by Pike, Leslie
Snapping out of my fantasies, I try to concentrate on more-immediate issues. I’ve got to make those cupcakes for Sam’s class. There’s clothes to wash. I should be planning tonight’s dinner. But looking out the slider seems infinitely more interesting.
Watching the seagulls picking at the sand, I’m aware how my take on things has changed. Last year I would have laughed if someone had said how attached I’d become to this beach. It’s become a pocket of paradise.
It’s not just Parish. I’ve come to love the smell of salty spray, the look of grey angry clouds and the feel of sand between my toes. And the sound of the breathtaking sea. I’m hooked.
Coming around the farthest dune, Parish and Sam move towards the houses. I recognize the cool down. It’s a slow unwinding of the jog. Almost walking but not quite. I grab the binoculars.
There’s no talking. Each of them look ahead, intent on completing their run, I guess. Then they break off. Parish heads for his steps and Sam angles toward the house.
I return the glasses to their rightful place and take out the cake mix from the pantry. Sam’s hard steps can be heard from here. The slider’s pushed open.
“I’m back!”
I peek out from the kitchen. “Did you have a good run?”
“Yeah. What’s for lunch?”
No matter how many times I’ve said it, he keeps asking. “Whatever you make yourself,” I say.
This time he doesn’t laugh. He leans his head back as if what I’ve said is just too much to take. Now I chuckle.
“I’m sorry you have to actually assemble a sandwich. I realize it’s asking a lot.”
Now I get a half smile.
“Can’t we go to the diner?” he says.
“Sure. Should we ask Parish to join us?”
He lifts his sweatshirt over his head and trades it for the clean one on the hook.
“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” he says putting it on.
“Why not?”
“He’s sad today.”
I put on my jacket and grab the keys. “He is? About Justin?”
“Yeah. It’s the anniversary of the shooting.”
“Shit. Let me call him before we go. Just to let him know I’m thinking about him.”
Sam’s hand stops me. He shakes his head.
“He doesn’t want to talk.”
There’s a long pause while I sift through all the information I was just handed. My conclusion is Sam knows what he’s talking about. I’ll take his advice.
* * *
L UIE’S DINER looks the same every time I’ve been here. Sam and I have become regulars and certain extras come with that. A nod from Oscar the cook, owner and chief bottle washer. A sit down visit from the waitress. If she thinks it she says it. I like that about her because it’s usually funny.
“Here you go,” she says setting down our plates.
She slides in next to Sam and nudges him over with her body. He hardly notices, just edges over and goes for his cheeseburger.
“Where’s Parish, honey?” she says. “Writing?”
“Yeah. Sam and I are going to bring him a piece of your lemon meringue.”
“His favorite. I’ll wrap it up.”
Her eyes dart to the door and the unfamiliar two couples that just walked in.
“Freakin’ tourists,” she says getting out of the booth.
Sam chuckles his take on the scene and dips a french fry in the catsup.
I get into my BLT and potato salad.
“So, you and Parish didn’t talk much today, huh?” As the words leave my mouth I’m conscious of how artless my digging is. He hears it too. I’m not fooling anybody.
“He was talking to the waves,” he says as if it’s perfectly normal.
He sees the question in my eyes.
“That’s when you don’t want to talk to another person. You tell the waves. I know. It sounds stupid.”
“No, it doesn’t. I wish I would have known about this. I’ve got all kinds of things to tell the waves.”
“Sometimes it makes me feel better. Parish does it more than me.”
I wipe the corners of my mouth and take a sip of the chocolate shake.
“I hope it helped him today. It was pretty bad, huh?”
“I think I made him sadder,” he says meeting my gaze.
“How?”
“I asked him if his kid knew about talking to the waves.”
“I don’t think it’s out of line. You were just two friends talking.”
He shrugs his shoulders and loads more catsup on his plate.
“So what did he say?”
“He said nothing had ever happened to make his son sad. He never needed to talk to the waves.”
“Shit.”
“How come he never sleeps at our house? With you.”
Where the hell did that come from?
“Uh, well, why would he?”
He dips his chin and looks up at me. “I’m not twelve, you know.”
That makes me laugh. Out of the mouths of fourteen-year-olds.
“I think he needs to be with us tonight. I mean you. He needs you tonight,” he says.
It’s at that exact moment I see the good man he could become.
* * *
On the way back home, Sam’s lost in his phone, texting friends. There’s no conversation between us, but I’m not upset. I have Parish on my mind. Do I ask him to spend the night? There’s nothing I can come up with to talk me out of the idea.
Am I harming Sam by sleeping openly with Parish at our house? In the back of my mind a crowd of imaginary mothers scream YES! I’m not sure though. I’m pretty sure it’s just how I think I SHOULD be thinking. Obviously he knows we’re having sex. Otherwise he wouldn’t have suggested what he did. I’ll pass it by Parish and see what he says.
I pull in to the driveway and turn off the car.
“I’ll be back in a few. I’m going to see Parish. Call your grandparents while I’m gone. And ask them exactly when they’ll be arriving on Saturday.”
