Love Sick

by HJ Bellus

  “Iris, enough!” I roar, ushering her backward. “We will talk later. You need to leave now.”

  I don’t leave room for argument, but Iris has always marched to the beat of her own drum.

  “Fuck off. Go round up your Golden Girl gang and don’t break a hip while doing it.” Raylan steps up to the fight. “You wish you could deep throat a cock like me without worrying about your dentures slipping.”

  By some act of God or maybe Satan himself I manage to get Iris out of the room then slam the door in her face. I’ll put that fire out next. I grip the back of my neck, trying to sort out this cluster fuck. I’m damn lucky my pecker wasn’t torn to shreds in that catfight.

  I walk toward Raylan who has transformed from a raging monster into a broken mess. She steps back, sending a clear signal she doesn’t want to be anywhere near me. I can't blame her.

  The humiliation radiating from her is a dagger straight to my gut. Me. It was all me who caused this. I should’ve stayed away. I knew better and told myself that over and over. It was a force I couldn’t resist.

  “You need to go.” Raylan’s lower lip quivers.

  “Please, don’t do this,” I plead. Fuck, I’d get down on my knees right now and beg to wipe away her pain and embarrassment.

  “It’s done, Memphis.” She steps back, clutching a sheet in front of her. “We knew it was wrong. I can’t believe I let myself do that.”

  “Raylan, you’re making this out to be much worse in your head. Please, let me tell you my side. Iris is fucking crazy.”

  “You need to go,” she repeats.

  “This isn’t over.” I stare her down before leaving her room.

  Raylan doesn’t reply or protest. I’d like to think it was because of the sheer determination in my voice. It wasn’t a lie and also not a promise I can keep in the current position. With one taste of her, I know there’s no damn cure. I am well and truly fucked. But not in the way I want to be.

  With each step back to my cabin, I’m savoring the taste of Raylan on my tongue. I’m not sure about what my next move is, but I’m going to start off with some ground rules, which I thought was damn clear in the beginning. When we first came on here, she was all on board with the fucking and fun. Iris became clingy and possessive as hell; I saw the signs six months back. We never made any exclusive arrangements.

  I slam my door shut and not surprised in the least when I come face-to-face with Iris. I bite back the smile at the thought of Raylan referring to her and her gang as the Golden Girls.

  “What in the fuck was that?” I roar, not trying to be understanding.

  “You getting caught with your dick out.” Iris slithers toward me, reaching out to touch my bare chest.

  Not happening. I step back.

  “Iris, the line is still drawn in the sand the way it always has been. I can fuck who I want when I want. The deal is to service you, and I’m doing that. End of story.”

  “I am paying you.” She tilts her head, doing her best to lure me. It's not working this time. Not even dollars signs can quell this shit storm.

  “It's something you remind me of daily, Iris. Ain’t no news flash there.” I step back from her. “I’ve done everything you ask. You want more, any idiot could see that. Not part of the deal.”

  “It’s called respect, Memphis. I thought one day you might learn a bit of a work ethic.”

  “I’m a single man, and it’s staying that way. This is my job, and my private life is just that. We are not and never will be exclusive.”

  “You’re fucking this up, Love.” She steps closer until her tits are pressed up against my bare chest. “You will regret crossing me.”

  “Fuck your threats, Iris. They don’t scare me one bit. And as for crossing you, I haven’t once. I’ve been there at your beck and call. I, however, won’t stand by watching you tear down an innocent bystander. You play your games well, like bringing another man into your room. Did I bitch? Nope, I did my job and got on with it. I suggest you do the same.”

  I’m walking a fine line right now. Pent up anger and hatred for my actions are mixed to a dangerous boiling point. I should've dealt with this shit awhile back.

  “This is our last trip.” She reaches down, cupping my dick through my shorts. I don’t miss her dismay to find it shriveled up for her. Yeah, I’m a bastard and smile back at her. “I know how much it means for you to leave our small town. Also, I know that your bank account is your one-way ticket out. Without my connections in Europe, you’ll be fucking for your way across all seven continents.”

