peeking back over her shoulder to see Shelby moving unsteadily over toward Damon, who was welcomi
ng her with open arms. Hey baby, where you been?

  She couldn’t figure out why she was angry. This is what she’d signed up for. To be Damon’s wingman. To help him get laid. Still, it rankled. She felt used. She wasn’t sure why. He’d paid for everything, given her a fun evening, and obviously there wasn’t going to be anything more.

  Back in her room, Heather peeled off her dress. She frowned at the mismatched bra and panties she wore. Shelby, she realized, probably wasn’t wearing underwear beneath those white pants. She’d have to ask Damon about that if she saw him tomorrow.

  She climbed into bed. Her ears were buzzing from the pounding music of the club and her head was spinning a little from the drinks; she had definitely drunk more than she had in years. At least she wasn’t as bombed as Shelby…

  Shelby… that drunken whore. Well, Damon may not be looking to attract flies or idiots, but he’d certainly hooked a grade-A bitch. She thought back to her earlier diagnosis of him as an asshole.

  “They deserve each other,” she mumbled to herself.

  She was probably spreading wide for him, that slut. Probably already back in his room, getting hammered by his big, black cock. Oh Damon, baby, fuck me.

  They probably did look good together. Heather grudgingly thought as pornographic images of the two of them fucking flashed through her mind. Shelby riding him. Damon taking her from behind. Shelby sucking on his fat prick. Damon pulling her hair, calling her names.

  Heather’s climax hit like a ton of bricks. She hadn’t even realized she was rubbing herself through her panties. Her mental fog lifted. Oh God, did I really just do that? What is wrong with me?

  But after a day of travel, sun, drinking, dancing and now an orgasm, she fell fast asleep before she could even begin to think it through.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Sleeping on it did nothing to resolve Heather’s competing emotions. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d been used. She knew it didn’t make sense, but that didn’t change the reality. She was annoyed. Annoyed at Damon. Annoyed at Shelby. Even annoyed at Jeff who’d sent her on this stupid, annoying vacation.

  She sprawled out on the king sized bed and looked out the window at the bright, blue sky. Okay, okay, I’m overreacting.

  She got up and went into the bathroom. She ran her fingers through a shapeless mass of hair. Is this even a color? Brown. Somehow having kids drained the tint from her hair. She could have sworn her hair had once been amber or cinnamon. Now it was, ugh, just brown. At least she still had nice eyes. Honey colored, though staying up late had left her with some dark bags beneath them.

  She called down to the spa. Happily they had a morning appointment so she scheduled a mani-pedi and facial and an appointment with the hair stylist. If she was going to treat herself, she might as well treat herself.

  It was weirdly relaxing to lie back, her face coated with a cucumber lotion and slices over her eyes as a pair of women worked on her hands and toes. Relaxing and decadent.

  She asked the hair stylist to restore her former color and give her a fresh look. He hacked away at her hair with abandon, cutting it into a layered bob, before applying highlights that restored that reddish-brown shade she’d had in her twenties. She grinned at herself in the mirror. Much better. No one, not even a certain Mr. Smarty Pants, was going to call her a soccer mom today…

  …unless she wore that stupid one-piece to the beach. That would have to go as well. Luckily, in addition to a dress shop, there was a beachwear store as well in the hotel.

  As she sorted through the swimsuits, it occurred to her that she’d be much better off going into town to shop. How, exactly, can two tiny pieces of fabric cost $180? She finally found one that looked interesting at half that price. Still outrageous, but in comparison, reasonable. It was a deep rust color and, frankly, a little too skimpy, but she decided to try it on.

  She looked at herself in the mirror. Yes, definitely too skimpy, and yet…. She didn’t need much fabric to cover her small breasts, and she had to admit it did make her tush look pretty amazing. It was a string bikini bottom, basically a tee cut, but with strings giving it a little extra heft, almost a spider-web look to it. Impractical for sure, but very, very cute. She added a matching cover-up and a new pair of sandals.

  She stopped by her room to drop off her clothes, grabbed her reader, and then she went out in the gorgeous early afternoon sunshine. She went first to the pool bar, but then she decided not to stop there. She’d eaten there yesterday, and anyway… she was sort of hoping to run into Damon. Even though it made her feel weird, annoyed, and yes, a little jealous, she admitted to herself, she wanted to know what had happened with Shelby.

  She strolled toward the beach, a little conscious of the looks she was getting from strangers, but, well, that was the point of the new purchases and makeover, now wasn’t it? And then she spotted him, lying in a lounger, looking very fit and peaceful. She beckoned over an attendant and asked him to drag a lounger over toward Damon.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  Damon looked up to see the attendant lugging the beach chair behind him.

