by Tif Marcelo
He takes a deep breath. “After we have sex? I was thinking we’d have more of it.”
I laugh. “I mean after this trip.”
He brings my face down to his, and he plants a kiss on my lips. That simple action settles my fear about whatever he’s about to say. His voice is a breath. “I don’t know, Victoria. I can only promise you that while we’re on this trip, in this run-down RV, I’m yours, unequivocally.”
“So there’s no one else?” I need to clarify this fact. My biggest fear.
“No one.”
I nod, ruminating over what he means. He’s saying that these next four days are the only ones he can promise. After we say our goodbyes, that will be it. It’s temporary in the most honest terms, but it’s all for us, for the taking. Just he and I. And what more can I ask but that?
“Okay.”
His lips curl up into a grin. “Okay?”
“Yes. I’m yours unequivocally, too.”
He kisses me, sending my heart into my throat and my body toward him. He climbs onto the bed on his knees, taking me with him so we’re facing each other. While exploring my mouth with his tongue, he peels off his shirt, then unbuttons mine. He palms my back so I’m flush against his chest, the breath crushed out of me, then he moves his lips to my neck, my clavicle. He fingers one bra strap off a shoulder, sending goose bumps across my skin.
I sip in a breath as he kisses down my chest, in between my breasts, while he lowers the demi cup until my breasts spill out. He takes one nipple into his mouth while teasing the other with his fingers. I sigh as he licks, cry as he nibbles, and gasp when I open my eyes.
I see our reflection in the mirror through the open bathroom door, of me kneeling, top exposed, while this man is taking me into his mouth. His profile shows the pleasure in what he’s doing. And the sight of that, of him enjoying himself, is like electricity. I’m amped up with joules of energy, and I want this to go faster. I want this hard and unrelenting.
Pulling him up by the shoulders, I bring his face to me and kiss him firmly on the lips. He unhooks my bra and it falls to the side. My fingers fumble with the button on his jeans. Finally, I get the darn thing open, and my hand plunges down the front of his pants, because I want it—him—in my hands.
I suck in a breath at his length, his girth, at how hard he is for me. He growls as I shove his jeans down, and I take my time with his cock. I palm and squeeze, pull and play. I watch his face and gauge what he wants, and I grin because he seems to love everything I do. But it’s when I get into a rhythm, when I pump him and the heat rises between us from the friction, that he finally speaks. “You know what I’m thinking of right now, Victoria?” The sound of the zipper of my jeans coming down increases my speed as I anticipate his fingers where I want them, between my legs. “I’m thinking of your wetness all around me.”
I’m pleading, whining into his mouth because I want him so bad, and the warmth of his fingers between my legs is a relief. He licks my lips and my imagination flips it so it’s his tongue stroking me. My breaths come quick, and I’m a spiral top in an unrecoverable spin, and I don’t know . . . I don’t think I can stop.
My knees buckle, and I’m not sure if I can do this, if I can give and receive pleasure without falling over, but Joel keeps me up by the waist, licking, touching, pumping, until I can no longer hang on, until his breaths become haggard.
He’s about to fall, too.
“I’ve got you, Victoria.” Joel grunts, barely making words. “Oh fuck. I’m so close.”
Knowing I do this to him—he can barely catch his breath—gives me enough bravado to take control. “Do you have a condom?”
He nods. “In my wallet.”
Reaching behind him, I take the wallet from his pocket, shove it against his chest, and push him onto his back. I step out of my jeans and panties, and crawl onto him as he slips the condom on. Joel embeds his fingers in my hair. Eyes on each other, I sink onto him with relief.
Fourth Destination:
Gilroy
JACK: I love waking up in the morning not knowing what’s gonna happen or who I’m gonna meet, where I’m gonna wind up.
—Titanic
September 5
From: Oliva Russell
To: Tara Sullivan
Subject: Call me
* * *
Tara,
It’s a little after three in the morning and I can’t sleep. Loved the segment today, and I have an idea. It’s unconventional, but it might shake things up a bit. Give me a call as soon as you wake. Doesn’t matter what time.
Best,
Olivia Russell
Producer and Editor
West Coast Eats
24
JOEL
September 5
I wake up with a grin. It’s wide and shameless, and I’m glad it’s only me in this orange tent, because damn: Victoria was amazing last night. Hot and uninhibited and honest. It was something out of my fantasies to be with someone who could be so expressive and dirty and sexy in the bedroom, and be so good and caring out of it. With her, it’s the best of both worlds. I don’t know how I was able to extricate myself after we satisfied each other last night, but somehow, I peeled myself off her warm body and found my way back to my tent.
I’d tried to walk away. It would have been true to who I have been the last ten years of my life. To remain silent and to let things go, not to speak up, not to fight back—those things would have been easier to do. Yes, those are selfish and protective measures, but they’re survivalist.
Especially now, when I seem to be on the cusp of something after stepping up at Berkeley, my first instinct is to ride the tide. Lift my feet and float and ignore Victoria calling from the shore. Isn’t it time to take care of me, to go for what I want?
