Lake Redstone

by Hollyfield, J. D.

  “Where the hell are you going?” Jerry calls out, and Jason waves his hand for us all to follow.

  “Come find out,” he replies, and everyone jumps from their seats to follow as he walks down a hallway covered from floor to ceiling with koozies.

  “What’s the deal with the koozies, man?” Jerry questions while he stops and swaps out a “Don’t worry, beer happy” koozie for “I got killer crabs in Maine.”

  Jason swigs at the tequila. “What do you mean? Whoever has this much dedication must be a legend. Did you see the glass case? Dude has some sick koozies in there. If it was unlocked, I’d snag that ‘Field of Dreams’ one in a heartbeat.”

  We let Jason lead us through the koozie museum and up a set of stairs until we pop out by a wooden door, a sign The Rodge Lodge above the entrance. When he pushes the door open for us all to enter, we find ourselves speechless, standing in a state-of-the-art gaming room. The entire area is filled with any and everything gaming. From the dart board on the wall, to the pool table. Pinball machine, karaoke machine, and—

  “Holy shit,” Jim spits out as my eyes follow his. I peer down, realizing we’re standing on a dance floor. And should I mention it looks like it lights up?

  “I think I just died and went to heaven.” Mick ogles the place. “You think there’s a pole somewhere?” He spins around with hope in his eyes as he scans the room.

  “Welcome to The Rodge Lodge.”

  “How exactly do you know so much about this place?” Jerry walks off to a shelf full of old vinyl records.

  “I read the book.”

  “What book?” everyone asks in unison.

  Jason shakes his head and takes a deep swig. “The Lake Redstone book, man! It’s on the table. It’s the history of the house. The owners—I guess the guy is some sort of dental genius—invented a tool that modernized oral surgery. Made a butt-ton of money. He and his wife travel the world, hence all the koozies. Homeboy was at a conference up in Washington state when they were invited to play a game of pickleball. Turned out, both him and the missus were masters at it. Got picked up by a huge sponsor, and now they literally travel and play for huge sporting events like the US Open. Guy’s even on the pickleball association board.”

  Mick smacks his hands together. “Pretty impressive.” He picks up a remote, and with a single click, beams of neon color blast from the Plexiglass squares, bringing the dancefloor to life. “Enough chatter. If I wanted to know more about the owners, I’d invite them to Sunday dinner with the wife and kids. Now, I believe there’s a competition I need to win.” Using the remote, Mick slides the poor thing, like a stripper prop, down his chest and starts rotating his hips in a slow, circular motion.

  “All right, Magic Mike. Let’s see what you’ve got. I’ve learned a few moves myself that have gotten me some high ratings.” June blushes. Awe! My sweet little June and her man get naughty. That’s my frisky girl!

  “Fine, it’s on. But I get to pick the song. Clearly, I would be the best in recommending the perfect dance music.” Mick walks over to the stereo system, and we all take our seats for the show. Jason is starting to stretch, and Jim has a somewhat worried expression on his face. Oh, come on. He can’t be that bad at dancing! Mick takes his phone out of his back pocket and shoves it into the phone slot.

  “Let’s go, cowboy! Stalling? Afraid Jim-Bob and I are gonna whoop ya?”

  Mick grumbles, still offering us his back. “Pfft! Have you seen my hips move? J. Lo would be jealous.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  He continues to fiddle with his device, lifting and smacking his phone back on the base. “Dammit.”

  Jason sighs and goes in search of the problem. He grabs Mick’s phone, and after a short struggle, wins it over. “Dude, what is this?”

  “My phone. Give it back.”

  “No, man, this is 1995’s phone. Does this thing even work?” He holds up a tiny iPhone. “How cute, Mick has a baby phone.”

  Mick tries snatching it back, but Jason lifts it high and messes with him, waving it back and forth. “For real, what is this? Your mom called, she wants her iPhone 4 back.”

  We all bust out laughing as Mick struggles to win his phone back. “Does this thing text? Little phone for a little guy?”

  He finally snatches his phone from Jason. “For your information, the newer phones make my butt look big. This one fits perfectly in my back pocket.”

  “Whatever you say, iPhone 4.”

  “Shut up.”

  “iPhone 4.”

  “I swear, I’m gonna kick your ass.”

