Wet

by Ruth Clampett

  “What? Mr. Clean would never smoke a pipe! That’s a dirty business.”

  “Of course. I should have thought of that,” I agree. “So I can come over?”

  “Sure. I’m wearing grubby sweats, but we’re just buds, so that’s cool. Right?”

  “Yeah, very cool.”

  I show up at her front door with a six-pack and I blink when she opens the door. Her hair is in a messy bun, she’s holding a bowl of popcorn, and her tight sweatpants have a hole in the knee, yet she’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

  “Hey, you,” she says, nodding her head to the right. “Come on in. It’s second quarter and my boys are up by ten.”

  “You need to know that I’m UCLA all the way, baby.”

  She almost drops the bowl of popcorn. “What the hell? You better be joking!”

  “I’m not.” I pull open my jacket to reveal my UCLA T-shirt.

  Huffing, she turns toward the den. She doesn’t even look back to see if I’m following her. Finally, she turns and makes a face at me. “Hey traitor, you coming or what?”

  I grin and follow her down the hall. Once we settle in, she pretty much ignores me for the second quarter. She also yells at the TV a lot. This side of her is a revelation. I wish Dad were here, he’d be in heaven. None of our women-folk can stand football—even my butch sister, the firefighter.

  To consume the beer I brought, I have to go to the kitchen and find a bottle opener all on my own but she seems to start to warm up when I open a bottle for her too.

  At halftime she gets chatty. “So tell me about the girl.”

  I take a long slow swig. “What do you want to know?”

  “I’m of the female species, Paulie. I want to know everything. How’d you meet her?”

  “Ma knows her from church. She teaches Sunday school.”

  Elle practically spits up her beer. “You’re dating a Sunday school teacher? Does she know your background?”

  I give her a stern look. “That’s irrelevant.”

  She rolls her eyes. “She may not agree with you on that point, bucko. You were a total man-whore.”

  “You know, you’re a little hard to figure out.”

  She takes a sip of beer. “How so?”

  “Well here you are this badass tomboy, Elle. And last week’s Tinder Elle was all sexy and provocative. And then I’ve also met apple pie, Elle . . . sweet as sugar.”

  “Hmmm,” she says.

  “So which one is the real Elle?”

  The corners of her mouth slowly turn up. “All are! There are lots of sides of me and I like it that way.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Is that a problem for you? Which Elle do you like best?”

  I immediately know I can’t be honest with her and tell her that I really like them all, so I cop out. “I’ll never tell,” I reply with a forced grin.

  Her eyes narrow with a suspicious look and she turns back to the TV.

  “So what’s the Sunday school teacher’s name?”

  “Lourdes.”

  “Hmm, interesting name.”

  I nod. “Hey Elle, seriously I need to talk about this girl. Can you be straight with me?”

  Her expression turns more somber and she nods. “Okay, sure. What?”

  “So Ma thought she was perfect for me, and I take her out. And it’s okay, nothing great, but she’s nice enough.”

  “So you weren’t attracted to her?” Elle asks with an arched brow.

  “No,” I admit. “Not really.”

  She nods, looking a little smug. “Go on.”

  “I mean we don’t even kiss after two dates, and I’m not even sure I care and then . . .”

  She waves her hand at me to continue.

  “She asks me to come for dinner at her place.”

  “Ooo, so what was that like?”

  I realize that I’m relieved to finally have someone to talk to about this, so I lean back into the couch, and tell Elle everything. The creepy crucifix paintings, the absinthe that made me not-right in the head, and I conclude with the presentation of the holy water for virtual virgins.

  Elle holds her hand up in front of her like she’s stopping a speeding train. “Wait a minute. Wait! What the hell is a virtual virgin?”

  I shrug. “I was actually hoping you could tell me. She had this holy water she wanted me to sprinkle on her—”

  “Of course she had holy water. Did she have one of those BDSM crosses in her bedroom to hang from?”

  “This is serious, Elle.”