But I couldn’t let her think that she is any less than she is. Couldn’t let the night pass without showing her, unequivocally, that I am not the same kind of person as that Luke. I had to fight for my character last night. Sure, I’m slow coming to this journey. My setbacks forced me to take the scenic route—Victoria’s sister had reminded me of it—but I couldn’t be shoved under the same title as that man . . .
With Victoria, I don’t want to be selfish. I want to be selfless.
And thank God she took what I could give: a promise of today, of this trip together.
Which came with another unforgettable night.
The tent around me shakes, and I groan at the disruption of my thoughts. Above me, through the open mesh vent, is the outline of trees. The sun shines behind it, brimming with possibility. What I would give to do absolutely nothing today. Nothing except Victoria.
I grin.
The tent shakes again. “Dude, you getting up or what? We’ve got an hour before we have to hit the road.” It’s Adrian, impatience seeping through his voice. “Victoria made breakfast. Better make it up there. You snooze, you lose. Tara’s starving, and she’s threatening to take your share.”
“I’m up.” At the mention of Victoria, newfound energy flows through me. I paw my way out of the tent and into the warm sunlight, and squint against the blinding reflection of the sun on the water. The campground is hopping with people packing up, unhooking their RVs, and cleaning their areas before they take off. Awnings are being rolled in, carpets folded, chairs collapsed. Tent campers are stuffing their vehicles with equipment.
Beyond, I see Victoria at the picnic table, cooking on a portable burner. Her head is covered by a beanie, and she’s wearing her college sweatshirt, yoga pants, and flip-flops.
Too damn cute. It doesn’t matter what she’s wearing—and I’ve seen the gamut since this gig began—hair up or down, in sweats or naked, with or without makeup, with a mouthful of food or a cheek smudged with dirt, she can’t sport a bad look. Tara is next to her, stuffing her face, and they’re chatting and laughing. By the time I approach them, I don’t think I’m going to need coffee. I’m wide awake.
/> Tara cuts her pancakes into little pieces and douses them with syrup. “Finally, you’re up.”
“What can I say? I’m hungover from the food. You missed out,” I answer. To Victoria, I ask, “Have you eaten? I can take this shift.” I avoid her eyes. As much as I’m drawn to her face, I don’t want Tara to notice the tension and the lie rising off my skin. Yeah, I’m hungover, but it’s from Victoria, not the food, and I wish she and I could go another round this morning to take the edge off.
“Sure, help yourself.” She hands me the ladle, and I pick up where she leaves off, flipping a pancake. While Tara eats, Victoria puts a pancake from the stack onto a napkin, spreads a couple of drops of syrup on it, adds a spoonful of scrambled eggs and a slice of bacon, and rolls her pancake like a taco and bites into it.
Tara laugh-chokes on her food. “What the hell?”
“What? This is how I’ve always eaten pancakes at a campground. Fewer dishes to wash. You guys must have never had dish duty. It sucks.” She swallows her food and gawks at our impassive reaction. “You’ve never done dishes at a campground?”
Tara and I shake our heads.
“But we’re using plastic,” I say.
“Even worse. Unneeded waste.”
I turn down the burner and crack two eggs into it, and while waiting for them to cook, I roll up a pancake and stuff the whole thing into my mouth. I’m too damn starved to sit down.
Victoria laughs, touching the back of her hand to her lips.
I shrug with a cheekful of food. “What?”
“I’m surrounded by cave people!” Tara complains.
I flex my biceps, first with one arm, then the other, and then both á la Arnold Schwarzenegger. “Someone’s got to carry that camera, right?”
Vic rolls her eyes. “Please. That kind of stuff doesn’t impress me.”
I swallow the rest of my pancake. That’s news to me. We’ve never talked about what her type is. I’m about to ask her when Tara chimes in first.
“I thought you of all people would appreciate a well-proportioned man.”
“Oh, I do.” She wipes her chin of syrup, a grin on her lips. She glances at me for a beat, then away, back to Tara. “The thing about growing up in a restaurant and working as a server for a gazillion years? You learn real quick that what people project on the outside doesn’t reflect what’s happening within. Too many couples that look perfect when you come up to their tables are actually cursing each other out. I can’t tell you how many breakups have happened over smiling faces and dessert.”
I chime in. “That’s the truth. I pick up a ton of nuances most people don’t see at first glance. At times, people don’t even realize how they feel about each other, and yet they exude it. Not going to mention any names, but I interned on a certain movie where the lead actor and actress were both married, but throughout the filming, it was evident their love scenes were pretty authentic. They married each other later.”
“No. You worked on that set?” Victoria’s jaw drops.
I nod. “In my experience, actions speak louder than words.”
“Interesting. In mine, actions betray words.”
Victoria’s statement stills my hand on the ladle for a beat, and I’m suddenly feeling the weight of our relationship in the silence. Luke betrayed her with his actions, despite all the communication they had online. Where does that leave me? While I use my actions to convey how I feel, does she think I’m going to wrong her anyway?
Tara’s gaze slides from me to Victoria. I settle back into flipping the eggs around in the pan to make them over hard, feeling like I’m being examined.
“I like this, you know?” Tara says. “This is good. You guys talking, sharing experiences. This is what a great team is about. I’m glad we’ve gotten to this point now, that we can shoot the shit. Because our plans have changed.”