There were four comments he could have responded to just now, but instead he’s smiling at his phone. My best guess is he’s texting Amy. That’s the extent of their relationship. I think. That could be the most naïve thing I’ve ever believed.
I take the quickest route to his house. Around our deck, down the steps, across the sand. When I come around the side of his place, he’s on the deck. Sitting in the chair, head back eyes closed.
“Would you like some company?”
His eyes open slowly. They’re red. He purses his lips together holding back the sadness.
“Sam came up with an excellent idea. I want your take on it.”
“What’s that?”
I climb the stairs and come behind where he sits. Placing my fingertips on his temples, I start to gently rub.
“He asked me why you don’t spend the night.”
That gets his attention. He turns to face me, with an amused expression.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No. I couldn’t come up with an argument. The jigs up, you know.”
“I’m good with it. I know you had some hesitations. What are they?”
I quickly try to gather my thoughts, the right words. Oh, fuck it.
“I wanted to be sure we were exclusive. It would send the wrong message to a young boy if we weren’t. I have to think like that now.”
He gets this adorable look on his face. Kind of like he’s shocked I’d think otherwise.
“Scarlett, you must be kidding. We’re together all day every day. You’re the only woman I want.”
“It’s settled then,” I say smiling like a goon.
He gets up and takes me in his embrace. My hand traces the shape of his face.
“Thank you.”
“For what?” I say.
“For everything.”
We seal our words with a long, lovely kiss.
“You know, Valentine’s Day is coming,” he
says.
“I do know that. Will you be mine?”
“I’m that already.”
My heart’s soaring.
“I have a special present for you. We’re going on a little trip. Three days,” he says.
“Really? I’m so excited! Where?”
“It’s a surprise. I’ll give you all the details you need to know tonight when I come over.”
Sometimes the world is such a beautiful place.
Chapter 21
Parish
“I’m excited and I don’t even know what’s happening,” Scarlett sighs into the phone.
“I’ll be there in two minutes. I’m just locking up.”
“Are you going to tell me where we’re going? Sam and his grandparents should know in case they need to contact us.”
“They should. Sam’s known for two weeks.”
There’s a pause followed by a laugh. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No. And don’t think you’re going to get it out of him, or his grandparents. They’re in on it too.”
“What?”
“I talked with them last night. Let’s not waste more time. I’m coming over.”
I disconnect, chuckling to myself. Bet she’s already headed to Sam’s room to interrogate him.
I lift the suitcase into the trunk and slide into the front seat.
My anticipation of the next three days and nights is running high. It took me a week to come up with how we’d celebrate Valentine’s Day. I’ve never wanted to please a woman so much. If someone had told me I’d be doing that, I’d have laughed in their face.
I’m pretty sure what I came up with is perfect. Hope she agrees.
Desire’s a stunning sensation. I see now that I had always sold it short. When it went beyond the physical with Scarlett the meaning of the word grew. In its depth. Wanting her physically came easy but craving the emotional connection has been a surprise. I never felt this way before. Not with anyone.
Backing out of the driveway I head for hers.
It’s our first weekend away together, our first hotel stay alone. She needs to see how close we are to a different world. Martin’s Beach has become a magical spot for me since she arrived. I see it differently than I did before.
It’s as if a curtain has lifted. But I’m not sure she sees it the way Sam and I do. The pull to return to Montana might be too strong. I need to convince her this is our place.
There she is, standing in the driveway next to a suitcase and carryon. A little dance breaks out, bringing a smile to my face. Beautiful girl.
I turn in the driveway and pop the trunk.
“Good morning,” I say getting out. “Did you give Sam the third degree?”
“No, dammit. They left a half hour ago for breakfast.”
She jumps in my arms and tightly wraps her legs around me.
“Where are we going? I’m not letting go until you tell me.”
“That works for me,” I say leaning her against the side of the car. “See. We can be very happy like this.”
I pump my dick against her to prove my point. She punches my arm.
“Come on! Tell me.”
“First tell me if you packed everything on the list I gave you.”
“Yes! I brought it all. The walking shoes, the bathing suit, a sexy dress or two. Sexy lingerie. And your favorite. The red sweater.”
“Good. I guess I can let you in on the surprise. We’re going to New York. I hope you’re still excited.”
Her face transforms, eyes widening and mouth curving into a smile.
“God, I love you!” she blurts.
The shock of the moment renders us both silent. Her jaw drops and her eyes widen in horror. She speaks before I can respond.
“I mean, I love that you planned such a great trip for us. It’s so cool. New York! What an awesome choice, how did you pick which place?”
“Scarlett,” I interrupt her panicked soliloquy. “It’s alright. I know what you meant. Don’t worry. Sometimes it’s just a comment.”
We’re still against the car, her legs wrapped around me. As if her words have fused us together. But neither makes a move to untangle. She’s regretting the statement, I’m wishing it were true. And what’s that look she’s giving me? I’d swear she wants to say more.
