Shark Bite

by K L Montgomery

  We all laugh. Megan tugs on Sadie’s long blonde braid. “Sure you can.”

  “I’m gonna be Tiger,” Ollie declares. “What about you, Max?”

  “As long as it doesn’t have to do with my hair.” He folds his arms over his chest, and his bottom lip pooches out defiantly.

  “You can be a tough animal,” Walt suggests. “I’m a veterinarian, you know. So I know all about tough animals. Are you fast? Strong? Are you a good hunter?”

  “I’m fast,” Max says. “Really fast.”

  “Then we’ll call you Cheetah.” He playfully punches Max’s skinny bicep. “How does that sound, dude?”

  “I like it! I’m Cheetah!” Max declares, pounding his chest like a gorilla. Okay, wrong animal, but he’s happy, so I’m happy too. The kid is smiling so wide, it looks like his face might crack. From what he told me at our last soccer practice/ice cream date, that Alex Barnes kid is still harassing him at school. So Max needs all the support and confidence he can get.

  Megan and I herd the kids over to a table as far away from the bar as possible, and Walt goes over to talk to the captain of the other team. My stomach is rumbling, and I really want a beer, but I know it wouldn’t be right to drink it in front of the kids, so I make up my mind to abstain.

  “I’m hungry!” Sadie whines as soon as she settles herself down in one of the plastic patio chairs. “Is there gonna be food?”

  “Yes, give them a few minutes to get everything set up, okay?” Megan points over to the buffet table where servers are filling giant vats with what looks like macaroni and cheese and chicken fingers and some sort of potatoes.

  Then there’s a commotion at the other end of the room where Walt and the other team were talking. In a flash, a naked man goes streaking by our table, and even though we’re outside, a surge of screams and shrieks fills the air like a whole fleet of ambulance sirens. With cat-like reflexes, Megan whips her hand out to cover Sadie’s eyes before the man’s stark white butt is seen jogging back to the other side of the room. Megan’s mouth is hanging wide open when she swings her eyes over to me. She doesn’t even have to ask—the question “What the hell was that?” is written all over her face.

  The naked man disappears into a swarm of his teammates and emerges seconds later with clothes on. I breathe a sigh of relief.

  “Why was that guy naked?” Sadie’s mouth spews out as soon as her eyes are uncovered.

  “He was really hairy!” Max exclaims, looking from me to Megan and back again.

  “His dingaling was flopping around all over the place,” Ollie adds to the conversation.

  “Enough!” Megan seethes, her eyes stabbing into me. “Shark, what was that about? And can we expect any additional displays of nudity at this social?”

  “He must have gotten his zulu today,” I tell her.

  “What does that mean?” Her jaw is clenched so tight, it looks like it might snap.

  “When someone scores their first try, it’s called a zulu warrior. They’re supposed to make a lap around the field or the social naked,” I explain. She doesn’t look thrilled with that explanation, so I keep talking, “I’ll go remind them that we have kids here.”

  “Thank you.” She shakes her head and looks at our charges protectively. “Tell them no songs until we’re gone, okay?”

  I nod and head over to where Walt is still chatting with our opponents. Meanwhile, Megan rounds up the troops and marches them over to the table with the food, supervising them as they pile their plates with the steaming vittles. Hopefully they’ll soon be in food comas and will forget their eyes were assaulted with that naked dude’s schlong flopping in the breeze as he ran around the room.

  “Hey, what were you guys thinking?” I ask Walt and the other team’s captain as they’re conferring about the Man of the Match honors. “We have kids here, you know!”

  “Oh, man, sorry about that.” Walt pats me on the back. “I wasn’t even thinking about them being here.”

  I suck in a breath to keep myself from saying something I might regret later. “Don’t worry, we’ll be out of your hair as soon as the kids eat.”

  “Okay, see you at practice next week.” He grins at me and starts to turn back toward the other ruggers, but then pivots to face me. “Oh, I almost forgot. Will you tell Megan to come say hi before she leaves? I have something of hers out in my car, and she might want it back.”

