Lake Redstone

by Hollyfield, J. D.

  Jerry finally grabs at the ladder, and we reach down, pulling him up. Before he’s fully on-board, Mick throttles the boat and we shoot across the lake. Jerry throws himself into a chair and we all huff, doing the same.

  “I can’t say I planned on doing so much running on this vacation,” Jason says.

  Casey raises her hand, her chest rising and falling in long pants. “You can say that again.”

  Jerry gets up and makes his way to the back to the cooler. Bending down, he opens it and fishes out a can. When he stands and diverts his attention back to us, he’s wearing a goofy grin, smiling from ear to ear. Holding up the can, he says, “Celebratory spritzer anyone?”

  Casey

  I crack open a Corona, jam it into an “I’m gonna drink you pretty” koozie, and take a seat in the open lawn chair on the bottom porch. The girls are all lounging while the guys try another round of pickleball.

  “No one even try getting me to leave this house for the remainder of the trip. It’s clear nothing good happens when we leave.”

  “Amen, sister,” I praise to Katie as I take a swig of the chilled beer. Katie starts in on a rant about Jerry while I rest my back on the chair, my sunglasses hiding my wandering eyes as I take in Jim. His shirt’s long gone, his muscles and tattoos on display. My tongue wets my lower lip when his stomach muscles tighten as he pulls his shoulder back to take an impressive swing at the ball. The butterflies dancing around in my belly do a summersault, fluttering around. My mind can’t seem to fully process how crazy this situation is. Images from our first unexpected kiss to the even more unexpected realization we’re actually into each other float inside my head. He started out being a fable I made up to pretend I was in this great relationship with this great guy. But he’s not a fantasy anymore.

  He slams at the next ball, getting Jerry out. As if feeling my heavy gaze on him, he turns my way, and with his to-die-for signature smile, winks at me. Excitement shoots up my spine, causing my ears to tingle. My cheeks blaze with pleasure. I lift my hand and offer him a tiny wave in return. The end of our trip is rapidly approaching. Soon, we’ll be back to regularly scheduled programming. But the exciting part is there’s a date planned after this. I’ve already mentally dug through everything I own and picked out the perfect first date outfit. Which is sitting at a store, because I don’t have zilch in my closet.

  I get excited to eat this burger he speaks so highly about, but then panic about eating in front of him. Should I nibble? Do girls eat on first dates nowadays? Should I order a salad? Maybe I should eat beforehand so I don’t get out of control and start munching off his plate when I clear mine in record time. Dummy, you’ve been eating in front of him all weekend. Right. Back to savoring that juicy burger.

  I can’t remember the last time I’ve been on a date I was actually excited for. Well, I was excited for the one Poppy set me up on a few months ago. He had made us reservations at a popular barbeque place, and when it came time to order, I’d been salivating over what I was going to get. Me and my love for food had stalked out their menu days in advance. The problem was when the waitress came to take our orders, he ordered for me! Two salads, dressing on the side.

  I about died!

  Then I pretended I was sick and left, meeting some friends at my favorite Mexican place. Thank god it was all-you-can-eat Taco Tuesday. I ate ’til my regret for accepting another blind date, which I swore I’d never do again, overrode my love and fullness of tacos and guacamole.

  I hope he still plans on breaking all first date protocols and calls right away. Since my weeks are pretty open—being jobless and all—I don’t have anything to stand in my way of going out. Pretty open. As in, maybe I can invite him up to my place and we can start our date right then. I shake my head, knowing I’m being silly. He probably has plans. Obligations. Priorities. Like his band, his bar. This also brings a topic I wish was all around avoidable—his real life, his real job, his real identity.

  My reaction to his suggestion on telling the group was rude. But I panicked. He may see it as a simple fib, but it’s more. I lied to my friends, leading them on for weeks about my boyfriend. I lied to their faces, and even when I knew June was becoming suspicious, I shut her down with more lies—fake stories and feelings and blah! I can’t tell them now. They’ll think so low of me. And how embarrassing to face them all and admit I had to conjure up this plan to trick everyone.

  Jim hits another ball against Jason and scores a point, then chest bumps Mick.