* * *
Our hour and twenty-minute flight from Maine to New York turned out to be different than I had imagined. Scarlett did a lot of talking, more than I’d ever heard her do. She didn’t leave spaces for lulls in the conversation. Which worked for me, because to tell the truth I wasn’t entirely listening.
I was lost inside my head, trying to figure out if what was said was a slip of the tongue. Or as hoped, the truth. Love? She denied it.
But something strange is happening. The more she talks about nothing, the more she deflects, the clearer the real message. I think she was right the first time. There’s a look in people’s eyes when they’re in love. I see it in the mirror.
“Oh, Parish this place is gorgeous,” Scarlett says as we walk to the hotel elevators.
“I did my research. The Mandarin fits our particular interests,” I say with a lifted eyebrow.
She bites her bottom lip and holds back a smile.
“Which interests?”
The elevator doors open and our good luck begins. It’s empty.
I follow her inside and wait silently for the doors to slide shut.
“Push forty-five,” I say.
She does as requested. Her eyes lock on mine and lips part just a bit in anticipation of what’s coming. I close the space between us.
Our lips are touching when I say, “We like making love.”
I purposely use the word. Repeat it intentionally. It doesn’t escape her notice and it doesn’t scare her away. Instead her hands reach for my face. A kiss. What an inadequate word for what passes between us. It’s otherworldly. Proof of what’s happening. And while it’s sexy and arousing, it goes beyond that description.
It makes me want to say the thing that hangs unsaid. Risk humiliation. I want to whisper it or scream it. I just need to say the words. Find her eyes and say the thing that scares us both.
But we’ve reached our destination. The doors quietly slide open. It takes a few beats before our bodies move.
“Let’s go see our temple,” I say taking her hand.
She’s holding on tightly. Her other hand resting on my arm as we walk to suite seven. I open the door to the impressive space. Our luggage can be seen through the double doors of the bedroom. How’d they do that so quickly? Music plays softly in the background. It’s a perfect fit for our tastes. That was one of the questions I was asked when making reservations. There’s no detail overlooked.
“Wow! Look at this!” she says.
We’re hit by the incredible views. Perched high above Columbus Circle, the living and dining room looks out at quintessential Manhattan. Floor-to-ceiling windows dramatically highlight the birds-eye view of Central Park and the sea of skyscrapers. A wide curved couch on a thick area rug faces the views.
“Perfect,” I say inspecting the eight hundred square foot space. “This is bigger than my house.”
“It’s unbelievable.”
Sleek and modern is the mood of the Asian-inspired rooms.
“I read the angle of the room is meant to capture the moment at sunset when the city’s bathed in tones of amethyst. We’ll see if it’s true.”
There’s a look of awe on her face. This is just what I hoped for. I wanted to dazzle the woman.
“You did good,” Scarlett says.
“All for you, babe.”
She smiles at my name for her.
“Let’s look at the bathroom. I want to see where we’re going to bathe,” she says with a twinkle in her eye.
Walking in, the wall of windows sets the spectacular backdrop. Black marble floors, a huge mirror over black and white marble countered sinks and the shower and tub from a fantasy scene in a movie. They
both have rainforest attachments. We’re going to use that. I’m already imagining the scene.
“Oh my God! Look at this, Parish. Let’s take a bath.”
I reach for my zipper. Why waste time?
She stops my hand.
“Let me do that.”
She unbuckles the belt and slowly slides it out of its loops. I unbutton the shirt and leave it open for her to play. My nipples harden with the touch of her delicate fingers. Next is the zipper. It’s pulled down excruciatingly slow. My dick’s talking to her hands, begging for attention.
Before the pants are lowered, her warm hand pulls my briefs away and she slides fingers inside. Instead of a stroke, they wiggle against my skin, right above the base of my dick, then encircle my hardness. Fuck me.
I lift the sweater dress over her head. It comes off in one smooth movement, revealing body beautiful. The bra and panties debut in black lace. Still in red heels, it’s about the sexiest vision imaginable.
My eyes travel from her breasts to her eyes. They’re inviting me to go further.
I unhook the bra and peel it down, kissing each inch of the reveal. Nipples temporarily stop the slide. I set them free, bra sailing to the floor. God. Taking one then the other in my mouth, we both have an instant reaction. They stiffen against my tongue; my dick hardens against her body.
Lips trail kisses from areolas to stomach. I kneel on the thick rug in front of the tub. She widens her stance.
My mouth acts like a divining rod, finding the buried treasure between her legs. At first, it’s on top of the panties. I lick the fabric over her clit. Carefully biting black lace with my teeth, I pull it aside. Fuck. Those lips. Wet already. Tongue finds flesh. I worship her.
Holding my head, she moans the contained sound I love. The music of Drake inspires my rhythm. I’m going to make her come before we even get completely naked.
“Oh, yeah. There. God, Parish.”
When I look up her eyes are closed. She’s lost in the sensation. I could eat her pussy for the next three days just to keep looking at this expression. With every minute I bring her closer to the edge of the cliff. She doesn’t fear the fall. It’s the leap that always sets her free.