  As soon as the words leave his mouth, my entire body ignites like I’ve been doused with gasoline and set aflame. The heat shoots up my spine and burns my sinuses, practically threatening to shoot steam out my nose. This must be what a fire-breathing dragon feels like, I think as my gaze sweeps up my friend. “Sure thing,” is all I manage to push out between my clenched teeth as I make my way back over to the table where Megan is settling the kids down with their dinners.

  So Megan left something at his house, then? That shouldn’t bother me. I have no right to be bothered by that, but I am.

  Clearly.

  The heat that just dominated my body is no joke. There’s no way I can deny how bothered I am that she must have spent the night at Walt’s house after their last date. And she didn’t say a word to me about him. Not one word. I wonder if she knows how infuriating I find it.

  Even though I have no right to have any opinion on it whatsoever.

  I slam my ass down in the seat and suck in a breath. The kids are chowing down and seem happy, so I try to pick up some of their vibes.

  “Aren’t you going to eat?” she asks as she stabs a chicken finger with her fork and dips it in some ketchup.

  “No. I’m not hungry.”

  I was hungry three minutes ago.

  She leans down and whispers in my ear, “Oh, sorry. Is everything okay?”

  “Walt wants to see you before we go. He says he has something of yours.”

  Her eyebrows draw together in confusion as she stuffs the bite of chicken in her mouth and starts to chew, her forehead still wrinkled like she’s trying to uncover the mystery of what Walt might have of hers. I have this sinking feeling it’s her underwear. Or bra. How is she going to sneak the latter into my truck without the kids noticing? She doesn’t exactly have small boobs, so it’s not a dainty little bra, I’m sure of it. Did Walt even think about that?

  What if he asks her to ride back to Delaware with him?

  I spend the next twenty minutes making up all sorts of unsavory scenarios while Megan and the kids finish up their dinners and clean up their places. She encourages all the kids to use the restroom so we won’t have to stop on the way home. If they’re anything like I was when I was a kid, with their full bellies, and after being out in the sun all day, they’ll catch some zzzzzs all the way back to Rehoboth Beach.

  16

  Shark is busy getting the kids settled in his truck while I cross the lot to where Walt’s BMW is parked. “Here.” He hands me the cardigan sweater I must have left in his car when we went to the charity dinner the other day.

  “Oh, right, wow, forgot I was even wearing this!” I watch the way the dipping afternoon sun sets his dark complexion aglow and glints in his brown eyes.

  “You were hot on the way home, remember? You asked me to crank up the AC?”

  “Right. I remember now.” I had already blocked quite a bit of last night out of my mind, come to think of it. I’m staring into Walt’s eyes, but across the parking lot, the strains of “Don’t You Forget About Me” from The Breakfast Club soundtrack are carried on the wind. When I turn my head, I see that Shark has rolled down his truck windows, and he and the kids are singing along to the song. It’s too adorable for words.

  “So when can I see you again?” Walt lifts my chin with his finger and directs my gaze back to him.

  A lump forms in my throat as I take in his penetrating stare. I want to feel something for him. My mind is begging my body to get her act together and to go into swoon-mode for this perfect specimen of a man. He’s smart, refined, worldly, successful, and that damn British
accent! It should drench my panties! I grip the cardigan closer to my body, and the wind rustles my hair against my shoulders as the song continues to carry from Shark’s truck to my ears. The realization hits me that I just don’t feel what I should be feeling for Walt, what I wish I were feeling. And I can’t make myself feel it.

  He hasn’t even really tried to kiss me.

  Maybe he’s too much of a gentleman for me?

  That first night I met Shark, the chemistry between us was undeniable. Sparks were flying. It was no surprise that I ended up at his place that night.

  At the rate Walt and I are going, maybe we might hold hands by Thanksgiving and have our first kiss by Hanukkah?

  “I’m so busy with the carnival right now,” I tell him. “It’s only two weeks away…”

  “Right… I know you’re working really hard on that.” He forces a smile.

