Shark Bait (The Grab Your Pole Series)

by Cooksey, Jenn

  Tristan: I plead the fifth.

  Tristan’s Dad: Well done son.

  Jeff: Ditto!

  Tristan’s Mom: Don’t encourage him.

  Tristan: Gee, thanks Mom.

  Tristan’s Dad: Can’t a father be proud of his only child?

  Tristan’s Mom: He doesn’t need your help…obviously.

  Tristan’s Dad: That’s because he takes after me.

  Tristan: Was there anything else I can do for you two?

  Tristan’s Mom: Tell her I tried to get the stains out, but I’m afraid they set in before I got to it.

  Tristan: I’m sure she’ll appreciate your effort, but if I’m any judge (and I’d like to think I am) its size has caused it to become obsolete and she needs to trade up.

  Jeff: I’m so proud.

  Tristan: Thanks man.

  Tristan’s Mom: A name would be nice you know.

  Tristan: Camie.

  Tristan’s Mom: Do we get to meet her?

  Tristan: Sure. I’ll have my people call your people and set it up.

  Tristan’s Mom: I don’t know why I bother. Do you want anything from the store?

  Tristan: Yeah, Camie’s sleeping over tonight and I promised her bacon and eggs for breakfast. Jeff’s got the eggs covered but could you pick up some bacon for us and maybe a box of Twinkies for the bus? Thanks, you’re the best.

  Jeff: I have the eggs covered?

  Tristan’s Dad: He gets his sense of humor from you.

  Tristan’s Mom: Flattery will get you everywhere. How would you like your eggs prepared dear?

  Okay, so how the hell am I supposed to respond to this? This has been a running conversation for two freaking weeks! And no one seems to think there’s anything odd about the fact that some random girl’s bra is hanging on the wall! Oh! Not to mention “Dear Jeff’s” involvement… I’m at a loss. Honestly, I think it’s time for me to just throw in the towel and join the Dark Side because it’s glaringly obvious I don’t stand a chance. I feel like I’m being assimilated by The Borg in Star Trek. And no, I never did figure out what Pete said but after having it in my head, I couldn’t help watching an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation on Netflix…

  Anyhow, shifting the kittens and holding them in one hand, I added my own message to the outrageously politically incorrect whiteboard that said:

  Me: If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I prefer mine sunny-side up. Thanks Mrs. D., you’re the best. (I know his mom was being sarcastic about the whole thing, but I just couldn’t resist.)

  A little ways away from that somewhat disturbing to my equanimity dialogue is another, except this one has nothing to do with me or my underwear. I think it’s funny, though, so I’ll share… Hanging on another thumbtack is a Ziploc bag with what I can only assume is marijuana inside and here’s what has been said regarding it:

  Tristan’s Mom: What’s this?

  Tristan: Oregano.

  Tristan’s Mom: Clearly.

  Tristan: I swear, I’m only holding it for a friend.

  Tristan’s Dad: I didn’t know that Jeff is Italian.

  Jeff: I bake too.

  Tristan’s Dad: In the immortal words of Bill Clinton, “I never inhaled.”

  Jeff: Nice!

  Tristan: Hey Mom, can you pick up some brownie mix with the bacon and Twinkies? Thanks, you’re the best.

  Tristan’s Mom: Just clean up your mess in the kitchen and don’t drive.

  I know he said he doesn’t have many rules, but Tristan’s parents put my parents’ cool factor to shame, don’t you think?

  After reading and making my contribution to what I’m going to call “The Wall of Infamy,” I wandered over and plopped down on the foot of the bed, setting the kittens next to me. Tristan came back in with all the rest of the supplies and then we got down to the business of setting up their stuff. The first thing was to introduce them to the litter box, which Tristan had wisely put in his bathroom. Then we fed them. Seeing as how the kittens were frantic over the food, I’m thinking that maybe they were closer to starving than I’d thought before. Either that or they’re closely related to voracious Compy dinosaurs.

  “So what do you wanna name ‘em?” Tristan asked while he put together a small climbing apparatus.

