Tell Me What You Want—Or Leave Me

by Maxwell, Megan

  “Jesús! What does that imbecile want now?”

  “According to your sister, he’s checking in on the girls and wanting to talk to her.”

  “Do you think she wants to go back with him?”

  I hear my father sigh. “No, thank God she’s clear about that.”

  I’m not in the least bit amused to hear about these calls. My stupid ex-brother-in-law abandoned her while she was pregnant so he could live his crazy life. I just hope Raquel keeps it together and doesn’t fall for that wolf in sheep’s clothing again. I know my father worries about that too.

  “About getting a job, Papá, I get that—and she’s right.”

  “Oh, c’mon, sweetheart, with what I earn, I can support her and the girls. Why does she want to work?”

  “Listen, Papá, I’m sure Raquel is happy living with you and is very grateful for all you do for her. But she doesn’t want to stay in Jerez, and you know that. When we talked about it, she told you it was a temporary move and—”

  “But what is she going to do all alone in Madrid with the girls? Here, she’s got me, and I take care of them and make sure all three are OK.”

  I can’t help but smile. My father is super protective, like Eric. “Papá . . . Raquel has to get her life back. If she stays in Jerez with you, it’ll just take her longer. Don’t you see that?”

  My father is the best and the most generous person on the planet, and I understand what he’s going through. But I also understand my sister. She wants to get ahead, and, knowing her, she will.

  Nearly an hour later, after I hang up with my dad, I fill up at the hotel buffet. Everything is delicious. I’m wearing a green bikini that accentuates my tan, and when I finish my meal, I head for the beach. I look for a free hammock and umbrella, and, when I find one, I immediately drop into it.

  I love the sun!

  I pull out my iPod, put on my earbuds, and hit Play, and my beloved Pablo Alborán begins to sing.

  I sing along and watch the waves come and go.

  It’s the perfect song with which to contemplate the sea.

  I’m happy right now and I open my book. Sometimes I can read and sing along at the same time. It’s a rare talent, but I can do it. Twenty minutes later, just as Pablo sings “La Vie en Rose,” my lids are getting heavy, and the tender breeze makes me close my book. Without realizing it, I fall into Morpheus’s arms. I don’t know how long I’m asleep when I hear a voice.

  “Miss . . . miss . . .”

  My eyes pop open. What’s going on?

  Not sure what’s happening, I pull out my earbuds, and there, in front of me, is a smiling server offering me a margarita.

  “This is from the gentleman in the blue shirt up at the bar.”

  Eric is back!

  Thirsty, I take a sip. It’s so good! But when I look up at the bar with one of my most enchanting and sensual smiles, I’m horrified to discover the man who sent me the cocktail is not Eric.

  Oh my God.

  The gentleman in the blue shirt is in his forties, is tall with dark hair, and is wearing a striped bathing suit. When he sees me smile, he smiles back, and I want the earth to swallow me.

  What do I do now? Spit out what I just drank?

  Trying to make as little of it as I can, I thank him, stop looking at him, and open my book again. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him smiling, then sitting at one of the stools at the bar, drinking.

  For about a half an hour, I focus on reading, but the truth is nothing registers. The man at the bar is making me nervous. He doesn’t make a move, but he won’t stop staring at me. I finally close my book, pull off my sunglasses, and decide to take a dip in the water.

  The water is fresh, and I love it.

  I walk in a few yards, and, when the water is about at my waist and I see a wave coming up, I launch myself like a siren and dive into it.

  Oh yes . . . what a feeling!

  When I get tired of swimming, I flip over and float on my back. I consider taking off my top but decide against it. Something tells me the man at the bar is still looking at me and could misinterpret that as an invitation.

  “Hello.”

  Surprised to hear a voice at my side, I jerk and almost drown. A pair of unknown hands quickly pull me up and let go as soon as I stand. I wipe my face and blink and realize it’s the man who’s been staring at me for nearly an hour.

  “What do you want?”