  “There are a lot of details to finalize. So maybe after the carnival?” I look up at him with hope in my eyes—hope he’ll accept my excuse. The song leaking out of Shark’s truck fades, and “Total Eclipse of the Heart” starts up in its place. I can’t help but turn in that direction again to see if they’re still singing along.

  Something comes out of Walt’s mouth that’s a cross between a huff and a grunt. “Okay, well, guess I’ll talk to you later, then.”

  It’s not a question, more of a resignation. I bite my lip, hating that I’ve disappointed him. Maybe I’ll feel differently in a couple weeks. It’s not a bridge I want to burn, especially not this close to the carnival because I need his help. Maybe I’m too stressed to feel what I should be feeling for him. Maybe I’m too hung up on Shark.

  Even though being hung up on him at all is completely and utterly pointless.

  Right?

  Once we get all three kids back to their respective homes, Shark pulls his truck into my driveway. It’s hard for me not to remember the last time he was here, the night I showed him the photo albums with pictures of us when we were little. It did not go as I expected. Actually—maybe it did. Maybe I knew all along he’d be weirded out by our history together.

  “Man, those kids are something else, aren’t they?” he asks as he shuts off his truck. I catch him staring out his windshield—the gleam in his eyes almost having a wistful cast to it.

  I laugh, an image of the three of them talking about “flachu-lance” popping into my head. “They sure are. At least they didn’t talk about farts all the way home.”

  “Music,” he says. “Once I got them singing along, they were so into it. Their parents listen to the same music apparently. I swear Ollie knew every word to ‘Should I Stay or Should I Go.’”

  Hmm. Appropriate song for what’s happening right now. I take off my seat belt and open the door. “Do you want to come in?”

  He doesn’t answer my question; instead he asks, “What did Walt want to give you?”

  The air is sucked right out of my lungs when I realize his tone is tinged with jealousy. He’s jealous of Walt? I don’t know why, but that realization shoots a tingle right up my spine.

  I don’t answer—two can play at the not answering questions game. If he wants to know, he can follow me inside. I tucked the cardigan into my purse as soon as Walt handed it to me—it’s a flimsy little sheer black thing that went over my LBD—so he has no idea what the exchange at Walt’s car was about, but apparently his curiosity is piqued.

  “Megan,” he calls after me as I step up onto my porch.

  “Come inside,” I bait him, “and I’ll tell you. And we can have a drink.”

  He gives a half eyeroll and steps up next to me, the manly smell of sweat leftover from the game filtering through my nose. He’s got mud on his shins and a streak of dirt above his left eyebrow. “I don’t want to get your place dirty.”

  “I have a shower,” I remind him. “Two, in fact.”

  “I shouldn’t stay long.” He follows me into the house, and when I throw a glance at him over my shoulder as I shut the door behind him, it looks like he’s waiting for me to up the ante, give him a reason to stay. A reason to grab his clean clothes and take a shower, make himself presentable for me.

  I don’t hesitate once the door is closed, walking right into the kitchen and pulling open the cabinet that houses my liquor. “What do you want? Whiskey? Tequila?”

  “I’m not picky.” He climbs up on one of the barstools and puts his elbows on the table. His tattoos are caked with dirt too, but his hands have been scrubbed clean, so at least there’s that. I have a sudden flashback of holding his hand when we were young, when he was Shay-Shay and I was Meggie. His hand was small, like mine. Now they’re so big, with tendons and veins popping off them, and his dark hair starting at the wrist, except for a few patches on his knuckles. Who would have thought that little boy’s hands would grow into those big mitts attached to those huge, hulking, tattoo-covered muscles?

  I pour a couple fingers of whiskey into two glasses and then top them off with some lemonade I had in the fridge. “Here ya go.” I push one toward him.

  “Whiskey and lemonade, good combo.” He takes a sip and makes an “ahhh” sound of refreshment afterwards as the sour flavors spark on his tongue.

  Thinking about his tongue…

  Is going to get me in trouble.