  “Well, I’ve been giving that some serious thought and I think the black and white one (It has four white paws, a small white patch on its chest and white whiskers…other than that, it’s all black.) should be Phineas an—”

  “Lemme guess, the black one would be Nigellus,” he interrupted, referring to a character from Harry Potter who had the last name of Black.

  I ripped open a package of little catnip filled mice. “Um, no, but that’s pretty good too. I was thinking Ferb.”

  “From the cartoon?” He asked with a sarcastic smile. Even though Phineas and Ferb is a kid show, I think it’s pretty witty and fun. Plus it has a really catchy theme song that always gets stuck in my head if I’m not careful.

  “Yeah, I like it. Do you wanna tease me about that now or wait until later?” I’m pretty positive that if he doesn’t tease me now, it’ll go in his arsenal for a later time.

  “No, I’ll wait. But um, Camie…I think these are girl kittens.” No wonder they purr so much around him.

  “So? I don’t think they’ll mind too much. After all, this is something I have a little experience with you know,” I said, scratching behind the kittens’ ears as they plowed through their food and getting a good laugh out of Tristan.

  “Okay, kitty condo is built. Did you get their toys unwrapped?”

  “Yep, all done.” I waved a wand with a feather and a bell attached to it as proof that I hadn’t been slacking on my assigned parental duty.

  After they ate their fill, we played with them on the floor until one by one, they passed out. Tristan glanced at the alarm clock by his bed and said, “Okay, we’ve got a little over an hour before you have to be home…unless of course you wanna change your mind about sleeping over.”

  I looked at the teasing yet hopeful grin on his face. “Oh, why not…seeing as how I already put my order in for room service.”

  “What?” He asked, not having noticed my addition to the board.

  I stood up, walked over to it and pointed. “Tristan, this whole thing is about as normal as my twelve year old sister knowing how to disassemble and reassemble weaponry.”

  He got up and came over to read what I wrote and then started cracking up. When he finished laughing, he instigated tonight’s third heat of the new Olympic game that’s sweeping the nation—“Teenage Pairs Smooching.” In this round of the event however, a small costume adjustment resulted in a new technical element being introduced to our routine. I don’t know how I managed to stay standing for as long as I did, but maybe Tristan was supporting my weight or something because this kiss totally put the extreme in my analogy of kissing him being an extreme sport. It also made my legs feel like they were made of Jell-O. I think he might’ve realized that too because he moved backwards towards the bed, taking me with him. Although, it was completely my fault that we both ended up without shirts before he pulled me down on top of him on the bed.

  I honestly don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I’m going to blame the over-active and under-used hormones that are running rampant right now because it almost seems like I’m trying to make up for lost time or something. Oh and Tristan is no longer concerned with spooking me nor is he content with keeping his hands occupied with my back and hair. I found that out immediately and in a variety of ways, but that’s also when he discovered that I’d held up my end of the “Black Thong Bargain”—that kind of sounds like a 60 Minutes exposé, doesn’t it?

  I didn’t even give it a second thought when his hands slipped under the soft waistband of my pants, but I certainly noticed when he hooked his thumbs and index fingers under each side of the satin encased elastic of my surprisingly comfy undergarment, raised it, and then let it snap sharply back into place.

&n
bsp; “Ow!” I yelped and looked at him in consternation. It mostly took me by surprise but it honestly did sting a bit too.

  He lifted his eyebrows once quickly and had the most wicked grin on his face when he asked, “Black?”

  “What do you think?” I retorted and noticed his eyes.

  They were such a beautiful, deep-dark blue that I could honestly drown in them and not care one bit that I’d died. Seriously, I’m glad it’s customary to kiss with your eyes closed because if I had to see his face during all of this, I’m pretty positive I wouldn’t have stopped at just getting rid of our shirts.

  This is what’s going through my mind when Tristan asked, “Can I see it?”

  O. M. G.

  Immediately, a little angel and a little devil popped into my head and started arguing, but the angel won and so chuckling to myself I said, “No.”

  “Why not?” He’s now playing with the elastic like he’s about to snap it again.

