by Sandra Hill
Okaaay!
“I don’t wear any,” John pronounced with an exaggerated leer at Brenda. He wore a T-shirt that said, “Rap Is Crap.”
The boy sure does have a wicked sense of humor.
“Neither do I,” her grandfather said, and all heads turned to him.
Eew!
“You are such a liar.” Flossie leaned her head playfully on his shoulder.
“You’re a liar, too, LeDeux,” Adam said to the boy.
“Listen, Yankee, going commando is a fashion statement where I come from.”
“You are so full of it,” Caleb said, shaking his head at John’s nonsense.
“Hey, I’ve got to have a bunkmate, too.” John looked pointedly at Brenda.
“Don’t even think it, boy.” Brenda smacked him on the side of the head as she refilled his water glass. “Even if I was a cradle robber, which I’m not, I’ve had it up to my eyeballs with egomaniacs.”
“I’m insulted,” John said with a grin.
“Unless . . .” Brenda tapped her chin thoughtfully.
Everyone waited to hear what she would say next.
“I don’t suppose you own a suit.”
“Mais, oui!” the Cajun boy replied. “And I look mighty fine in it, too.”
“We’ve got a date, then,” Brenda said. “June fifteenth. My high school reunion. Maybe you could tell everyone you’re still a stripper. That would sure impress my ex-husband—that, along with your age. He’ll be all worried that someone might outdo him in the sack, not that it would take much. Have I mentioned that Lance Caslow has a small dick?”
Everyone’s jaws dropped at Brenda’s crudity, except Frank, who took the opportunity to tell a joke. “How are a cobra and a small dick the same?” When several of them only groaned, he answered himself: “No one wants to fuck with either of them. Ha, ha, ha!”
Dirty jokes from my grandfather! I think I’ll go kill myself.
“I don’t get it,” Flossie said.
“Never mind, sweetie, I’ll explain later. When we’re alone.” Frank gave Flossie a big kiss on the mouth, then a big wink that promised more than an explanation of a joke.
Eeew!
“So, you’ll go to the reunion with me?” Brenda said to John. “And you’ll dress nice . . . and behave yourself . . . and act like you think I’m hot stuff?”
This is a disaster in the making.
“Whatever you want, chère,” he said, reaching to put his hand around her waist.
She slapped his hand away.
“Man, there is nothing sexier than a woman on the make,” John proclaimed to the other men at the table, his dark eyes dancing mischievously.
“Dream on, boy,” Brenda said.
“Does that mean we’re not bunkmates?”
“You could say that.”
“Will it be okay if I ask your ex-husband for an autograph?”
Brenda snorted her disgust. “Do that, and I’ll cut your balls off and feed them to those alligators you keep bragging about.”
“I think she likes me,” he confided in a loud whisper to the others at the table.
“You can’t be that dumb,” Frank said. “Nobody is.”
“Well, actually,” Adam said, his lips twitching with fun, “he’s a Southerner. So, maybe . . . Did you hear about the Southern boy who was asked to spell Mississippi? He said, ‘The river or the state?’”
John laughed good-naturedly with the rest of them. “Did you hear about the dumb Northern man? When his girlfriend asked to feel his muscle, he rolled up his sleeve.”
“I don’t get it,” Flossie said.
“Oh, shush!” Frank told her.
“That’ll be enough,” Brenda proclaimed, standing.
“Oh, sug-ah,” John told her in his deep Cajun drawl, “there ain’t no such thing as enough.”
Amusement flickered in Brenda’s green eyes.
At least John had gotten the last word in, as he’d no doubt planned.
To get laid or not to get laid, that is the question. . . .
After dinner, Adam asked her, “Do you want to go up on deck for a breath of air?”
“No!” Frank roared. When Veronica raised her eyebrows at him, he said, “I need your help with . . . something.”
Veronica understood the old coot. He honestly believed she and Jake still had a chance.