  She bites the tip of her tongue. I sense she’s trying to hold back a laugh or loud guffaw.

  “So she wanted you sprinkle holy water on her, get her all wet and then deflower her . . . take her virtual virginity?”

  “She did.”

  “How’d that work out for you?”

  “I already told you, I didn’t touch her.”

  “Not even a kiss with tongue?”

  I shake my head. “Nope. No tongue. No kiss.”

  “Geez, I don’t feel so bad now. You turned down another chance for easy sex. Should I worry about you?”

  “No, don’t worry about me.”

  “But what if after all this you go gay? Don’t get me wrong, I love my gay boys. But you and all your hotness, and the anaconda need to stay on our side of the fence.”

  “I keep telling you, you don’t need to worry about me and other men.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I’ve been told that before.”

  “So what about Stephan?”

  “He’s not gay. Don’t let the meticulous side of him fool you. The way he fucks, he’s straight-up man.”

  My fingers tighten around my beer bottle. “So where are things going with you two?”

  “He asked me to go to Maui with him. He has a condo there.”

  I feel a little sick. “Are you going?”

  “Hell yes. Why wouldn’t I? I’ve always wanted to do it on the beach.”

  “So is this getting serious? You know . . . between you two.”

  “I’m serious about the sex. Is that what you mean?” “That good?” I can barely hide the jealousy in my tone.

  “Multiple orgasms. We were up all night the last time he stayed over.”

  “Awesome.”

  “Don’t be that way, Paul.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You sound forlorn. It could have been you, you know.”

  “Yeah?”

  “But you like those Sunday school teachers. Well at least the idea of them, even if that one didn’t work out. And you know what . . . now that we’re buds, I’m with your mom. I want a nice girl for you who deserves a guy like you.”

  “What kind of guy is that?”

  “A good man. One who loves his parents, is handy and can fix your sprinklers and stuff. And of course, one who will watch football with you.”

  As I drive home that night I have to wonder why hearing from Elle that I’m a good man just makes me want to be bad again.

  My elbow is firmly planted on my drafting table as I stare out the window. I’ve been inspired with this new landscape design for a library garden in Orange County, but this stuff with Elle is distracting me. I really need to get my shit together and focus.

  My head jerks back to my desk when my phone vibrates. Talk about timing . . . it’s a text from Elle. My good intentions of focusing just flew out the window.

  Aloha handsome!

  I sit up tall as I gaze at the screen. I’m jazzed to hear from her even though I hate knowing that she’s with the Viking.

  What? You’re already in Maui?

  Yes I am. I don’t mess around. I’m a woman of action.

  I feel the jealously scorch my insides as I imagine her in his arms. I’m surprised how much it burns.

  Good for you. Is it everything you hoped?

  It’s paradise. What’s not to like?

  Have you had sex on the beach yet?

  No. Apparently Mr. Clean has an issue with sa
nd. He doesn’t like it against his skin.

  HE DOESN’T LIKE SAND? You’re in Maui for God’s sake.

  Sigh. I know.

  Does he leave the hotel room?

  For meals and when we take strolls on the beach he wears those goofy water shoes.

  HE WEARS WATER SHOES FOR WALKS ON THE BEACH?

  Would you stop with the shouty caps?

  Water shoes aren’t manly, Elle.

  I know, but he doesn’t wear them in bed.

  Hey, what’s he doing now?

  He’s on a business call. I think I’ll go prance in front of him in my bikini. Last time I did that he got off the phone right away and we never made it downstairs. ;-)

  There’s that burn again. I don’t want to let her go. I don’t want to think about him fucking her in paradise.

  Do you miss me? I’m about to delete that mushy crap but my traitor finger hits send.

  Yes . . . lots! Bikini worked! Gotta go xo

  Thursday’s family dinner is tense. Ma has never looked so fed up with me. She purses her lips as she gives me the once over. Even the bun in her hair seems wound extra tight.