  “For starters because I only said I’d wear it, not that you’d get to see it. Secondly, you didn’t say please. And lastly, I swear if you snap the freaking elastic one more time, I’m outta here…so don’t push your luck, just be happy with what you’ve got.”

  Instantly, I felt him gently lower the bands and then pat them in place. His hands are still under my pants and on my bare butt though…

  “Okey dokey, I can do that,” he said with another sinful smile.

  Then Tristan flipped me onto my back, reached over me to set his alarm clock and then proceeded to be thoroughly happy—or maybe a better word would be ecstatic—with what he had.

  At one point however, I had to remind him of his boundaries when his hands made their way to the clasp of my bra. It’s new, it matches the thong, and I’d kind of like to wear it more than once before it ends up hanging on a thumbtack. It was a lot easier to do than I thought it’d be too…all I had to do was mumble a very distracted “mm-mm.” He relented but growled at me a little in the process. I don’t know why it mattered so much though…seriously; it’s not like a thin layer of satin serves as an effective barrier.

  Honestly, where does the time go? I have to wonder about that because about thirty minutes later, Tristan’s alarm clock started blaring. He blindly reached for it and hit the snooze button—which I’m now re-naming the “you may continue button”—giving us approximately nine more minutes to engage in what has come to remind me of as a full-body contact sport. When the alarm went off the second time, though, it was accompanied by both his phone alarm and mine, which means the party’s over for realsies this time. He rolled onto his back, covered his head with a pillow and muttered his frustrated complaints into it. I think he said something about f-ing daylight savings time and that all curfews should be banned among other things.

  With the absence of his body heat to keep me warm, I shivered when the air hit my damp skin. I say damp because it got a little warm and I was perspiring. Okay fine, that’s a lie. If you must know, his mouth has been doing laps over almost every inch of my bare skin like a member of NASCAR. Anyhow, that’s when I realized it would be a good time to locate my shirt and put it back on. The only problem was…I couldn’t find it.

  “Are you freaking kidding me with this?” I grumbled, scanning the floor. I mean really, am I destined to have some kind of clothing mishap every time I’m around him?

  I was hanging over the side of the bed thinking that maybe my shirt had found its way underneath when all of a sudden; I felt Tristan’s warm breath on the small of my back, just seconds before he softly kissed the base of my spine right above where a strip of black satin was peeking out from the waist of my pants. The goose bumps I already had turned into hills as a tingling shot of heat went streaking through me.

  “I like it, it matches. Oh, that reminds me…”

  I felt him fiddle with my bra and looked up over my shoulder to see him refastening one of the hooks. Damn, the dexterity and nimbleness of this guy’s fingers is frightening. I didn’t even realize he’d been that close to undoing the thing in the first place.

  “Well you know how I feel about clashing,” I told he who’s now kissing my back thereby sending waves of heat through my body with much force as my blood started to rush to my head from hanging upside down. The combination of which, I must say, is an odd sensation.

  “What are you doing down there?” He asked, stretching out halfway over me like he was getting in a comfy position so he could maintain lip to back contact.

  “Looking for my damned shirt! It’s disappeared…totally vanished! How can that even be possible? I mean, does the cosmos have it in for my clothes or something? Seriously Tristan, why does almost every night I’m around you end with me being in want of some form of apparel?” I asked out of pure frustration.

  He was laughing against my back but he managed a reply just the same. “Maybe the cosmos agrees with my theory that you wear too many clothes.”

  “Ugh, you’re impossible. Come on, the witching hour is at hand and I don’t think you’d care to be shot tonight.” I grabbed the shirt he’d been wearing earlier and pulled it over my head. “And I certainly won’t be happy if I get grounded.”

  While Tristan wandered into his closet for another shirt, I used his bathroom and tidied up my hair again. When I was done, I found my flip-flops and hurriedly took one last look around his bed to see if the cosmos had had second thoughts about my shirt, all the while wondering how I was going to explain why I was coming home in a boy’s clothes. Again. I guess I’ll just go with the same excuse as I had the night of Mike’s party, which was basically the truth; I got a drink spilled all over me and Tristan was gentleman enough to surrender his shirt because mine was no longer appropriate for me to be seen in. You know, I figure telling my parents I spilled soda on myself at the movies will go over umpteen times better than saying “Oh, well Tristan and I were making out in his bedroom, see, and I decided I just had to be able to run my hands all over the taught skin of his marvelous torso and I figured if he was going to be shirtless, then it was only fair that I was too, but it’s the damnedest thing...I couldn’t find my shirt in the mess we’d made of his bed, so, you know...”