Later that night, as she lay staring up through the darkness at the ceiling of her small bunk room, where Brenda slept soundly above her, Veronica contemplated the incredible day she had experienced. She hadn’t developed a sudden affection for her grandfather, far from it, but she was learning so much from him. And it was a good feeling not to be afraid on the water. She might be about to embark on a relationship with a new man—Adam or Caleb, she wasn’t sure. Not once had she thought about her old job and what she would do next week or next month. It was as if she were on a slow-moving roller coaster, chug-chug-chugging to the top of what promised to be a thrilling adventure. This trip was going to change her life; she just sensed that it would. In what way, she didn’t know. But her whole body was on high alert, waiting for something important to happen.
In the midst of all this weighty contemplation, a tear slipped through her eye and rolled down her cheek. There was something missing in this picture.
Jake.
Why aren’t you here?
I miss you. I know I shouldn’t, but I do.
Oh, Jake.
Giving up, Veronica quietly eased herself out of bed, trying not to awaken Brenda. Slipping on a pair of running shorts—she’d been wearing a T-shirt and panties to sleep in—she crept out of their small room and made her way up the steps and out onto the deck. The old Veronica would have needed Peptos and a lot of courage. The new Veronica just plowed ahead. There was a full moon out over the very still, black water. The only sound was the gentle lap of the waves against the side of the boat. She walked over and leaned her elbows on the gunwale.
Remarkable! She stood here, on a boat, in the middle of the ocean, for heaven’s sake, and she didn’t feel nauseous or terrified. And she hadn’t even taken a Pepto since this afternoon. The aversion to sea air and water had been mostly in her mind, she realized.
Just then, she heard a soft noise and realized she wasn’t alone. Caleb sat in one of the two swivel chairs at the back of the boat, which were normally used for fishing. His bare feet were propped up on the rail. He wore only sweatpants, even though it was a little chilly. In fact, she clasped her hands against her upper arms and shivered.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi,” he said back, eyeing her scanty attire.
Grabbing a soft beach blanket Flossie must have left after her bout of sunbathing today, she wrapped it around herself, then walked over and sat down in the other chair. “You couldn’t sleep either?”
“I rarely sleep much. Three, four hours a night, usually.”
“Really?”
“I’ve never been a long sleeper, but especially in SEALs, we did a lot of short naps—sometimes standing up, with our eyes open. It’s become a habit, I guess.”
“Why did you leave the SEALs, if you don’t mind my asking?”
He didn’t immediately answer, and she wondered if her question had been too intrusive. But then he said, “Burned out, I guess. I got too good at killing, and that started to scare me.”
A chill swept over Veronica’s body. She’d known that SEALs were America’s silent heroes, going into terrorist countries, fighting the wars others pretended were unnecessary. Still, to have a man admit to killing was jarring, to say the least.
“Is there some woman in your life, Caleb?”
She could see that her out-of-the-blue question surprised him. But then he smiled—the man did have a very nice smile—and said, “Not anymore.”
She tilted her head in question.
“There was someone . . . once . . . a long time ago, but nothing since has lasted very long. I’m not a good risk for meaningful relationshi
ps.”
Veronica suspected that the one-time love had something to do with his leaving the Amish and his being shunned. Changing the subject, she said, “You could always go back to being a farmer. That’s what Amish do mostly, isn’t it?”
He laughed. “I’ve shoveled more horse manure and milked more cows and plowed more fields than I ever want to. No, I’ll never be a farmer.”
They sat in companionable silence for a while.
“How about you and Jake? Do you think you’ll ever get back together?”
She stiffened at the personal question, then relaxed her shoulders when she admitted to herself that she’d been just as nosy. “I don’t think so. No, I know that we won’t. Neither of us could go through that again.”
“You still love him.” It was a statement, not a question.
She sighed. “I’ll probably always love him in some ways, but I—we—can’t live together. And he’s engaged to someone else . . . I think. But, really, I don’t want to talk about Jake.”
She sensed his unspoken “Why?”
Because it hurts so bad.