  “iPhone—”

  “Oh, Jesus! Hey, Alexander Graham Bell, put your fossil phone away and let Jason set his up. We have a competition to win. Right, Jim-Bob?” God, these two kids could go at it for hours. I turn to Jim, who doesn’t look ready to win. “Dude, come on. It’s dancing. You’ve danced before, right?”

  “Uh…yeah, but not against a legend.”

  I roll my eyes. I’m just as competitive as the next guy. Or girl. And there is no way Jim is going to lose this for us. I know Mick. He plays dirty. I’ll just have to play dirty too.

  Casey

  Me and my gosh darn dreams.

  Always in bed with someone.

  Getting nothing.

  I’m in a canoe with my old high school math teacher. Sounds gross, but when I was fifteen, he was super hot. As he prowls toward me, my heart beats rapidly against my chest. My body temperature rises, my skin warm to the touch. Clammy almost. When he approaches me, he uses his hands to spread open my legs, but they won’t budge.

  Open your legs, Casey. He wants in!

  But no matter how much I demand my conscious to let the hot teacher in between, my legs stay closed. As if they’re being restrained by something. I fight harder and harder, while trying to tell him not to leave. He begins to back away, and I panic, because I really want to see how talented he is. He had such big hands, so my fifteen-year-old curiosity always got lost in the what ifs of down below.

  “Don’t go,” I call for him, but he continues to back away. “Don’t go, we can do this! If we subtract the isosceles from the triangular math equation, we can totally do this!” What the…?

  I work my mind around the obstacle and hop to my feet. If he can’t come in, I’m going there. I steady myself, a smile of satisfaction on my face. I start to bunny jump toward him, but he stands, leaning backwards. “Where you going, hot math teacher?” I purr, taking another hop closer.

  He leans back farther. “Hey, careful,” I say, worried he’s going back too far. Can’t have my dream sexy guy fall out of the boat. A hop closer. More leaning. “Seriously, you’re gonna fall.” I begin to panic. His back is stretched so far, he’s starting to transform into Keanu Reeves in The Matrix. Damn, he’s like Gumby…

  “Hey, that can’t feel—”

  I jerk awake just as my teacher is about to snap in half off the canoe. I’m sweaty, and clammy, and my stomach decides it wants to expel everything inside it. Throwing my hand over my mouth, I groan, breathing through my nose to calm my erupting stomach. Everything is blurry, but I can confirm I’m in a bed. Trying to concentrate, confusion fills my still drunk brain as I take in my surroundings. The four key W’s simmer in my head in major need of answering. Who. What. Why. Where.

  Why am I in a man’s t-shirt? Which smells glorious, by the way.

  My blurred eyesight allows me to confirm I’m not in my own bed. Further investigation tells me I also have no pants on. Great. A bit of panic mixed with a large dose of confusion surfaces, until my brain takes pity on me and tiny bits of memories flood back. Lake house. I’m at the lake house with everyone. A small sense of relief calms my still swirling belly, until more questions arise. How did I get up here? I don’t remember going to bed. Did I drink too much? That’s a silly question. Moving on, I scrape my brain for pieces of last night. Everyone was drinking. Tequila waterfall. I groan, and my hand goes back over my mouth.

  There
were the Frisbee burgers, charades, The Rodge Lodge, and tequila, so much tequila…

  “Oh God, kill me.” My hands slide up my face, covering my eyes. My fingers dig into my eye sockets to help the throbbing in my head. Why, Casey, why!?

  “Why what?”

  My eyes shoot open so fast, I almost throw my hands out to catch them from falling out of their sockets. I scream, ready to bash whoever the intruder is in my room. That’s when Jim lazily pops his head up from the floor. “Jesus Christ! You scared the hell out of me!” I hiss, grabbing the blanket and pulling it up my legs, but the sheet is tangled around my ankles. My legs are trapped… Hmmm…make sense now. Sorry, hot teacher.

  I lean to the side and see Jim with a pillow and a thin blanket laying on the floor next to the bed. He also appears to be—

  “Why are you naked?” We…did not—did we?

  “’Cause you’re wearing my shirt.”