  Tristan drove me home and on the way, we made tentative plans to meet up tomorrow night. They had to be tentative because neither of us knew where the good party was going to be yet. Actually, the first thing he asked was if I wanted to go back to the beach with him and Jeff tomorrow afternoon. I had to decline though; I’m going to a family bar-b-q at Derek’s house. I’m thinking that because he wants to see me again so soon, that tonight was a success on both sides. I mean it was for me obviously, but that doesn’t automatically mean he feels the same way.

  Because we lagged leaving his place, he actually had to drive pretty fast to make it to my house on time and he got me to my door with just two minutes to spare. Since I was technically home, I made a judgment call and pulled Tristan over to sit on our porch swing with me. Okay, so I’m being kind of a rebellious brat, but it’s such a pretty night and I’m trying to keep the magic going any way I can. He and I just sat there, swinging together, looking at the stars and talking for about thirty minutes before a light in the house came on. We gave each other one last kiss then I scurried inside and he drove away.

  I met my dad at the top of the stairs and said defiantly, “I was home at 11:58.”

  “I know you were. Anyone with half a brain would recognize the sound of the small block that boy’s got in there, although I’m glad to see he didn’t take you out in that VW of his,” my dad said with a knowingly raised eyebrow.

  Well, so much for keeping that a secret—he must’ve seen Tristan drop me off last weekend. “And I’m not here to argue semantics with you either but do me a favor sweetie, lemme at least meet the boy before you spend half the night on the porch swing with him,” he finished, looking at me fondly.

  “Okay. I’m sorry Daddy,” I replied heavy with guilt and hugged him.

  I was all keyed up for an arg
ument but my dad wasn’t upset at all. And he has a point; he really should get to meet the guy who wants to date his teenage daughter. At some point I’m going to have to tell him about the age thing too. He deserves to know the truth.

  “Honey, I think I have a pretty good idea of what you’re goin’ through. After all, that’s the same porch swing your mom and I spent many a night in high school swingin’ on and fallin’ in love with each other…it’s also the same one she was sittin’ on when she told me she’d marry me. Your Grandma and Grandpa Cameron gave it to us as a wedding present,” my dad told me with a dreamy look on his face before we said goodnight and he went back to his room and my mom.

  Did you notice that he didn’t even try to tell me I’m too young to fall in love? Wow. I guess my dad’s a total romantic, huh? You know, my parents might not be as lenient as Tristan’s but I’d bet Kate’s dad’s life savings that they love each other as much as his if not more.

  I started moving towards my room when my dad suddenly stopped at the other end of the hallway and turned back around. “You wearin’ the boy’s shirt again?”

  Nope. Definitely not as lenient. “Oh. Yeah...I’m a klutz...I tripped going down the stairs after the movie and spilled soda all over myself. Tristan had an extra shirt in the trunk.”

  “He’s quite the boy scout, ain’t he?”

  I smiled a little and shrugged. Then something occurred to me. “Oh crap, I just realized I left my shirt in his car again...”

  Yeah I know. I’m a liar and a horrible daughter.

  16.

  A Piece Of Red Licorice

  I woke up Saturday morning to the melodic sound of Faith Hill’s voice. It automatically made my blood sizzle and all the nerve endings in my body tingle at the memories it evoked in me. I scrambled out of bed trying to grab my phone before it stopped ringing on the off chance I might get to hear the sound of Tristan’s voice on the other end. He’s never actually called to talk to me but I can hope, right? Looking at the screen, I discovered I’ll have to continue to hope but I’m not too disappointed because instead of a text, it’s a picture message. I smiled and caught myself speaking baby talk at the picture of Phineas and Ferb sleeping sprawled on top of each other.