  “What do you mean Lourdes is not your type? She’s pretty and she’s a girl. That’s your type.”

  Trisha snorts.

  Ma’s face grows more flushed. “Maybe she’s too good for you.”

  I push my dinner plate away. Thanks to her hounding me, I’ve lost my appetite. “If that’s what you want to think, be my guest.”

  “Was she not attentive enough? I know how you like women to dote over you. She seemed very eager when you two met.”

  I look up with as stoic face as I can muster. “Oh she was attentive all right. But there’s good attentive, and not so good attentive. She was more the latter.”

  Ma pokes her finger out at me. “Must you speak in riddles, boy? Explain what that means!”

  Trisha smirks. “Ha! I bet she didn’t fawn all over him, like most girls do. It was a big blow to his massive ego.”

  “Do you realize that you sound like an irritating twelve year old, Trisha?”

  She ignores me which serves to confirm my observation.

  “So, Ma, it looks like your two-for-two is zero-for-zero in the matchmaking department,” Trisha says.

  Dad throws a concerned glance Patrick’s way and I notice Patrick’s expression fall. Just seconds later he excuses himself from the table mumbling something about needing to get back to work.

  When he’s left the room Ma hisses at Trisha. “Do you ever think before you open your mouth, Trisha?”

  “What? You raised us to always tell the truth.”

  “Yes, but there are times it’s better to keep your mouth shut. If you haven’t learned this by now I wonder if you ever will. You hurt the poor boy’s feelings.”

  Trisha shrugs and continues eating.

  I push my chair back. “I’m going to go check on Paddy.”

  Dad nods.

  When I get to his room his door is closed. I can’t believe that my older brother still lives at home. No wonder it’s hard for him to date. What kind of woman can be okay with that? I knock.

  “It’s open.”

  I step inside, and glance around. The Star Wars and anti-motivational posters of his younger years are gone, now replaced by world maps and posters from different countries. It takes some re-adjustment on my part even though the rest of the room looks pretty much the same. He turns and notices what I’m looking at.

  I point to the pictures. “These are interesting. I don’t remember seeing them in here before.”

  “No I put them up this year.”

  “What’s with the maps and pictures from exotic places?”

  “I really want to travel. I’ve got a plan to go somewhere different every year.”

  “Oh yeah?” I ask surprised. Patrick never seemed the traveling type. “So where will you go first?”

  “I just booked a trip in the fall to Morocco.”

  This is a revelation. I never thought my brother had an adventurous spirit. “Wow. That’s so cool. Who are you going with?”

  His gaze drops down to his computer screen and he skims his fingers back and forth over the keyboard. “No one. I’m going by myself.”

  My stomach sinks. Why did I have to ask him that? “Well you know, what’s great about that is then no one can tell you what to do.”

  He smiles, seeming to appreciate the encouragement. “Yeah, that’s what I told Ma and Dad.”

  “Some people are a pain in the ass to travel with. I went with that girl Bethany to Vegas about five years ago, and when we got there all she wanted to do was shop. We had a big fight right in the middle of the Caesar’s Forum mall.”

  His eyes grow wide. “Oh, that must have been awkward.”

  “I’ll say. She stormed off, then locked me out of our hotel room, and I headed home early.”

  “Oh man! Yeah, so if when I’m in Morocco, if I want to spend all day at Ben Youseef Madrasa no one can harp on me about it and then lock me out of the room.”

  “Uh huh,” I agree, not asking for an explanation of this place he’s mentioned. Evidently he’s done a lot of research. I sit down on the edge of his bed. “Hey, Patrick? Can I ask you what happened with Elle?”

  There’s a long pause while he stares into space. I’m almost ready to change the subject when he replies.

  “I thought she was enjoying our date. She seemed to like the exhibit, but at the end of the afternoon, when I asked her out again, she said no.”

  I can see the disappointment in his eyes and it makes me feel bad for him. “I’m sorry, dude. Did she say why?”