  Iris knows she has me by the balls in every way. There’s a breaking point in everyone’s life where you have to let go and see how everything shakes out. One thing my mom taught me was never to quit and make sure that each job you take on is done well. But like fuck if I’m going to show Iris any of my fear of the future. She’ll never get that from me.

  I shrug. “It is what it is. It's back to the contract and what you pay me for. That’s it, Iris.”

  She smirks and turns on her heel, striding right to the door.

  “See you at dinner, Dr. Love.”

  Part of me is hoping she can see it my way and the other half is knowing better. Iris is out for blood. She may be vicious, but in an odd way, she deserves a level of respect from me. This sick cycle we’ve found ourselves in makes each of us as guilty. I run my hands over my head feeling more confused than ever. Things were never this complicated at the Blue Iron Club.

  Twelve

  Raylan

  The floor beneath my feet rocks, sways, and threatens to knock me on my ass. It’s not the waves from the ocean or seasickness either. More like mothertrucking Memphis Love sickness.

  His raised voice along with Iris drifts into my room. I collapse on the bed, covering my face. If I can hear their muffled yet heated conversation, I can’t imagine what I sounded like with the door open while Memphis devoured me.

  My breathing hitches while panic threatens to take over. I grab a pen and a notepad from the side table. Putting pen to paper is what I do best. Analyze, compare, and pull apart information, it’s my job. I do it daily back home, so why not here if only to quell the anxiety attack gearing up to ignite inside of me.

  The ink flies over the paper with Memphis Love at the top of the graphic. The list of negatives is coming out easiest and to my surprise, the positives aren’t too shabby. My vision keeps going back to the bold, block letters that spell out THE BEST ORGASM OF MY LIFE.

  I focus in on that bulleted item, reliving the way my body came to life under Memphis. It was different than it would be with anyone else. I’m not sure how I know this fact, but I do. The memory is permanently etched in my thought process.

  The harsh reality of the situation sits like a boulder in my gut. Memphis is a gigolo. It’s one thing to be a card carrying member of the National Cougar Society screwing one Golden Girl after the other, but to be paid is a mother of a plot twist.

  “Shit, shit, shit.” I toss the pen across the room. Data analysis my ass. It's not working in this situation. It doesn’t take in the heart, soul, and vagina. The fact is there’s no right or wrong answer. And that freaks me out.

  My thoughts are divided into two with an angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other. Both with valid points and screaming at the top of their lungs. The one fact hitting me hard as I’m still hot and pulsing from Memphis knowing now he’s a paid whore. The way he pleaded with me to hear him out will haunt me forever.

  If life has taught me one thing, it’s not to judge a book by its cover. Life has a funny way of forcing us into costumes and elaborate masks to hide who we are.

  The alarm on my phone blasts in the cabin, causing me to leap up from the bed. My palms slam over my chest. It takes me a bit to calm my racing heart. Forty-five minutes until dinner. I’m shocked the twats aren’t here pounding on the door since I’m missing drinks with them. They either came by and had the show of a lifetime or got sidetracked by the promise of dick.
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br />   I debate on a shower before tossing on a simple dress. The fact I’m contemplating not washing off is a blaring answer in itself. I don’t want to erase the memory away. His woodsy scent lingering on my skin is making me want more of him.

  My fist tightens, and I snap my eyeliner pencil in half with the startling realization I’m still thinking about Memphis and... Then it’s crickets. Memphis and what? If this is what living and exploring the possibility of love is like, then I’ll stick to my fictional characters I pound out on my keyboard.

  Ava. What would she do? She’s the brave heroine I’ve created. The one I live through vicariously, wishing like hell I had an ounce of her courage. It doesn’t take me long to figure it out. Ava would grab Memphis by the dick and make damn certain Iris knew who was riding it. If only everything was as easy as fiction.

  I grab my clutch, checking it twice for my room key then head to the dining hall. I’m relieved and disappointed at the same time when I find the hallway empty. I’m a fool. A damn fool that’s going to have to invest some serious cash into counseling sessions after this cruise.