  “For starters, for you not to drown,” he says with a teasing smile. “I’m sorry if I scared you. I just want to talk, pretty lady.”

  I can’t help but smile. His Mexican accent is very sweet, but, recovering, I step away from him.

  “Listen, thank you for the drink, but I’m married, and I’m not really into talking with you or anyone, OK?”

  He nods. “Recently married?”

  I’m just about ready to tell him to take a walk. What does he care?

  “I just told you I’m married, so would you please leave me alone? Before you insist, let me tell you that I can easily go from a pretty lady into something of a beast. So, just walk away and don’t make me mad.”

  The man nods and steps back. As he creates some distance between us, I hear him say, “Wow, what a babe!”

  I keep an eye on him and watch as he gets out of the water and goes directly to the bar. He picks up a red towel, dries his face, and leaves. I’m pleased and swim back to the shore. I sit on the sand and play around, dropping handfuls on my legs.

  That’s when a little girl comes to sit by my side.

  “Shall we play?” she says, offering me a bucket.

  “What’s your name?” I ask, nodding and filling the bucket with sand.

  “Angelly,” she says with a beautiful smile. “And you?”

  “Judith.”

  “I’m six years old,” she says, still smiling. “And you?”

  Well, that’s the kind of question my dear niece Luz would ask. I smile and ruffle her hair and pick up the bucket once more.

  “Shall we build a castle?”

  I play as the sun dries my skin. I’m getting very, very dark; as my father would say, like a gypsy.

  An hour later, the girl leaves with her parents, and I return to my hammock. Two seconds later, a much younger man sits by me on the sand.

  “Hello,” he says in English, “my name is George. Are you by yourself?”

  I can’t help it and start to laugh. There’s so much flirting going on!

  “Hi, I’m Judith, and, no, I’m not by myself.”

  “Are you Spanish?”

  “Yes.” But I know this game and get ahead of him. “I’m sure you like paella and sangria, right?”

  “Oh yeah?”

  I recognize his accent. “German, right?”

  He stares at me.

  “How did you know?”

  I want to say Frankfurt! Audi!

  “I know a few Germans and am very familiar with that accent.”

  I start to put on some lotion.

  “Shall I do that for you?”

  I stop. I look him up and down.

  “No, thank you. I can do this quite well by myself.”

  George nods. He wants to talk.

  “I’ve been watching you all morning, and no one has come to sit with you except me. Are you sure you’re alone?”

  “I already told you.”

  “I saw you playing with a little girl and shutting down some guy.”

  Incredible. Has this guy been spying on me?

  “Look, George, I don’t want to seem rude, but what the hell are you doing keeping tabs on me?”

  “I don’t have anything better to do. I’m on vacation with my parents, and I’m bored. Will you let me buy you a drink?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “You sure?”

  “Very sure, George.”

  His insistence and his youth make me laugh at precisely the moment my cell rings. A message.

  Flirting, Mrs. Zimmerman?

  I immed
iately sit up. I look around until I see him. Eric is at the bar, and he’s watching me. I smile at him, but he doesn’t smile back. Uh-oh.

  I can tell from his face that he’s wondering who this stranger is here. But I want nothing more than to get this over with.

  “Do you see that tall blond man who’s looking at us from the bar?” I ask the young man.

  “The one with the sour look?” asks the boy as he follows the direction of my index finger.

  I laugh and nod.

  “The very one. I want you to know he’s German, like you.”

  “So what?”

  “And he’s my husband. From the look on his face, I’d say he doesn’t like it one bit that you’re here.”

  He flinches. Poor man!

  Eric is bigger, stronger, and taller than he is. Now very serious, George immediately gets up. “I’m sorry, my apologies. I’m going,” he says as he steps away. “I’m sure my parents are wondering where I am.”

  I give him a smile as he takes off, and I look up at my husband, but he’s still unhappy. I roll my eyes and wave at him to come join me. He doesn’t. I pout, and then, eventually, I see the right side of his mouth starting to curve.