  “She said I was a great guy but her heart already belonged to someone else. She was hoping we could be friends.”

  My stomach sinks. Is it more serious than she’s been saying with the Viking? I thought he was only for sex. Maybe she hasn’t been straight with me.

  Patrick looks oddly relieved by my reaction. “So you’re surprised?”

  “Yeah, I am. She’s been seeing this guy, an architect for a few weeks, but I didn’t think she was that into him. I guess I was wrong.”

  “So you talk to her a lot?”

  “Well, we’re pretty good friends. Why?”

  “Just wondering. She seems great. Why haven’t you asked her out?”

  “When we first met I thought she was everything I needed to avoid.”

  “She is really different than the girls you used to hang out with. What do you think about her now?”

  “I think that we make great friends. And that’s probably a good thing since apparently the kind of guy she goes for isn’t anything like me.”

  Patrick doesn’t respond but he looks deep in thought.

  “Hey, Ma has the pound cake you like for dessert. Let’s go have some, okay?”

  He nods and gets up. I pat him on the back, and ruffle his hair, all brotherly-like, before we walk down the hall.

  His sandy brown hair is thick and the mess I’ve made of it gives him an edge. “You should always wear it that way,” I say. “Chicks like it like that . . . mark my word.”

  “Okay,” Patrick says with a shy smile. He stops me right before we enter the dining room. “Hey, I’m sorry that Lourdes didn’t work out either.”

  I nod. “Thanks, man.”

  “Was she really that weird?”

  I roll my eyes and shake my head. “You have no idea. Tell you what? Let’s go out for a drink next week and I’ll share the story.”

  “I’d like that.”

  Chapter Eight

  SPIN CYCLE

  I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can’t stop thinking about her. Something about the idea of Elle in Maui is the sharp snap of a match being lit. I feel the wave of heat every time I think of her with him and it burns.

  What if she really is in love with the Viking? I haven’t heard from her in three days. I start second guessing my decision not to sleep with her when I could have.

  I can�
�t stop myself from imagining all the ways I would take her on the beach in Maui, rolling over the dunes and fucking her slow until every inch of our bodies was covered with sand. I’d drive her over the edge with the pounding waves drowning out our moans.

  For hours after we would shake the sand out of our hair, and feel the burn of sex on our skin. I can almost smell the salt and faint whiff of coconut simmering off her warm body.

  Just when I think I’m going to start shopping for airline tickets to the islands to steal her away from him, she texts me.

  I can’t even Paulie . . .

  What does that mean exactly?

  I wish she’d called instead of texted. I really miss hearing her voice and all her little sighs.

  I’m really relaxed and so tan, the most glorious bronze tone. And all this swimming has done wonders for my thighs and my ass is so tight . . . I may never return to the mainland.

  I guess the trip has loosened her up again to toy with me.

  Don’t be such a tease.

  But I like teasing you.

  Is that how it is? That’s cold.

  No it isn’t . . . it’s hot. And furthermore I went and bought a teeny tiny white bikini today and I’m pretty sure I have never, nor will ever, look this good again. So you don’t just like me, if you could see me you’d want me. Badly. I’m certain your resistance over screwing me would crumble.

  It’s hard to say if I would’ve crumbled since you aren’t around to show me.

  Take my word for it.

  Pictures or it never happened.

  How can I shoot a full-length picture of myself? If I ask Stephan he will get suspicious.

  Have you ever heard of those magic pieces of glass called mirrors? They work astounding well for full-length selfies.

  Of course! What was I thinking! Give me 5 . . .

  I pace back and forth across my living room until my phone finally pings. My fingers tremble as I press on the tiny jpeg of her and wait for it to go full size.

  Oh. My. God.

  I fall back into the armchair and brace my arms so I can study this picture indefinitely.

  She texts when several minutes pass with no response from me.

  Well?

  You’re right.

  About what specifically?

  It’s a good thing you aren’t here.

  Because . . .