Victoria and I glance briefly at each other. Tara turns on the bench. “Where’s the fourth man in our group? Yo, Adrian.”
I snigger under my breath. Victoria points to me and says, “Yo, Adrian, I did it.”
I bust out in laughter. “Well played, well played. Although Rocky was from 1972. No worries, Padawan. School you yet I will.”
She avoids my eyes, grinning madly.
Adrian lumbers over to us, looking the worse for wear with bags under his eyes and stringy hair. I hold out my hand so I can fill up the travel mug he’s handing me with coffee. “Thanks, dude. Having a hard time sleeping on my damn air mattress.”
“I can move into your tent. I don’t mind, Adrian. You take the bed.” Victoria says.
“I might have to take you up on that.”
“Anytime. And I think I even have something for muscle aches in my luggage. Remind me, okay?”
“Ah—all this love in the air. It’s so magnificent that I think we should play another game,” Tara says.
We all groan at Tara’s enthusiasm.
“Psyche! We actually don’t have time for that because I received new marching orders.” She pulls out her phone and scrolls up once with a finger. “New format straight from the big boss lady herself.” After a glance up at me, she grins. “Are you ready?”
The smile on Victoria’s face falters, and worry flashes across her features. Tara is always dramatic, and while we’re accustomed to daily changes in the agenda, something about this feels more serious. Adrian, on the other hand, is noshing on breakfast like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
“Someone in this group is going to get a second chance,” Tara begins.
Victoria wraps her arms across her chest.
“Olivia was impressed with yesterday’s segment, Joel. And she saw something she missed in Vegas. She was so inspired by this revelation that she couldn’t sleep. She even emailed me in the middle of the night.” She wipes her mouth with a napkin. “Quite honestly, I couldn’t sleep either. We were on the phone this morning at dawn.”
The teasing is relentless, and it catapults my blood pressure to high. “Tara.”
“It’s simple: you were amazing. Under the gun, you stepped up to the plate. We took a chance by putting you on the screen. I thought, worst-case scenario, we’ll have to redo the segment and rush the edits. But what you brought was the technical edge. You know exactly what to look for in barbecue. It’s not just about what it tastes like or how it feels—which is what we get from you, Victoria—but it’s what makes barbecue special.”
“Am I . . . am I being fired?” Victoria slides her eyes to me.
“No, you’re not,” I say, moving my gaze to Tara. I might have wanted this job, but I won’t take it from under someone else’s nose.
“No, you’re not.” Tara’s eyes light up. “No one is getting fired, but one of you is getting promoted. Joel, you’re going to be jumping in with Victoria for the rest of the segments. Since Desert Willow was all you, Vic, and Berkeley was all you, Joel, it won’t be jarring to ease both of you into the frame for the final three stops.”
“Why?”
“Why not? You both look great together. There’s a weird chemistry between you two. You have different skill sets and bring opposite things to the table.”
But it doesn’t feel straightforward. “What’s the catch?”
“That’s what I like about you, Joel. You are to the point.” She links her fingers in front of her on the table. “Olivia thought you both would react this way, so she wanted to sweeten the pot. Whoever shines the brightest will host our next planned cross-country food show.”
My jaw falls open. A cross-country food show.
“This is going to be a competition?” Victoria’s words are clipped.
“If you want to put it that way, yes. She thought it would amp you guys up more than anything. She probably suspects the same thing I do—that you two are going to be way too nice to each other to shine on your own. The winner won’t be announced until our last segment in San Diego.”
“Wow.”
I fix my sights on Victoria, and her face
mirrors my shock. I’m speechless as the pros and cons of the situation pull me in two opposite directions. I’m still hungover from my night with this amazing woman. I can’t seem to get enough of her.
But this is my second chance, and I’m not here to play. I’m here to make a living, and I want my own show.
But, Victoria . . .
“Dude, your eggs!”
Adrian’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts, and I look down at my eggs, burning in the pan. “Shit!” I turn off the burner and quickly scoop the eggs onto my plate. My hands are shaking at this stroke of good news.
But looking down at the mess on my plate, I wonder if my eggs are not going to be the only thing burned after all this is over.
25
VICTORIA
“This is slightly awkward, don’t you think?” Joel asks.
He finds a tree stump to sit on and motions for me to share the space. We arrived at Shady Acres an hour ago, the campground in closest proximity to Gilroy, and have already set up camp. I’d used the reason that we needed to stock up on essentials at the campground market to get away for some space to think—alone. But Joel followed me anyway. We’d avoided talking about Tara’s announcement during the three-hour drive here, alternating small talk with silence and classical music, and I guess he was ready to discuss it.
I’m not, but with less than an hour before our next segment, I relent, perching myself on the stump at his side. He sets down his two bags of groceries, and I do the same. Conjuring shreds of my optimism, my default, I smile. “It won’t be if we don’t let it.”
But I’m lying. Talk about being sideswiped—Tara’s news, pitting Joel against me, is not something I could have predicted. My first thought was that I was going to get fired; the next I was so grateful that I’d have a chance at the next festival that it struck me speechless. But now?