  My eyes shoot back down to the heathered grey shirt, a lithographed guitar with Limited Infinity sketched below it. It’s super comfy, and damn, I nonchalantly inhale. It smells good, and—

  “Wait, why am I in your shirt. Don’t tell me we—”

  “Had wild passionate sex until you passed out of pleasure overload?”

  Oh my god.

  “No, we didn’t. You banged on the headboard, wanting to let the entire town think we were having wild, passionate sex, then puked. Then I proceeded to put you in the shower, held you while you beautifully sang Eminem between yacking, then passed out. I couldn’t figure out your bag, so I put you in one of my shirts.”

  No, no, no, no. Be patient. He’s gonna also say he’s kidding.

  Say you’re kidding…

  He’s not gonna say it.

  “You’re not kidding, are you?”

  “That you sang beautifully? Yes. It was like listening to a dying animal.”

  I pick up a pillow and toss it at him, which he avoids by flexing his biceps to block his head. “Okay, sorry. You were amazing. But also…yeah, all true.”

  Why!!!!

  I fall back onto the bed in hopes it swallows me whole. How is this guy still even here? I’ve done nothing but bite his head off and embarrass myself. He has to think I’m senile. But cute, though. Does he think I’m attractive? I hurriedly thrust my fingers into my hair, brushing it out of my face. What resembles a chip falls out, and I quickly toss it, then lick my thumb and scrape dry drool off the side of my lip. I get a sneak peek at my reflection in the mirror and bask in the horror.

  Oh hell.

  I give up.

  I should allow him to tap out—give him an out and let him run as fast as he can away from me before I do any more damage to my already sinking reputation. That I even thought I could go an entire weekend pretending to be dating a random stranger and not pull any of my typical shenanigans was a joke.

  If I let him leave, I’ll surely have a lot of explaining to do, and the whole, “let’s all feel sorry for Casey’s drama” is going to be worse than the truth and this tequila hangover, but after the foolish mayhem I pulled last night, I can’t force him to stick around the rest of the weekend.

  I sit back up. “Listen, I’m gonna save you the trouble of giving me some lame excuse of how your grandma died or work suddenly needs you for a huge emergency and you need to leave. I wouldn’t have signed up for this either. So, it’s cool to bail.” If I’m lucky, he’ll be in such a huge hurry to get the hell outta dodge, he’ll forget to ask for his shirt back, because this is super soft and—

  “No, I’m good.”

  My head whips around. “Wait, you are?”

  He shrugs. “Yeah. I actually had a great time last night. Minus being vomited on, of course.” I grunt again and cover my eyes. “But hey, on the plus side, I did get to see you naked.” And then my eyes go wide. His laugh reverberates throughout the room. “Just kidding. I didn’t look. Well…I kind of didn’t look. I had to wash puke out of your hair, so I had to keep at least one eye open.”

  How mortifying!

  Why can’t I just grow up—drink a normal amount and say my goodnights like a decent human being instead of blacking out and always waking up with half my clothes missing? Or, in this case, all.

  I blame this on Jason. Damn him and his obsession with wanting to be a college shot girl. Images of liquor being poured down our throats like a waterfall of nothing good flash through my muffled brain. “Oh god, what did we do last night?” I grunt, holding my head together so it doesn’t crack in half when my brain explodes.

  “Well, there was a lot of drinking. Jason sure does make a fine shot girl.” I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing the storm brewing in my stomach to stop. “And that sure was some dance off, not gonna lie.” Dance off…dance off… No! Go away images!

  Hollering and laughing fill The Rodge Lodge as Mick gives Poppy his award-winning lap dance. “Damn, Mick, didn’t know you still had it in you! I’m about ready to shove some dollar bills down your G-string,” Jason howls, buckling over in laughter. Jerry falls off his chair, holding his stomach, and Katie spits out her drink.

  “I’m the real deal right here, my brother. Now, let me show the officer what these hips can really do.” Mick winks and grinds on his wife.

  I throw myself at Jim, who’s seated in the chair next to them. “Pfft! That ain’t shit, Micky boy!” I holler.

  “Jesus,” Jim grunts as I throw my leg over him and grind into his lap. He fumbles with his beer, but loses his grip, spilling all over us both. “Babe, a little warning—”

  “No warnings needed, babe. We need to show them how it’s really done.” I roll back and forth on him, trying to be seductive, but I’m also tanked.

