by S. M. Shade
Noticing the grimace on my face, and probably the way I’m thrashing around like I’m being electrocuted, Davis swims to me. “What’s wrong?”
Shit. He’s the last person I want to know, but the pain just keeps getting worse. “I don’t know. It really hurts. I think something is in my suit.” When I bring my hand above the surface of the water, a thin layer of slime rests across my palm.
Davis curses and shoves my hand underwater, rubbing his palm across mine. The sting lessens, but it isn’t my biggest problem. My ass is on fire. “Take your bottoms off,” Davis orders, and I look at him in horror. “It’s a jellyfish, Henley. It’s going to get worse. We have to take care of it.”
Kasha must notice something is wrong since she starts to wade back out. “Towel!” Davis shouts to her. “Bring a towel!” He grabs my hand as I go to touch my ass again. “Don’t, you’ll just get more stingers in your hand. He tows me over to where we can touch the ocean bottom with our feet, away from the attendants and zip line riders, and yanks my bottoms down. “Step out of them.”
Not seeing any other choice, I obey. It can’t get any worse than this. He stands behind me and rubs his hands over my thighs and ass, washing them with the seawater. Okay, it can get worse. I just want to dunk underwater and stay there.
“Jellyfish leave stinging cells behind. We have to get them off of you. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I know it hurts.”
Kasha wades out with a towel and Davis submerges it, wrapping it around my waist. “I can walk!” I insist when he scoops me into his arms. It probably would’ve been more convincing if tears weren’t starting to run down my face.
“I’ve got you.” He turns to Kasha. “She needs some vinegar and baking soda. Can you see if the pharmacy has some?”
“Of course!”
“And hydrocortisone cream!” he calls when Kasha runs off to gather supplies.
Davis carries me toward the house. I don’t have the strength to argue. The sting is horrible and unrelenting. It strikes me how lucky I was it didn’t get further in my suit. Jellyfish sting on the vagina? At the moment, I can’t imagine anything worse.
Of course, that was before Davis laid me on his bed face down and started dragging the edge of his driver’s license across my bare ass cheeks. “What are you doing?” I twist out of his grasp.
“It got you pretty bad, over a large area. This helps remove the stinging cells. When Kasha gets here, we’ll wash it with vinegar and baking soda. It’ll deactivate the remaining stingers we can’t get out. It’s going to burn and itch for a day or two though.”
Yeah, this isn’t humiliating at all.
Davis throws a sheet across my ass when there’s a knock on the door. I’m relieved it’s only Kasha. This isn’t exactly how I like to be seen. I’m already going to be the laughingstock of the wedding, the girl who got stung in the ass by a jellyfish.
Kasha sits beside me on the bed while Davis removes the sheet and bathes my behind in vinegar. “Does it hurt bad?” she asks.
“It’s getting better.” I peek up at her and roll my eyes at the sight of her trying to repress a laugh. “Go ahead, bitch. Get it out of your system. I’m going to be the laughingstock of the wedding anyway. Your face plant in the mud has nothing on this.”
Giggling, she shakes her head. “Come on, Henley, you know I’ll do something to top it before the week is over.” Davis finishes covering my ass and thighs in a paste of vinegar and baking soda and heads to the bathroom.
“My sort-of ex—who is still way too damn good looking—just scraped my ass and covered it in goop. I think I win this round of most embarrassing wedding moments.”
“Stay still and leave it on there for a few minutes,” Davis says, returning with a tube of cream. He tosses it on the bed and proceeds to wash my stinging hand with vinegar, then coats it in hydrocortisone cream. It’s then I notice his hands are red and swollen.
“Your hands,” I point out.
“I’m taking care of them.” He coats them with the paste. I was so mortified, I didn’t even think about what he did when he removed my suit and scrubbed at my body. He used his bare hands, knowing he’d get stung as well.
“Will you please grab me some clean clothes? My black running shorts are on top of my suitcase,” I ask Kasha. They’re my loosest piece of clothing. Something tells me panties aren’t happening either.
