“Look, we need a table, and we need to focus.”
“I have focus here, and I need vitamin D. That means sun.”
“What about questions and answers?” he asks, with his fancy yellow legal pad out.
He does not look bad in his black shorts and a black T-shirt, but I want max sun. “How about this?” I propose, checking my watch. “We have sixteen hours, correct?”
“Around that.”
“Okay, we start immediately. People bring us drinks and food onwards. And they do it all the way until, say, midnight. That is nine hours.”
“You want to work through?”
“We need to, but we stop hourly for a five-minute swim, snack, whatever?”
I reach out, and he pauses. “Take it!” I demand.
Finally, we shake hands.
“As long as you can remember things and you don’t need to write details down,” he says, all bossy.
I raise a brow over my stylish old sunglasses. “Honey, you have to be kidding. I’m in my twenties. You’re in your thirties. You are an old man. I have a perfectly good memory.”
Harry shakes his head, and reluctantly lies back beside me. He then shuffles his recliner away a little from me and my breasts. “Square,” I mumble.
“Tease,” he says with a growl.
Just as we are about to start, a hot waiter arrives. I can tell he likes the way I look as he takes me in and clears his throat. Grumpy does not like it, and it feels good.
“Hi, I’m Samantha.”
“Hello.”
“What’s your name?”
“Madam, I am Marshall.”
“That’s great, Marshall.”
Grumpy looks over and he seems uncomfortable. I order fast. Being a chef, I know what I like. I also know what we need.
I order enough to come for the first three hours, and I am very specific on the delivery times. Marshall then turns to Grumpy, who clears his throat.
“What she is having, and the same instructions.”
“What your wife is having?” the hot waiter asks, as if checking I am with him and we are married.
Grumpy looks unimpressed. “Yes, my wife!” Marshall leaves, and I check out his butt. Grumpy growls, and I think that’s enough. “Okay, now tell me about yourself, and no lying,” Grumpy commands.
I lean back and get comfortable. I think about who I am, how much I want to share, and how much is private.
As in private private.
“Okay,” I start. “I’m a one-man woman, and I’m not fussy. Fussy like some. I like sex every day. I also sleep naked. I’ve probably had sex with a dozen guys, mostly average. Once I slept with a guy, and he was amazing. The thing is, he then vanished.”
“Maybe it was a fantasy. Or even a dream.”
“Maybe,” I say, smiling in the sun.