  My pleasant mood trips off a cliff and plummets into a pile of betrayal and lies. Jim’s really bonded with everyone. How will they take being lied to? They’ve all become really close over the past two days. Would they feel betrayed by Jim? Or would I come out as the horrible friend who lies and fools people?

  Maybe this isn’t a good idea. We’re only being silly and living in the moment. Maybe it would be best if we go our separate ways. Keep both our reputations intact and that be that.

  My mood finds another ledge to throw itself off. I mentally take back the outfit I had in mind, even though it was going to look super cute on me and try to convince myself burgers aren’t even that great.

  “What’s brought that sour face on?” June sits next to me.

  “I’m a fraud.”

  “A fraud?”

  Oh, frack. I bite my loose tongue and snap out of my funk. “Uh, yeah. I can’t drink this beer. I tried. Should stick to the spritzers.” Lies. More lies. I love Corona. Especially on Tuesdays taken down right after a round of tequila.

  “Oh, okay.” She’s quiet as we both stare off, watching the game. The way they all laugh and throw playful jabs at one another, as if they’ve been friends forever, jabbing at my own integrity in the process. When Mick and Jim win the game and go in for the biggest bro hug, my stomach pangs, feeling more like a stab straight through my guilty conscious.

  “Hey, June?”

  “Yeah?”

  I fiddle with the bottle, tearing a piece of foam off the koozie. “Have you ever told a white lie—one you wished you would have been truthful about in the beginning, but now that the lie is out there, you don’t know how to take it back?”

  She’s quiet for a moment, her eyes trained ahead. “I can’t say I’ve never told a lie before. I tell my kids all the time how spicy ice cream is so they don’t dare touch mommy’s stash.” We both laugh. “I think it depends on if the lie is hurtful. People tell little white lies all the time. It’s just the way of the world. I’m not sure what you’re truly asking, but if someone’s told a lie, and it’s hurtful or will hurt someone because of it, I think it’s best to be honest over deceiving.”

  Geez, June, way to take your metaphoric knife to my devious soul.

  “Are you asking me this because you lied?” The biggest one ever. And I won’t be hurting only myself when the truth comes out. Her eagle eyes burn into me, forcing me to look over. Deep down, I want to confess the crummy thing I did and be free of the heaviness burdening me. But I don’t. Because I’m a coward.

  “Nah, just lied on a resume. Made it out to seem like I was way more qualified. Really wanted the job, but probably won’t get it now. Thought about telling the truth, but I think that ship’s sailed. Better luck next time.” Or in my relationship where I find a guy who’s perfect for me and I don’t go messing it all up with lies and deceit.

  The conversation is cut short when the guys join us, Jason falling into June’s lap. Jim comes at me, his skin glistening from sweat. I start shaking my head. “Oh no, don’t you dare—ahhh!” I squeal as he falls into me, his perspired chest pressing against mine.

  “Not what you said last night when we were all hot and sweaty, babe.” He bends down and kisses me quick. No shocker, the guys all hoot and howl, while my traitorous girlfriends laugh at his joke. I go for the kill, pinching his nipples, and he groans, snagging my fingers and bringing them above my head. “Tsk, tsk. Only in the bedroom. I don’t feel comfortable revealing our safe word in front of your fr
iends.” My eyes roll, fighting and losing the battle as a smile breaks across my face.

  “You’re ridiculous.”

  His lips land in another quick peck. “Ridiculously enthralled with you.”

  This round is less laughing and more sighing. Feeling shy that he’s made us the center of attention, I bow my head so he can’t take hold of my lips a third time.

  “Stop,” I say, low in warning.

  “Stop being so smitten with you? Can’t do that.” We have a stare off until I can’t fight it any longer. My smile breaks through, and I allow him his hard-earned third kiss.

  “Okay, Jesus. You’re making us all look bad.” Jim’s laughter vibrates against my lips. “Anyone hungry?” Jason slides off June’s chair to stand.

  “Starved,” Jim answers, but it seems his response is meant for an audience of one.

  “Good. Let’s get some food on the grill. Preferably not Jerry’s burgers.” No one hesitates to nod and hum in agreeance. Of course, my mind is so far in the gutter, food is the last thing I’m hungry for.

  “Fat chance.”

  “Oh, come on! We’ve been in the sun all day. I need to keep my shirt on.”