“Sure.” She glances from me to Davis and smiles before leaving.
Davis gently lays a sheet across my body and settles into a chair next to the bed. “Thank you,” I murmur.
“You’re welcome.”
I rest my head on the pillow and gaze at him. “I mean it. Your hands are all stung because you helped me.”
“It was worth it. You still have a great ass. A little bigger now it’s swollen, but…” He shrugs, a smirk on his face.
“And you’re still a pig. If you tell any of your bachelor party buddies about this, I’ll tell everyone about the time our dog bit you in the nuts and you cried until your mom picked you up.”
“I was eight!”
“Not the way I tell it.”
Laughing, he sweeps a lock of hair out of my eyes. “I’ve missed you.”
“Couldn’t tell from my end,” I grumble.
“I know. I was twenty years old, Hen. I shouldn’t have left you, but I had to go. I knew you were too young. Your parents and brother would’ve killed me.”
I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I know why he left. There’s no nice way to say “I realized I could do better than a skinny nerd,” so he’s coming up with excuses. I don’t have a right to be pissed just because he couldn’t love me back, right? Although, running the day after taking my virginity was a dick move.
“Let’s just let bygones be bygones. A few more days and we probably won’t see each other for another eight years.” He smiles as if he knows better, but his reply is cut short as Kasha returns with my clothes.
After I shower off all the paste and coat my ass with the hydrocortisone cream, I feel better. It’s more annoying than painful now. I feel bad watching Davis do the same to his hands. They’re really swollen.
On an impulse, I hug him and plant a kiss on his cheek. “Thanks again.” I glance at his hand. “And if you need help with anything, just call me.”
A mischievous grin cracks his face. “Well, since you offered, I like to jerk off every night, and since I can’t…”
Kasha laughs aloud, and I shake my head. “Still a pig.”
Chapter Six
Kasha
After changing out of my bikini, I pull on a shirt and my most awesome panties… that no one will be seeing, damn it.
They say “Danger Zone” right across the ass, and I give myself a little pep talk in the mirror. My favorite part about my mother’s obnoxious lifestyle? The Wedding Olympics.
That’s right. I actually love this part.
I pull on a pair of “Duck You” socks and crank up my music as Henley lies on the bed—on her stomach, since her ass isn’t fully back in commission just yet. Good thing she’s not into anal.
She rolls her eyes when I slide across the floor and start singing “Danger Zone” in nothing but my panties and T-shirt. And socks, of course.
I even turn and point to my ass for good measure, which earns me a small snort from Henley.
Lydia giggles as she walks in, watching me sing the lyrics word for word, getting pumped up.
I continue to sing, still dancing like a lunatic. Maybe there’s even a little air guitar going on.
Someone bangs on our door, and I squeal while diving beside the bed before the door opens.
“Game on in ten!” Anderson calls into the room.
“You son of a bitch! You don’t come into a girl’s room without being invited!” I yell.
“Too late to gripe about it now.”
Asshole.
Game on is right.
“I really shouldn’t have come,” Lydia says quietly when he leaves, s
hutting the door behind him.
Sadly, I agree, but I don’t point that out right now. Best friends don’t give the I told you so speech.
“It’ll be fine,” I tell her, still unsure how much damage I want to do to his wedding. I know I said we’d sabotage it, but… Shit. I’ve gone and grown a conscience like an adult these days.
She clears her throat while standing up. “I think I’m going to sit out the Olympics. Maybe read a book or something.”
My mouth falls open—because the Olympics are the best part of the wedding—but I close it immediately. Obviously she needs a second. I wouldn’t be here if I was her, but Lydia and I are two different people. She needs this. Even though I’m not sure why.
Never mind. I’d go to the wedding of the guy who crushed me just to be a part of the Wedding Olympics. Totally worth it. Especially the obstacle course—which is first.