Caleb stared at her for a long moment; then he surprised the spit out of her by saying, “I want to make love with you.”
Oh, jeez. Oh, jeez, jeez, jeez! “You don’t beat around the bush, do you?” Her voice had a strange wobble to it.
Instead of replying, he extended a hand to her.
She stared at the hand.
I am tempted. I am so freakin’ tempted.
But I don’t do casual.
Yeah, but maybe it’s time to try something different.
But, whoo-boy, making love with this particular guy? I don’t know. It’s like going from the kiddie dating pool to the Olympic diving event, all in one swoop.
Jake wouldn’t hesitate.
That last thought triggered her decision. She dropped the blanket, laced her fingers with his, and let him pull her over; he settled her astride his lap, facing him.
Caleb was a well-built man. Probably had zero body fat. And there was a part of him that was particularly impressive. She shifted to confirm that fact.
He jerked against her, then framed her face with his hands, pulling her down for a kiss. As kisses went, it was great. Slow at first. Urging. Then hungry. Then his hands slipped under her T-shirt and weighed her breasts in both hands, thumbing her nipples into sharp points.
He was aroused.
She was aroused.
And it just didn’t feel right. That fact was emphasized by the quiet tears that slipped from her eyes.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, pulling back and wiping away the moisture with his fingers. “What’s the matter?”
“I’m not ready for this.”
He looked as if he wanted to change her mind, but then he kissed her lightly and set her back on her feet. “I understand. Maybe some other time?”
She nodded, started to walk off, then turned back. “I don’t usually do this kind of thing.”
He quirked a brow.
“You know . . .” She waved a hand at the chair they’d been sitting on.
He still didn’t seem to understand. “Do you mean impulse fucking?”
Okaaay! With a weak laugh, she said, “Not quite the words I would have used, but, yes.”
She went back to her bunk. Alone.
It was a long time before she fell asleep.
Chapter
13
THE COWBOY WEDDING
Nine years and three months ago . . .
She was in Aruba for a vacation.
Her marriage had lasted three years. It had been nine months since the divorce.
Jake showed up wearing a cowboy hat, cowboy boots, and a dimpled grin that said “I dare you.” Why that attire? Some kind of themed poker tournament, of all things.
They decided to have a drink for old time’s sake. Her first mistake.
Jake happened to mention he was studying tantric sex.
There was a wedding chapel across the highway from her hotel, flashing a neon sign that said, “Quick Weddings.”
Cowboy and sex.
Enough said!
Suffice it to say that she and Jake ended up in her hotel suite a few hours later, married again.
They were sitting on the floor in the lotus position, facing each other. Naked, except for the cowboy hat Jake wore at her insistence. And her grandmother’s pearls, which she wore at his insistence.
Yippee-kay-ay-aye . . . and then some!
“Stop giggling,” Jake told her. “You’re supposed to take this seriously.”
Hard to do when your you-know-what is pointing at me. “And the point of all this is . . . what?”
“To prolong ejaculation so the woman can have unending orgasms.”
“I like the sound of that. But poor you!”
“No, it’s great, or it’s supposed to be. No-penetration sex.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” she said, then homed in on one word he’d used. “Supposed to be great. Don’t you know for sure?”
He waggled his eyebrows at her. “You’re the first woman I’ve been able to talk into this crap.”
“You!” She launched herself at him, but he caught her in his arms and rolled them both over so that she lay on top of him.
“So, lady,” he said then, “did you come to my ranch to ride, or what?”
“I didn’t bring my saddle.”
“No problem. I can show you how to ride bareback . . . uh, I mean, bare-assed.” He walked his fingers up her leg, bringing long-dormant nerve endings to life, like flowers after a spring rain.
She smiled at her fancifulness.
He smiled back at her.
As his eyes roamed her body, something pulled deeply inside.
Jake jackknifed into a sitting position with her still straddling his lap. He held her tight, as though he never wanted to let her go. “I missed you so much!” he said against her neck.