  Poppy rolls her eyes. “Seriously, we’re not being skins. Just play the damn game.” She gives her back to her husband as she gets ready to serve. Thank god she doesn’t give in. For one, I’m not sure my game will be on point without a top on. Second, I’m still super full from dinner. Lucky for us all, Jim took over and manned the grill and made us the tastiest burgers. Not to mention the pound of ranch dip I had, along with corn salad. Okay, fine, throw in a few cookies too. My stomach is still so bloated, it’s going to take an army to digest it all.

  “Fine, but the winners get the losers’ tops.”

  Poppy shoots warning daggers at Mick, and he throws his hands up. “Got it. Tops stay on.” Everyone takes their positions, and Poppy serves the ball, slamming into Jim’s corner. The game begins, and it doesn’t take long before the relaxed smiles are gone, replaced with serious intensity across the court. Mick takes no mercy on Poppy as he whacks the ball in the corner. She takes no mercy on her husband as she slams it back, causing him to miss the shot.

  “What the hell was that?” Mick barks, fetching the ball. Poppy shrugs and gets ready for another serve. The game heats up with every hit of the ball. Jim doesn’t go easy on me, and I miss two incoming balls. Poppy throws her mean glare at me as the two across the net fist pump. When it’s my turn to serve, I get a good slam into Mick’s corner, but his paddle meets the ball with finesse, landing on our side mere inches from the net. I have to dive to get it, scraping my knees on the concrete. Jim shows no mercy and slams the ball back on our side, causing me to miss it.

  “Play hard, get hard,” Jim huffs, and I get up, brushing off my knees. I aim a mean stare at him, but it simply rolls off him. He and Mick are too consumed in winning. Poppy holds her paddle up, calling for a timeout.

  “No way, no timeouts. Take the beating and get off the court, woman!” Mick says.

  Poppy comes up to me, and we give the guys our backs, leaning our heads in together. “Okay, this may actually work in our favor. I think we can beat these idiots fair and square, but I’m not opposed to playing dirty. I say we give them a taste of their own medicine.”

  I like her style. “Okay. How?”

  “I know my husband, and I can guarantee one thing that always makes him lose focus.”

  “Ew, do I really want to know the answer to this? I feel like I already know way too much about your sex life.” Mick likes to share their stories when he’s had a few too many. If I ever wanted to become a dominatrix, I know the couple to get starter information from.

  “Hey, I see where your mind’s going, and don’t knock it ’til you try it. Also, not what I’m getting at. I’m talking about giving them exactly what they’re asking for.”

  “Okay, you lost me. Last time you suggested this, it was in high school and we had to pretend we were into each other to impress Jeremy Miller ’cause you heard he was into that stuff. I gotta say, Pop, we’re a little too old to be experimenting.”

  She rolls her eyes at me. “No, geez, I’m suggesting we give them what they’re asking for—skins. Mick might be showing off to his new butt buddy—no offense—but me taking my top off will be a game killer for him. Trust me.”

  “That’s enough. Play or forfeit.”

  Oh, hell with it. All the fashion magazines say pot bellies are the new crave anyways. Poppy and I nod heads and break apart. But not before reaching out and caressing each other’s arms. We silently share a laugh, then throw our tank tops off, leaving us in only our skimpy bikini tops.

  “Jesus, what are you doing?” Mick gripes as I position myself to serve.

  “Giving in to your request. It is hot out here. These babies can use some sun anyhow.”

  Mick’s brows turn up in annoyance. Poppy takes her place on the court, and I prepare to serve. The first round is a wash since Jim has yet to be affected. But Mick hasn’t lost his scowl. Two hits back and forth, and Mick finally misses, allowing us a point. There’s a take-no-prisoners motto between us, and we come together for a gentle chest bump, holding together a little too long.

  “Okay, knock it off. We’re skins. We called it already.”

  “Game’s already in play, babe.”

  Jim pats his bud on the shoulder, telling him it’s going to be okay, and prepares to serve. That’s when I bend my knees and squeeze my elbows in, pressing my boobs together to form an impressive cleavage shot. Right before Jim serves, I blow him a kiss, causing the ball to slam into the net.