After pulling on a pair of athletic shorts and tucking some laxatives into my pocket, I toss on my sneakers and leave as Henley waddles behind me. When we get outside, Henley winces.
“Need a pillow or something to sit on?”
She grimaces, but nods.
“I’ll get it. Stay put.”
I jog back in, but before I track down a pillow, I hear hushed voices and giggling. Because I’m nosy, I lean in and listen as my mother is speaking.
“I can’t say that I understand it,” my mother states, sighing heavily, “but at least she brought my daughter with her. Lydia has always been a mouse, but she’s usually more sensible than this. Surely, she has to see how incredibly uncomfortable this is making people.”
Anger prickles my spine at hearing that. Is she really going against Lydia right now? After everything?
“I’d never be caught dead at an ex’s wedding,” someone remarks, snorting derisively.
“I have more self-respect. I mean, it’s pathetic.”
Jane—my sister-in-law-to-be—adds to the bash-Lydia party. “I’m glad she’s here, though. You have no idea how hard I had to work to get Anderson to realize he deserved better. She’d be wearing this ring if I hadn’t stepped in. Imagine how miserable my Andy would be with her.”
Heat sizzles up my neck, and I bite my tongue—literally. I might need a robo tongue if I don’t release my grip.
Lydia came here under the pretense my family was still close with her. We grew up together, after all. My mother was like her mother—until the divorce. Then it was like she wasn’t even my mother anymore. But Lydia was there for her when I refused to have anything to do with her; she constantly tried to broker peace between my mother and me. Lydia is the only reason I ever went to my mother’s house at all after the divorce.
Lydia got me through the hell I went through with accepting the fact I lost my arm. She was the first person who looked at me without pity and told me to get my ass up and off the pity train. She’s always been there. Yet, this is how she’s repaid.
Fuck the wedding. Fuck my conscience. Fuck my mother. Fuck the bride. And fuck my stepbrother.
I’m about to turn fourteen again. And I won’t do something as pointless as spiking the punch. In hindsight, that really was weak. Anderson has unleashed prank hell on me over the years. I can return the favor in the name of Lydia.
Right now, I have some games to win. Yeah… I might have entered all of them.
Just as I walk back outside, I realize I forgot the pillow. But, it looks like Henley already has one, and Davis is walking away.
Grinning, I head toward Anderson, who tosses me a red jersey.
“You’re on my team, sis,” he announces, acting like he isn’t a twatwaffle dick weasel.
I toss it back just as Roman walks by in a blue jersey, smirking at me before cutting his eyes toward his sister and heading toward her. She’s in a red jersey.
“Actually, I’m going with blue. Sorry, bro.”
I grab a blue jersey from the pile as he glares at me, and pull it on before knotting it on my side to keep it from hanging past the top of my shorts. I tie it one-handed out of habit, and my robo arm twitches to remind me it works just fine.
Anderson is glaring because he knows I’m a badass on the obstacle course, hence the reason he wants me with him.
“Oh, we added a new obstacle,” he says, a taunting ghost of a smile on his lips. “In honor of your memorable arrival to my wedding.”
It’s not even embarrassing anymore. When you’re clumsy, you shake shit off quicker than the average person.
“I’m sure I can beat you with one hand tied behind my back… Oh wait! That’s right! I’ve beaten you one-handed numerous times! Now that I have two hands, you’re so fucked.”
He rolls his eyes while looking away, and I wiggle my robo fingers at his horrified friends. They dart their eyes away like they can’t believe I’m making jokes. I mean, how dare I have a sense of humor about a missing limb instead of mourning its loss years later.
There are five types of people around me.
Type One: People who pretend they don’t notice my arm because it’s not politically correct to address it.
Type Two: People who stare at my arm unabashedly. Sometimes staring is all they do. Sometimes they ask probing, personal, somewhat awkward questions.
I’ll never forget the time some guy old enough to be my father asked me if I ever tried to masturbate with my prosthetic since it didn’t have feeling. He seemed to think it would be like getting some foreplay from someone else. Sheesh.