  I open my purse and pull out the little black shrug I wore last night to the charity dinner. “This is what Walt returned to me.” When I drop it onto the counter in a tiny, sheer, black ball, I realize it looks like it could be lingerie. So I stretch it out and show him. “He escorted me to a charity thing.”

  “Oh,” is all Shark says. I see a question of why Walt and not him dance in his eyes, even though we both know the answer.

  Walt is the archetypal “good boy.” And that makes Shark…

  “Sorry, it’s none of my business,” he grunts before sucking down a good portion of his whiskey. He stands up and stretches his arms over his head, showing off those muscles, those tattoos. I see the tail of the shark on his bicep come into view when the sleeve of his shirt rides up. And I see a peek of his lower abdomen, the delicious V that disappears into his shorts, and it looks like he’s gotten even more ink since we were together two years ago.

  Yes, that makes him the bad boy…I guess.

  “Hey…” I don’t like the troubled look in his eye. “I think Walt and I are just friends. There doesn’t seem to be any chemistry there…” I reiterate the thoughts I had earlier.

  His nostrils flare as his gaze rakes down my body and then back up to meet my eyes. “He’s a great guy. A real catch.”

  I shrug. “Doesn’t make any difference if there’s no spark, right?”

  Unlike whatever this is between us. It’s almost strong enough to cause a storm, these electrical charges swirling between us. The hairs on the back of my neck are standing on end, waiting to see what his next move will be.

  Could I ever convince him he’s not a bad boy? That he could be a relationship guy—if he had the right girl? One who understands him…maybe the one who has known him since almost the beginning?

  “Megan…” his voice is a growl again, like it’s irritating him to hear I’m not into his friend.

  I think about how I changed careers in my mid-thirties, about how I convinced myself that going after what I wanted was the only way to build a happy life for myself. Why is this any different? I’ve wanted to have a man in my life, a partner, someone I could confide in and snuggle with and who might rub my back or make breakfast for me on occasion. And in return I have so much to give—like cringeworthy puns and the best hugs and, well, I’m pretty enthusiastic about other things a lot of guys seem to like… But I always thought everything needed to be on my terms.

  Why can’t I meet Shark where he is right now? Be what he wants right now, and maybe something more will come of it? And if not, maybe I’ll meet someone else. Hanging out with Shark, even if it doesn’t go anywhere, doesn’t prevent me from meeting someone like Walt—like him, but someone I ha
ve a spark with, of course.

  “I watched you with the kids today, you know.” I walk around the corner to where he’s still standing beside the barstool. He seems to bristle as I grow closer. Oh, look at me, scaring the big bad rugby player. “You’d make a great dad, Shark. I know you don’t want to hear that, and I know you didn’t have the best example, but you would. You are so good with Max. He idolizes you—”

  “Megan,” he says my name again, and he’s not any less perturbed than the other times he’s said it tonight.

  “I don’t know what happened to you after you left Delaware,” I continue, “but I know it changed you. And that’s okay. You turned out to be a good person. Successful. Smart. Strong.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” His nostrils flare again as he sucks in a breath, like my words are painful to hear.

  “Because I think you sell yourself short sometimes. I know you don’t think you can take over your family business, but I think you can, Shark.” I clear my throat. “No, I know you can. I can help. Whatever you need. I don’t want that legacy to be taken away from you.”

  Okay, so I’d planned on attacking his lips with my own, but once again my big mouth just has to go off on its own tangent before I can wrangle it back under control. Story of my life.

  He shakes his head. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

  “But I want to. All you have to do is open up. I want to help.” I reach out and lay my hands flat on his chest, feeling the well-defined boundaries of his firm pectoral muscles under my fingertips.

  I expect him to back away from my touch, but he doesn’t. He closes his eyes and sucks in a deep breath, his chest rising and falling under my palms as I move ever closer to him. I remember what it felt like to put my head on his shoulder when we were on Meric and Lindy’s sofa a couple of weeks ago. Incredible is how it felt. My head inches closer to that spot, and I start to wrap my arms around his waist.

  “Don’t,” comes the gruff voice again. “I’m still sweaty from the game.”