  “Oh, come on! Interference!” Mick yells as us girls share a good laugh. Jim is still staring at my chest as I snag the ball from under the net and take another serve. This time, Mick makes contact, slamming it past Poppy’s block, getting a point. He puffs out his chest, going in for a man bump. Poppy shakes her head and snatches up the ball, preparing for her serve. This one lands in Jim’s square, and he makes a smooth swing, knocking it back into Poppy’s corner. Back and forth, they battle to knock each other out. Every swing is intense as we all watch the ball ricochet, but it’s Mick’s tormented face that takes the cake. Every time Poopy takes a swing, Mick grunts. On the fourth swing, he’s had enough and tosses his paddle to the ground.

  “That’s it! We forfeit!” Jim and I throw our hands up in defense. Mick prowls over to the other side, gunning straight for his wife. She doesn’t seem shocked whatsoever, wearing her smug grin as he makes it to her and throws her over his shoulder. “Damn, woman. You’re gonna pay for this,” he says, then storms off the court, disappearing inside.

  Flames from the fire crackle, sending sparks into the night sky. The bonfire is in full bloom as our lawn chairs circle around the campfire. June brought all the fixings to make s’mores while Jason brought the tequila to wash the gooey goodness down. I’m currently laying against Jim, my back resting against his chest as we cuddle together in the lawn chair. Poppy and Mick are telling the story about how they met.

  “Oh my god,” Jason laughs, holding his chest. “Tell the story again, how you found him hanging on the pole.”

  Poppy shakes her head, releasing a small giggle. “We’d gotten a distress call about a model shoot gone horribly wrong. A model had slipped off a trapeze rope and got tangled, unable to free himself. When our team arrived, Mick had been hanging upside down for some time. I guess his acrobatics weren’t on par yet.”

  “Hey! It was my first shoot. Give me some credit!”

  “Anywho, when I got there, he was pretty high up, hanging upside down in a tight speedo. They were worried at how long he’d been that way, with all the blood rushing to his head, so I had to climb up and cut him down.” I can’t fight the chuckle, knowing what comes next. “When I got up there, I realized his speedo was all caught up in the rope. Only way of getting untangled and down was to cut it off.”

  “Uh oh,” Jim says.

  “Hey! It was
probably the best moment of her career!” Mick chimes in.

  “That’s still to be determined. So, I pulled out the army knife I had shoved in my belt and did what I had to do. What I wasn’t factoring in was where I was positioned at the time. I was more focused on getting the poor guy down before he passed out. When I slit the knife through the speedo, the only thing that fell was his junk against my face. And did I mention he had a full-on erection?”

  Everyone bursts out laughing.

  “If you wouldn’t have been so hot, I wouldn’t have had a boner.”

  “You were hanging upside down about to fall and splatter your brains on the floor. Why would you even think to have a hard-on?”

  “You smelled good. And talked sweet to me.”

  Again, everyone bursts out laughing. Maybe one of the best stories ever. Needless to say, Poppy got him down, and after having the nerve to ask for her number, she didn’t even hesitate to give it to him.

  Poppy and Mick start going back and forth between who loves who more as we all sit back and enjoy their cute banter. Jim wraps his arms around my waist, placing his chin on my shoulder. “What did you want to be when you grew up?” he asks softy, so no one else can here.

  I take a minute, enjoying this little game we have going before I reply. “A circus acrobat,” I reply, feeling the rumble of his chest against mine.

  “For some reason, that answer does not shock me.”

  I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing. “My turn. What was the meaning of your first tattoo?”

  “It’s over my hip bone. Right here.” His fingers brush along my lower pelvic. “It’s a line of music symbols. A quote formatted from music notes. I got it shortly after Jameson died. A notation of chords translates into ‘If I die without scars, then I never truly lived.’ It seemed fitting at the time. Life, whether good or bad, is a battlefield, and if you come out of it unscathed, did you truly ever fight to live?” Holy poetic Batman. The meaning in it. So much truth. Life is hard. And it hurts sometimes, and not all paths lead to a safe travel home. But sometimes in pain comes flourishment. I’m not who I am today without the faint wounds of my own journey to get here. I want to wish my friends away and bask in this moment—just the two of us. Beg him to explain every other tattoo marking his beautiful body. “My turn.” Changing the topic, his voice sinks to a husky whisper. “Where would you like to go on date number two?”