Another guy asked me if I had to wear the prosthetic all the time. When I told him I usually took it off at home, he asked if he could lick my ‘nub’—his word, not mine. This was on a date. Obviously there was not another date with that freaky fetish boy.
Anyway, back to what I was saying…
Type Three: People who really don’t give a damn if I have an arm or not.
Type Four: People who accept the fact it’s not there, but can’t help but notice. Those people are usually curious, but not in an offensive or creepy way. Those are my favorite people.
Type Five: People who think missing limbs are contagious. Seriously. It’s like they’re going to catch a case of amputation if I accidentally graze them on my way by.
Anderson’s sports bottle is on the ground, and I snatch it up without drawing attention while he talks with a group of his friends.
After unscrewing the cap, I squirt the liquid laxatives inside, replace the cap, and put it back where I found it. Then of course I act like I’m stretching when he turns around right as I’m bent over.
Yeah, I totally play it off. He’s still clueless when we start moving.
As we walk around the side of the house to the massive backyard, I see what Anderson was talking about—my entrance involved mud, and so does the new obstacle course.
I… can’t believe my mother allowed them to make gigantic mud holes back here. But sure enough, there are two trenches about five feet wide and a few inches deep. Muddy as hell.
Rope squares are above it, meaning they expect us to crawl through this damn thing. That’s really going to piss Susie off when a slew of muddy people come traipsing through the house.
“Here are the rules!” Heath—my stepfather—has a voice that booms across the yard as he lifts his glass of champagne into the air. “Every man must pair with a woman from their team. The teams must be divided evenly with the genders. Any missed obstacle results in disqualification. All obstacles must be completed with your partner before you can start a new one, or you’ll be disqualified. Crossing the finish line without your partner results in disqualification.”
He rattles on about the rules, and I look around to see one lone blue jersey not paired off. Trying not to smile, I sidle up next to Roman as Heath finishes all his rules, and Roman looks down at me with a cocked eyebrow.
“Alright! Starting in five!” Heath announces to finish up his speech.
“Looks like we’re the only two not paired up,” I tell Roman as he continues to stare down at me. H
e really is hella tall.
Damn that smirk he keeps giving me. It makes him sexier.
“Is that your idea of wooing? Because it really sucks,” he states flatly.
Smiling sweetly, I step a little closer, invading his personal space as I crane my neck up to keep eye contact.
“The guy is supposed to woo the girl. Just sayin’.”
He releases a mock sigh while shaking his head. “The guy once tried, but the girl called him an arrogant prick. She also said some pretty nasty things after that.”
“The girl has already apologized for her very young, very inebriated self. The guy should really let it go, considering they’re both adults now.”
His lips twitch, and he takes a step back before stretching his arms above his head. My eyes drop when the hem of his shirt rides up just enough for me to get a peek of that V. Maybe my gaze lingers on the front of his loose shorts for much too long, because he clears his throat.
“My eyes are up here,” he drawls, sounding so damn amused when my eyes snap back up. “You seem to have a problem remembering that.”
He winks at me while moving around me, and I feel like an idiot as I follow him. Especially when my gaze drops to his ass. Even in those shorts he has a nice ass, and I know full well what his body looks like naked.
Which is incredibly distracting. And hot. Very, very hot.
Fanning myself, I take my place beside him on the blue side of the obstacle course starting line. There are two obstacle courses to separate the teams and prevent sabotage. Ironically enough.
My long, dark hair is tied up in a knot on my head, and my sports bra is strapping back my oversized ladies as I stretch some more. My tank top hangs loosely under the jersey, the orange peeking through the mesh blue.
“Think you can keep up with me?” Roman asks as my mother moves toward us.
She smiles when she sees me, but I cut my eyes away. She just stabbed Lydia in the back for the woman who not only stole Anderson from her, but also ran her mouth about Lydia—who was the one wronged.