“You broke my heart,” she told him, holding on just as tightly to him. “Don’t leave again.”
“I love you, I love you, I love you,” she said over and over. Or was it him?
All she knew was, frozen places were melting in both of them. They would make it work this time. They would.
Chapter
14
Aliens invaded his brain . . . or God’s big toe . . .
Jake was having the time of his life. Not!
The first day was a blast. The wind in his hair, good vibrations under his butt, just like he’d predicted at the beginning of this road trip. And freedom. Precious freedom. Not to mention good friends on either side of him, tooling down the highway.
No lingering regrets over Trish. No yearnings for Ronnie. He was his own man. He didn’t need no stinkin’ relationships.
That mood lasted about half a day.
Then they passed through the Poconos, and he recalled the time he and Ronnie had gone camping. She’d lost her panties to a wily squirrel, and he’d lost his cool over what she’d done to him with s’mores.
He and Angel and Grace stayed in a motel on the Ohio border that first night. As he lay on the lumpy mattress, his arms folded under his neck, he was reminded of the first apartment he and Ronnie had rented. The box springs under the lumpy mattress made so much noise when they made love that a tenant downstairs complained to the landlord: “They’re like a bunch of fuckin’ rabbits up there.” They’d put the mattress on the floor after that.
The next day, the three biker musketeers, the self-proclaimed holy trinity of poker idols, decided to make a detour to Louisiana before heading to Las Vegas. Some detour! They ended up in Nashville. And, no offense to Elvis, but all Jake heard was country music I-Can’t-Live-with-You, I-Can’t-Live-without-You love songs. Yep! That about sums it up for me. Grace tried to talk him into a visit to Graceland, which he politely declined. Before he fell asleep that night, music floated up from the bar downstairs. Ronnie wasn’t a huge country music fan, but she did like some of it, and the Pat
sy Kline classic “Cryin’” was one of her favorites. Which is precisely what I feel like doing.
For lunch the next day, in Mississippi, he ordered a black and blue burger. And he wasn’t even thinking that it was the way Ronnie liked her meat cooked. Hah!
They hit New Orleans on the fourth day, which just happened to be the site of his fourth wedding—the Insanity Marriage. I need this reminder like I need another couple of weddings under my belt. Shit!
They were now on their second day in the Big Easy. The gambling was good in the steamboat casino. The food melted in their mouths—piles of spicy crawfish, oyster po’boys, gumbo, jambalaya, and sweet pralines. The rowdy Cajun music put a smile on everyone’s face, and the French Quarter jazz was out of this world.
So why am I so miserable?
“Why are you so miserable?” the seemingly clairvoyant Angel asked him. They were eating breakfast on the terrace of their French Quarter hotel, crawfish and eggs, of all things, seasoned with Cajun lightning, or Tabasco sauce. The young waitress was doing everything but stand on her head to get Angel’s attention; he did have a way of attracting everything in skirts, especially the young ones who sensed his bad-boy aura—or so Angel kept telling them ad nauseam.
“I’m not miserable,” he lied.
“You are the most piss-poor liar in the world.” Angel laughed.
Grace laughed, too, then put a hand on Jake’s forearm. “What’s the matter, Jake?”
He thought about telling them to mind their own business. He wasn’t about to open a vein for them. But then he decided, These are my friends. They care.
“Something strange is happening to me. I’m in the middle of some kind of emotional fallout,” he admitted. “Maybe I’m going crazy. Maybe aliens have invaded my body.”
Angel and Grace looked at each other. They must have been discussing him.
“This is about Ronnie, right?” Angel tipped his chair back against the hotel wall and sipped at a cup of thick Creole coffee. The gloating expression on his face made Jake want to kick the leg of Angel’s chair and land him on his laughing ass.
“What else!” he replied with self-disgust. “Though why, after two years of not seeing her and my getting engaged to another woman, it should hit me again . . .” He shrugged. “I just don’t friggin’ understand it.”