  Finally!

  I signal him again with my finger to come over, but he refuses so I decide it’s my turn. If the mountain won’t come to Mohammed, then Mohammed must go to the mountain.

  As I get up, I have an idea.

  Feeling Machiavellian, I take off my top, drop it on the hammock, and, ready to give my husband a feast of a view, slowly walk up to him.

  I’m getting so shameless!

  Eric stares at me. He eats me up with his eyes, and I blush and my nipples stand at attention.

  My God . . . he really gets me revved up when he looks at me like that.

  I stand on my tiptoes to kiss him on the lips.

  “I’ve missed you,” I whisper.

  He doesn’t move and just stares at me from above. He’s my very own Mr. High and Mighty.

  “You were having a very good time talking to that fellow. Who is he?”

  “George.”

  “And who is George?”

  “Let’s see, my love. George is a young man on vacation with his parents,” I say, noticing his furrowed brow. “He was bored, so he decided to come and talk to me. Don’t start up again about predators.”

  Eric doesn’t say anything, and I remember the man with the blue shirt.

  That guy really was a predator. George, who’s much too young, is one thing, but the guy who offered me a margarita is another.

  After a few seconds in which the Iceman simply looks at me, and I’m practically breaking my neck trying to look back at him, he finally cracks a smile.

  “I have something with a pink label on ice back in the room,” he says.

  I laugh and, without hesitation, run back to the hammock. I grab my things, and, when I dash back to him, panting and with my breasts bouncing in the open air, Eric takes me in his arms and gives me a soft kiss on the lips.

  “Let’s go have some fun, Mrs. Zimmerman,” he whispers.

  That night there’s a party at the hotel. After dinner, Eric and I grab a couple of comfy seats so we can enjoy the show. The dances are so colorful and everything is so Mexican and I’m having a great time singing along with the music.

  Eric looks surprised. “You know this song too?”

  I nod and lean over. “My love, I’ve been to so many Luis Miguel concerts in Spain, I know all his songs!” I tell him.

  We kiss. We enjoy the moment while the mariachis sing “La Bikina” and slide right into the next song. One of the elegant cowboys in the band asks me to dance, just like they’ve asked some of the other tourists, and, neither shy nor lazy, I accept. “Lucky me!”

  He leads me to the dance floor where the rest of the dancers and the tourists do what they can to the beat of the music. Loving every minute, I do the same. I’m never embarrassed to dance—I love to dance. Eric watches me and grins. He looks so relaxed while enjoying the show, and I feel like I’m going to burst from happiness.

  And then, as I turn, my eyes connect with the man who offered me a drink and pursued me in the water this morning.

  The man in the blue shirt! Oh God . . . oh God, I hope he doesn’t try to flirt with me again because that would really be asking for it.

  I’m nervous, but I don’t know why.

  Quickly, I look at Eric, and he winks at me. That’s when I see the stranger walk over and greet him. If it weren’t for my dance partner holding my hand, I might have fallen flat on my face.

  I watch as Eric talks warmly with him and has him take my seat. My seat! A few minutes later, the song is over, and the dancer escorts me back to my table. Eric welcomes me with a kiss.

  “You dance beautifully.”

  I nod and force a smile.

  “My love, let me introduce you to Juan Alberto, Dexter’s cousin. Juan Alberto, this is my lovely wife, Judith.”

  Teasing, the other man takes my hand and chivalrously kisses it.

  “Judith, it’s a pleasure to meet you . . . at last.”

  “At last?” asks Eric, surprised.

  But before I have a chance to say anything, Juan Alberto clears the air.

  “My cousin has spoken very highly of her.”

  I blush.

  Oh my God . . . my God. What did Dexter say to him?

  Eric grins when he looks at my face. He knows what I’m thinking.

  “But, really, I mean ‘at last’ because I tried to meet her this morning. Dude, your wife has a hell of a temper. She kicked my ass and warned me that if I bothered her again, I’d be in even more serious trouble.”