  The big O and tongue ring has shaken my tidy, perfect box I’ve blocked myself into to the damn core. I’m hooked and want more. A cruise fling is what the doctor ordered. No strings, no attachments, no feelings, and I won’t get hurt. Once the ship docks, I will walk away no harm no foul. That’s what I’m telling myself anyway even though I know it’s the biggest lie I’ve ever told myself.

  Does it matter that he is fucking the Golden Girls? The man has made me greedy enough to answer hell no, adding to the long list of lies I’m convincing myself of.

  Downward spiraling thoughts are making my brain foggy and I spot Josi and Brenna right away. The two are settled in a corner booth flanked with Roberto and two of his friends. I freeze, looking down at my plain flip-flops and boring sundress. Shit! I’m used to being underdressed, and any other day it wouldn’t bother me. But not today, assholes. Just not today.

  It’s too late. They spot me and holler out my name, causing all heads to turn. Well, isn’t this fun, boys and girls.

  “Ray-Ray, we were about to come find you,” Brenna hollers.

  I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Sure she was about to find me while nestled on the lap of a gorgeous Latino man. Josi is in a similar position. If I were drunk, I’d guess my eyes were playing tricks on me because the two men are identical. But I’m sober as a piece of wood. They’ll be preoccupied tonight knowing that this has been on their bucket list. Twins.

  My shoulders relax. I’ll be able to escape early tonight. I need my room and some silence. Roberto is up and on his feet closing in on me. It’s clear he has other plans. I’m shocked the man has any interest in me after taking in everyone else’s attire. His momma taught him how to treat a lady.

  “Hola, amiga hermosa.” The raw sex oozes from this man. It’s enough to knock a woman on her ass. I appreciate it, but there’s not a tingle for miles.

  “Hey,” I squeak out and cringe, still hearing the internal battle in my voice.

  “Our friends met.” He shoots me a sly grin.

  “I see that.” I peer around his shoulder. “I should apologize now.”

  His deep chuckle makes me smile. It’s a genuine one and shocks me.

  “No, no, no.” He runs his palm down the length of my arm. “They all seem to be on the same page.”

  “That’s scary.”

  Roberto continues making small talk easy and not awkward at all. I find myself relaxing and enjoying myself. He hands me a drink that I make quick work of. And he keeps them coming. His hand is on the small of my back, guiding me through the crowd. We take advantage of a couple of stools at the bar. It makes it easier to talk, and I’m fairly sure Roberto needs some time away from the frolicking foursome.

  Memphis didn’t cross my mind once the entire time at the bar. It’s different with Roberto. None of the intense feelings and attraction are muddying shit up. It is more of a friendly co-worker banter. Easy, carefree, and not gut twisting at all. If I’m honest, it is refreshing and relaxing with no thoughts of Memphis or my meddling, horny friends.

  I stop talking. Roberto follows suit, peering down at me. Concern is covering his face with his welcoming smile. God, he’s gorgeous. I have picked apart his looks the last hour but have come up empty. Why can’t my vagina be on overdrive for this man?

  “Are you okay, amiga hermosa?”

  I nod. His thick Spanish accent is driving me insane. I know he’s calling me beautiful from the little bit of Spanish I do remember from high school.

  “I just wanted to…” I stop mid-sentence.

  My jaw goes slack with my heart hammering. It hurts. No matter how many times I blink, the same scene lies before me. It’s a guaranteed train wreck for the history books.

  Memphis Love. Even in a room full of enticing, captivating men he sticks out. Shines. His looks and the way he moves are levels above the rest. All of it rushes right back in without warning. He doesn’t require a fancy dress suit like the others. He rocks a white button down, sleeves rolled up, black dress pants hugging his ass to perfection, and his hair a styled-mess. His shirt untucked is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. The memory of his scent is threatening to knock me on my ass.

  “Raylan, are you okay?” Roberto’s voice cuts into the self-induced Memphis coma. The interruption is a small miracle in itself because the sight of Iris and the rest of her tuna gang flank him on both sides. The view makes me nauseous knowing Margaret doesn’t dine on sausages.

  “Sorry.” I shake my head then peer up to him. I decide to add a little white lie to my original planned statement. “Sorry, the booze must be getting to me on an empty stomach. I was going to say thank you for the drinks and conversation. It was nice.”