  Jim leans into me. “How is it really done?”

  “I call bullshit!” Mick yells, grinding harder into Poppy.

  “Bull patootie nothing, we do this all the time!”

  “We do?” Jim whispers.

  “Yeah, we do,” I growl, working my hips in long strides over his lap. My hands dig under his shirt, meeting solid abs and chest. Sweet Mother Mary and baby Jesus.

  Jerry starts to laugh. “I don’t know, Case, your man looks pretty scared right now.”

  I peek down at Jim, his expression pained. “Oh, come on. I’m not bad at this,” I hiss, working harder to sway my hips back and forth over him. My fingernails dig into his bare chest, and I ride them up, wrapping them around the back of his neck.

  “Casey, you gotta stop,” he whispers, trying to hold my hips in place, but I fight him. No way I’m letting Mick win. “Jesus, Case, you really have to stop,” he groans, his eyes half closed.

  “Fuck no—can’t. Gotta show him up.” I divert my attention to Mick, who’s about to do a headstand over Poppy’s face. That cheating bastard. I need to step it up a notch.

  “You all right over there, Jim-Bob?” Jason asks, chuckling into his beer.

  “Just dandy,” he grunts.

  “Dude, suck it up!” I bend down and whisper in his ear, “I’m not paying you to look miserable.”

  “Not sure if you’re paying me to nut in my pants from you dry humping me either,” he groans again. My eyes shoot down to his crotch and the large tent in his pants. Oops. Hollering has my attention back on my competition. Mick is shaking his junk upside down into Poppy’s face. Dammit! I take a quick second to consider Jim’s situation. But the laughter throws me into major competitor mode, and Jim’s minor inconvenience takes a back seat. I jump up, climbing and standing on the chair.

  “Shit, what are you doing?” Jim asks.

  “Raising the stakes,” I say, conjuring up my childhood headstand expertise. It can’t be that hard. Simple task. Hands down, legs up.

  “Casey, no…”

  Hands down, legs up.

  “I don’t think this is a good—”

  My hands go down, and I swing my legs up…accidently meeting Jim’s face and knocking him out.

  “Oh god.” A heavy wave of mortification hits me viciously as my belly t
hreatens another eruption. “I’m sooo sorry.” He starts rubbing at his nose. Can I be any more of a hot mess? The image of him with Kleenex shoved up his nose to stop the bleeding the remainder of the night has me covering my face and shaking my head. “I don’t know what came over me. I just—”

  “Wanted to win. I get it.”

  “Yeah, and instead, I almost took your head off with my horrible stripper moves.” We stare at each other until we both burst out laughing. “Like, really? I haven’t attempted a head stand since I was, like, twelve!”

  “About the last time I got dry humped by a girl.” Oh my god! My hands go back up.

  “Kidding.” He chuckles.

  I peek through my fingers. “Really?”

  “Yes. I actually got dry humped by a girl in college once. It ended just as horribly.” I pick up another pillow and throw it at him. He dodges, grunting as it nicks his nose.

  “Oh geez, I’m not winning any points here, am I?” He strokes his wound. Even with a bruised nose, it doesn’t go unnoticed how attractive he looks. His wild hair is all ruffled and sexy, his muscles and tattoos on full display. Dammit! I’m ogling. I pull my eyes away to stare at a piece of invisible dust on the wall. Sounds of movement come from the floor where Jim starts to get up, and a small jolt of panic surges through me. My eyes fail to stay away, and I catch him just as the thin blanket covering his hips falls as he stands. Hands fly back over my eyes in fear I’m about to get an eyeful. Thankfully—or regretfully—he’s covered in a pair of shorts as he sits on the edge of the bed.

  “Don’t worry. I’m sure the money you owe me will cover the plastic surgery for my new nose.” New nose? What kind of shady doctor does he have to reconstruct a new nose for a measly five hundred bucks? Which also reminds me—I don’t even have five hundred bucks! There’s a sliver of hope maybe he responded to my ad before the price change and he’s here for the fifty bucks. My own nose crinkles at the scary thought of him getting a new nose for fifty dollars. “What’s that ew look for?” Jim breaks up the disturbing image of him with a sketchy putty nose.

  “Oh…uh…nothing. Just—”