  Eric cracks up. He likes hearing this although I can tell he’s bothered that I didn’t mention it to him.

  “I told you I could defend myself from any predator,” I say.

  Juan Alberto laughs. “Oh yes. I will testify to that, my friend. She really scared me off.”

  Eric sits down and pulls me on his lap. He puts his arms around me protectively and gives me a teasing smile.

  “So, this guy tried to flirt with you?”

  I smile, but it’s Juan Alberto who responds.

  “No, dude. I was just trying to meet my friend’s wife. Dexter had mentioned you were staying at this hotel, and, when I saw this beautiful young woman, I knew it had to be Judith.”

  Eric grins, as does Juan Alberto and, finally, I do too. Everything has been cleared up.

  The three of us keep partying, drinking exquisite margaritas while listening to the delightful music at the bar. Juan Alberto is as much fun and as lively as Dexter. They look quite a bit alike too. They’re both dark and attractive but, unlike his cousin, this guy does not look at me with desire.

  We talk and I discover Juan Alberto will be going with us to Spain and then traveling through Europe. He is a consultant and designs security systems for businesses.

  Finally, at two o’clock in the morning, Juan Alberto stands up. “Well,” he says, “I’m going to sleep so you two can enjoy yourselves.”

  Eric and I get up too, and Eric extends his hand.

  “Are you going to the dinner Dexter is having at his house in Mexico City?” Eric asks him.

  “I don’t know,” responds Juan Alberto. “He mentioned it, and I’ll try. If I don’t make it, I’ll see you guys at the airport, OK?”

  Juan Alberto gives me two quick kisses on the cheek and leaves.

  Once we’re alone, Eric brings his mouth to my neck. “I like knowing you can defend yourself from predators.”

  “I told you, my love.”

  “What do you think of Juan Alberto?”

  When I see the look on his face, I arch an eyebrow.

  “What do you mean?”

  “As a man, do you find him sexy?”

  I know what he’s getting at.

  “I only find you sexy.”

  “Mmm . . . that excites me,” he whispers into my mouth.

  We
gaze at each other. We’re mere inches from one another, and I know what he wants and what he desires. His breathing picks up and so does mine.

  The two of us! Suddenly, I feel his hand under my long skirt, and I blush.

  “What are you doing?”

  My Eric grins mischievously.

  “Here?” I add in the thinnest little voice.

  He’s so playful. And I’m getting so hot.

  He wants to get me off here?

  The people around us are laughing, having fun, and drinking margaritas as we listen to the sound of the waves and the music. I’m sitting with my back to everybody in front of my love, and his hand reaches my thigh. He draws circles with his fingertips until he reaches my thong.

  “Eric . . .”

  “Shh.”

  Excited and nervous, I grin.

  Oh God . . . oh God . . .

  I very carefully look both ways. Everybody’s doing their thing.

  “Sweetheart, nobody’s looking at us,” Eric murmurs playfully.

  “Eric . . .”

  “Easy . . .” He pulls the thin fabric of my thong, and, quickly, one of his fingers begins to play with my clitoris. I close my eyes and my breathing gets heavier. Oh God . . . I love what he does to me.

  I love the feeling I get when we do what’s prohibited. It gets me very excited, and, when Eric slides one of his fingers inside me, I gasp. Popping my eyes open, I find his naughty smile.

  “You like it?”

  I nod like a bobblehead while my insides go crazy.

  I don’t want him to stop!

  He smiles back while his finger plays with me, and the people around us, unaware of our hot little game, continue with their own fun.

  He is so shameless!

  But I like it . . . I like it, and, finally getting into it, I grin and move in search of more depth and more bliss.

  My look of surrender makes him grunt.

  Yes . . .

  I drive him crazy too.

  Yes . . .

  He brings his mouth close to mine.

  “Don’t move, or everyone will know what’s going on,” he whispers, voice thick with arousal.