  He winces. It doesn’t take Dr. Phil to tell me why. Nice. The word nice is equivalent to cutting a man’s nuts off and hanging them on his rearview mirror. He recovers like a champ and pulls me closer to his side.

  It's not in a romantic or sleaze ball gesture, but a noble one since a rambunctious group of partygoers busts past us. They’re not shy at all. The volumes of their voices are louder than I’ve ever heard my girls. Memphis’s head darts up, and he catches me staring at him. I flinch and tuck my chin to my chest. The heat from Memphis’s stare ignites me from head to toe.

  I don’t have to raise my head to know he’s boring holes through me with his rich whiskey colored eyes. Nope, it’s been like that since we first made eye contact back in San Juan.

  “Raylan.”

  I peer up to Roberto. His gaze is serious. His free hand is fidgeting. It’s obvious he wants to touch me, but he’s nothing but a gentleman.

  “Yes.” I plant my palm on his chest, regretting the action right away. He’s an innocent victim in all of this and has been nothing but respectful. It’s too late to pull back. I’d wind up being a bigger ass than I am right now.

  “If I’m honest, I was hoping for this. I want to dance more and laugh with you, Raylan. You’ve been on my mind since last night.” I swear Roberto’s face nears mine or it could’ve been the way he rolls those R’s in his tantalizing-ass accent making me super aware of him.

  I bite my tongue, holding back the urge to call him out on the last part being bullshit. If it’s true that I was on his mind all night last night why didn’t he come back and find me? I could blame the whole Memphis drama on him after all. If Roberto would’ve entertained me last night and well into the morning hours, he would’ve wiped the memory of Memphis away. Lie. And eww, just eew he’s getting all sappy ass on me. No. No. No.

  Dear God of Vaginas Who Want The Wrong Man, please, please, please don’t let Roberto be a douchexcuse.

  Amen.

  “Okay. But how about not ditching me tonight?” I manage a nod and force a weak ass smile in his direction.

  He goes to reply with sincerity in his eyes. It’s going to be a real good one I can tell. But it never comes out. A ruckus ensues right in
front of us. A person is down on the floor, gasping, and worries are filling the room. All I see is him.

  There are no two ways about it. I’m wrapped up in Memphis. Neither my brain, tits, heart, or vagina give two shits about the cluster fuck his penis is in with Iris. Nope, those greedy bitches want one man and one man only even though he’s currently down on a knee leaning over Iris.

  Her tits are on point and not one shred of evidence that leads to sag. Mine don’t behave like that when I’m on my back. Jesus, now I’m experiencing symptoms of tit envy. It would be one thing if it were Dolly Parton on the floor in front of me, but it’s the Cougar Cunt herself.

  I cringe, but only for a tick. I despise the See You Next Tuesday word. Josi and Brenna know better than to use it in front of me. It doesn’t stem from childhood trauma or women’s rights, it’s a nasty, nasty word. Until now. It’s like your elementary teachers told you in school when you had a hard time learning a new vocabulary word. “You’ll understand it after you’ve experienced it.” Well, hello, and welcome to the carnival of cunts. I get it.

  “Somebody call for a doctor!” a worried woman hollers.

  On cue, the old Cougar Cunt herself sits up, her boobs gracefully following suit. Bitch. She leans into Memphis. Her side boob is dry humping his thigh.

  “I’m...I’m okay.” She acknowledges the concerned woman for the briefest of seconds then super glues herself to Memphis. It’s a game of Twister with grandma on Christmas morning that went all sorts of wrong in a disturbing fashion.

  “Baby,” Iris coos and peers up to Memphis through her thick, nasty, fake eyelashes, and then caresses his cheek. He doesn’t flinch. “I told you I shouldn’t have worn my Manolo Blahnik heels tonight.”

  Iris rises to her feet with the help of Memphis not letting go of his hand once her fake ass sea legs are under her. It’s not a palm-to-palm, but finger-lacing, love you long time, let’s get it on, romantic hold. That nauseous feeling in my gut has officially struck my heart with force. It’s dumb, all so very juvenile and stupid.