Pushing him up with one hand, I wait for him to situatehimself. “Of course I want to,” I say, grinning in what I hope looks like a reassuring manner. I took notes. I have this. He sits down on the couch, and I kneel between his legs, trying my best to keep my hands on any part of skin I can in the process.
Licking my lips, I watch intently as he slides his shorts down. His erection, loud and proud, springs free.
“I love everything about this right now. How you look. How you’re making me feel. So out of control. I have no idea what to expect next, and for once, I don’t care. It’s just you and me. I’m so happy,” he says, putting a hand on the side of my face as I take him into my right hand to stroke him up and down. The skin is so smooth, like silk, and his pleasure in my touch is obvious. “I’m not, ah, saying that because you’re about to put my dick in your mouth either.”
“You’re saying it because you mean it,” I finish for him.
He nods, his eyes still closed, a sleepy, turned-on smile on his face. If I asked him to open them, I wonder if he would. Remembering Shirley’s words about tempo, mouth-to-hand ratio, spit, and zeal, I move in to wet it with my tongue.
Tahoe guides me with his hands on my shoulders, the back of my neck, and with gentle words. It doesn’t take as long this time. Because I want to be legit more than anything else, I even swallow.
We would both be happy staying in. Cooking a nice dinner, having a glass of wine or three, and then heading to my bedroom to explore each other’s bodies for seven hours, but tonight Tahoe is the one urging us to go to The Spot. We already discussed that I would drive his truck tonight, because his plans don’t involve staying sober. I’m okay with it, if anything, that’s what I’m used to. It’s always more fun to see everyone act like idiots with a clear focus.
I don’t drive often, and his truck is a big, old thing that probably shouldn’t be trusted, but he coached me all the way there, telling me how third gear sticks and what I should do to unstick it.
There’s a lot across the street where everyone parks relatively uniformly, in lines spanning about ten cars deep. I make sure to back into the next spot for an easy exit. I recognize a few people parking and heading across the deserted street. “You don’t like coming here?” Tahoe says, pulling me against his side.
I quirk up one side of my mouth. “It’s not that I don’t like coming, it’s just that everyone else does.” Sliding my arm around his back, I hold on to him tightly. I’m still floating in that orgasm-induced good mood when I see Britt and Whit. Whit is holding one of those tall metal cups that keeps drinks cold for a long time, and Britt is wearing RBF like she’s the one who coined the term.
“It’s our friends,” Tahoe says, noticing them, too. He chuckles and shakes his head.
Swallowing down the nerves, I say, “You’re going tosee everyone here.” We cross the street and head onto the property owned by a distant relative of Malena. It remains open to everyone just because it always has been and no one complains. It has access to a canal, which opens to the bay, and then the river that feeds to the ocean. There are picnic tables, and someone is setting up the kegs on the concrete slab that was poured for this occasion exactly. “Watch out for the mud,” I tell him during the walk over. “I meant to ask you, does Leif have a thing for Malena? She was planning on coming tonight anyway. So don’t let your friend think she’s here especially for him. She is a bit feisty.”
Tahoe stretches his neck, his sunglasses still in place. “Leif likes feisty. Are you sure you don’t want to drink? We can produce a DD if need be.”
“I’m sure. You have fun. Is this some sort of tradition?” I ask. He didn’t give me specifics, not unlike anytime I ask about his job. He merely said it was something they did before a mission, and an opportunity like this is too hard to pass up.
Tahoe explains that the one time they didn’t go out boozing before a mission, a SEAL was killed. Sort of like a good luck charm. He likens it to basketball players not cutting their hair or hockey players not shaving until the end of the season, but that seems so trivial in comparison. We’re talking about life and death.
Britt and Whit are making their way over, and I see Tahoe’s jaw twitch. “Hey guys. A great night for it, huh?” I ask.
Britt agrees, looking only at me, and tells me aboutthe boutonnieres she selected for the groomsmen today. I pretend to be overly interested, because Whit and Tahoe are talking about something completely unrelated, but they aren’t fighting. That’s what I want. For him to just be himself, not the outsider. A part of Bronze Bay.
“Shirley told me about NYC. You must be excited. Do you have plans?” Britt asks. I should be skeptical because she rarely takes this much of an interest in me, but I tell her the truth anyway. And I can’t help it, my excitement bleeds into my words. She’s smiling when I finish telling her about the reservation Tahoe made at a restaurant I saw onSex in the City.
“You’re lucky, Caroline. I’m so happy for you,” she says, her eyes downcast for a moment, then on her fiancé next to her. All traces of happiness vanish as she looks at Whit, and my stomach flips with unease.
“Want to grab a drink?” I ask, making a grab for her arm. She smiles politely and comes with me toward the kegs. When we’re enough distance away. I just come right out and ask what’s on my mind. “Is everything okay? You seem really sad.”
Her smile is wistful. “I’m always such a bitch to you, and yet you’re the only person who has noticed I’m not the bubbly bride I’m supposed to be. Why is that?” she asks. I can’t tell if it’s rhetoric.
I glance back over my shoulder and meet Tahoe’s gaze. He winks once. To Britt I say, “Because it’s Bronze Bay and everyone in it ignores things that might rock the boat. All I do these days is rock the boat. Are you okay?You don’t have to give me details,” I say, shaking my head. “But if you need anything, let me know.” It’s the neighborly thing to say, and I think she’ll respond better to that than if I pry into her life.
“You’re so sweet, Caroline May. That’s why this place didn’t take you down. Why you’re getting out of here with a man like that. I’m not sure how you managed to remain unscathed, but thank your lucky stars, okay?” She grabs me by both shoulders. “Nothing is as it seems around here.” If she’s just realizing this, I gave her too much credit all of these years.
“I know that,” I deadpan. “It doesn’t mean you can’t change if something isn’t sitting well with you, though. You don’t have to do something because that’s what everyone else expects you to do.” I learned that the hard way. No one thought I’d get my pilot’s license. Not one of these people, aside from Shirley and maybe Malena, thought I’d eventually take over the airport. They saw my future as the uneducated daughter of really good people. The diner was where I was relinquished.
She gives me that look. The one that says I don’t have a clue how the world works, and I bite my tongue.
“He’s cheating on me with Milly,” she says, and then heaves an exasperated sigh. “He was drunk. Because how could he not be?” I mask my face the same way I do when someone at the diner mentions something scandalous and I want to be trusted. She’s not done. Not by a long shot. She wants to spill it all, and she thinks I’m lapping it up. “I mean, he’s always cheating on me.I thought maybe once we were engaged he would stop. And then when that didn’t happen, I figured maybe when it gets closer to the wedding he would stop, but now I realize it’s a life sentence if I don’t break up with him now.”
Swallowing hard, I try to straighten my face into something sympathetic. “I’m so sorry, Britt. You deserve better than that.” I always assumed she knew, but I guess I didn’t realize the extent to which Whit was digging himself down. I can’t help but glance back, but Whit is nowhere to be found, and Tahoe is with a group of his friends surrounding the keg. He’s laughing, and his smile makes my heart skip a beat. He would never be a Whit. He couldn’t.
“So what do you think?” she asks, drawing my attention back to her.
“You want my opinion? I’m hardly the person to give opinions about relationships. Mine is so new I’m still peeling off the purchase sticker,” I reply. We slide onto a picnic bench because I can tell this conversation is far from over and she’s latched on to me.
“If it were you, what would you do?”