  “It doesn’t look like I have much of a choice.”

  “Very funny, wise guy.”

  Heather took her time settling in. She adjusted the chair, then laid out her towel. She took out her sun block and set it down in the sand beside her. Then she finally removed her cover-up and sat down.

  She looked over to see him smiling.

  “What?”

  “Nice suit.”

  “Oh this old thing?”

  “You have a very nice ass.”

  She peered at him over her cheap sun glasses. “Don’t get any ideas. I’m just your, um, sarge?”

  “Oh don’t worry. Remember, you’re not –“

  “Your type. I know,” she replied with a sigh.

  “Your hair looks good too. Cute nails.”

  “You need to stop checking me out or I’m going to leave,” she said with a sigh. But she was pleased he’d noticed.

  She’d planned to work into it slowly, but her curiosity got the better of her.

  “So, did you have fun with Shelby?”

  “Jealous?”

  She snorted. Yes! “Oh, please.”

  He smirked at her over his glasses. Busted. He dragged it out, enjoying her obvious interest in the matter.

  “Actually, nothing happened.”

  Heather couldn’t contain her pleasure. She masked it with a gibe: “Couldn’t close the deal, huh?”

  “I always close the deal… if I want to.”

  “And you didn’t. She wasn’t your type either?” Heather asked skeptically.

  “Oh, she was my type, alright. But missed the timing. Not drunk enough earlier in the evening, too drunk later.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought that would stop you.”

  “You ever have a girl throw up on your dick?”

  Heather rolled her eyes. “Yeah, girls throw up on my dick all the time.”

  “So you know it’s not any fun.”

  Heather laughed. “You really didn’t screw her?”

  “Nope. I’m still as backed up as when I first got off the plane.”

  “You know, you can handle that yourself.”

  “Some friend you are. You could at least offer me a handy.”

  Heather had a fleeting thought of her slender, pale hand sliding up and down his thick, hard shaft. “I’m sure you have plenty of practice.”

  She braced herself for a comeback that didn’t come. Instead, he just smiled and looked back out at the sea.

  “So what do you do? You’ve never told me,” she asked, changing the subject.

  “I’m an architect. I design custom homes for rich twits with more dollars than sense.” She laughed. “And you?”

  “Oh, I’m a soccer mom. You pegged me right away.”

  “That was before I saw you in that bikini.”

  Heather flushed. “Yeah? And what would you peg me as now?”

>   He grinned. “A soccer mom with a nice ass.”

  She gave him a quick swat, but she couldn’t help but also think about her purchase. Money well spent.

  ***

  The day passed quickly, too quickly. Heather didn’t get any of her book read. She was too busy bantering and laughing with Damon. They swam together. Her suit proved as impractical as she’d suspected, and she was pleased she’d thought to trim her patch in the shower that morning. In truth, it would have been better had she been completely shaved, but she knew she’d never be able to explain that to Jeff when she returned home.

  Back on their loungers, he offered to help her reapply her sunscreen. She blushingly accepted. He was thoroughly decent about it, not a stray finger or lingering touch, and yet she had to admit that feeling his large, strong hands on her back had been thrilling. She felt a bit sorry for Shelby. That dumb little slut had surely missed out on a good time.

  Heather tried to banish that inappropriate thought from her mind. Although, why was it inappropriate? She wasn’t thinking about having sex with Damon herself… and anyway he wasn’t interested in her… not that that mattered… just an idle thought about Shelby.

  When the afternoon was coming to a close, Damon began packing up his stuff. “So, Soccer Mom, you gonna sarge for me again tonight? You owe me.”

  “How do I owe you?”

  “I didn’t get laid, did I?”

  She knew she should decline. She was spending altogether too much time with this man. But then she thought about eating alone or the room service cart by her door.

  “Okay, but if I’m going to invest the time, you better up your game. I’m tired of seeing you crash and burn.”

  He laughed. “Just do your part, wingman.”

  They made plans to meet at the lobby bar at 7:30. Heather looked at her watch. Shit. It was already 6:00, and she didn’t have a thing to wear.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Jeff was surely going to freak out at the Visa bill. If she’d had her phone, she’d have given him a heads up… or maybe not. It was hard to explain what was going on even to herself. But the simple fact was, she was going out to dinner, and she needed something appropriate to wear, and it just wasn’t an option to wear that lovely red dress two nights in a row.