Shark Bait (The Grab Your Pole Series)

by Cooksey, Jenn

  Yeah, at this point I’m pretty much regretting not having been rescued by Keith or struggling to save myself and I’m also praying that Jeff and Pete wouldn’t allow me to be alone with him if I might be in actual physical danger.

  I’m beginning to learn that God does answer all prayers, but there’s a caveat; you have to be really specific with what you pray for…

  With my blood marching in time through my head to the sound of its own thumping cadence and “Paralyzer” by Finger Eleven vaguely recognizable to my ears, Tristan slowly lowered me to my feet, so close to him that I swear you wouldn’t have been able to slide a single sheet of paper between us. One look at his face and I knew he was still irrationally emotional but some time in between beating the shit out of Zack and slamming the door, the pendulum had swung in the complete and total opposite direction from the all consuming fury it’d been at.

  And with that one look, I was right there with him. And let me tell you something, this was no tender meeting of lips by any means. It was wildly passionate and, I’ll be very honest here, rather violent. He broke the kiss for only the split second it took him to hastily pull his shirt over his head when my fervent attempts to remove it myself failed. No longer impeded, his mouth crashed down on mine again and through this one kiss, we proceeded to vent every single emotion we’d ever had for one another since the day we met.

  I have to admit as inappropriate as it might sound for this particular moment, I have a scene from Star Wars running through my head—the one where the Red Leader is telling Luke to “stay on target” when he’s about to blow up the Death Star. It’s there because I’m still really pissed at him, but I can’t seem to muster the will to keep us from where this is obviously going—and fast, and you and I both know damned well Tristan’s not going to stop. Seriously, I’m so caught up in sharing Tristan’s burning desire and zealous urgency, the sensation of my costume being torn from my body barely registered.

  Now would be an excellent time to describe for you what my costume actually looks like. It’s two pieces; the skirt is long and reaches my ankles, but it’s made of see-through, filmy strips of fabric rather than being all one piece, which means that when I walk, it separates showing both of my legs entirely. The waist rides very low on my hips and it has little gold coins on it that make a tinkling sound when I move. The top piece is similar to what a strapless bra looks like except it has a wider band that sits just above my ribcage, and again, little gold coins adorn it as well. Oh and since I’d bought it the same day as the thong and was trying to plan in advance, my costume is of course, black.

  Having entirely divested me of my skirt, Tristan had a hold of the back of my thigh, thereby keeping my leg around his waist, and he was about to lift my other leg around him with the intent of carrying me, willingly, to the bed. My delirium was so great; a hurricane ripping through the room wouldn’t have snapped rational thought back to me. The slight feeling of my phone slipping to the ground as my top began falling away did, though. I unwrapped the leg I had around his waist and managed to grab hold of my top with one hand, clutching it to me to keep from having my breasts completely exposed, while with my other hand, I shoved him away.

  Honestly, adrenaline is some freaking powerful stuff because Tristan is no lightweight by any stretch and he didn’t exactly let go of me willingly…and, he was most certainly unhappy about having to do so.

  “Goddamn it Camie!” He bellowed at me.

  “What the hell, Tristan?! Where do you get off yelling at me?!” I shouted back.

  “I think I’m pretty fuckin’ justified after you laid yourself out like a goddamned buffet for Pete and then let Zack paw at you all night!” He accused with disgust.

  “OH! You think that was bad? You’re such a fuckin’ hypocrite Tristan! So lemme get this straight, you have the right to throw a goddamned violent temper tantrum when anyone barely even touches me, but I’m supposed to just accept it when you decide to full-on make out with someone else?! Is that it?!” I yelled while gesturing emphatically with my one, free hand.

  “Ah FUCK! Who the fuck told you about that?!” He asked angrily.

  I almost got the impression that he’s mad at me for knowing, but I’m not sure. And I guess Jeff wasn’t kidding about Tristan being blind. I mean how could he not know that I knew about that after this week?

  “Does it honestly fucking matter? You should’ve been the one to tell me, you ignorant son of a bitch!” I hollered and shoved him in the chest again.

  “Oh, I’m gonna fuckin’ kill him,” he ground out between clenched teeth, his eyes flashing violence once more.

  After the argument they had, you know he’s thinking that Jeff told me, right? But no way am I letting Jeff take the blame for being the voice of reason that was completely ignored.

  “Okay, you wanna know who to blame for that, Tristan? Well, just look in a fucking mirror!” I shouted.

  “What the fuck does that mean?” He asked, his expression and body language declaring his earnest confusion.

  Unbelievable. He honestly doesn’t know.

  “I was there, Tristan. I saw the whole goddamned thing…” I informed him, the anguish of my memory practically choking me.

  He was stunned. There’s absolutely no other way to describe his comprehension.

  “No. You did not see that,” he said, barely shaking his head back and forth, as if the movement would somehow make his words come true.

  Jeff obviously wasn’t kidding about Tristan being in denial either…

  “Yeah, I did. And you know what? I really have to thank you for making one of my favorite treats nauseating to me now,” I shot at him, the added information about the role the licorice had played proving I really had been there.

  Without looking at me, Tristan resignedly raked a hand through his hair and said, “Oh my God.”

  He sat down on the edge of the bed and buried his head in his hands for several moments before finally, yet briefly looking up at me again. Then he closed his eyes and sighed in abject defeat. When he opened his eyes again this time, he seemed to become aware for the first time that I was holding my top to my chest. He bent down to pick up his shirt and then held it out for me. “Put it on.”

  I just stared at the shirt without making a move to accept it. “You know, I think I’d really rather get my own clothes and wear them for once.”

  “Uh-uh. No fucking way are you leaving this room. We’re gonna talk about this,” he told me firmly, sure in the knowledge that I’d bolt if I had the chance.

  I yanked the shirt from Tristan’s hand in frustration and just when I was about to tell him to close his eyes or something he said, “Seriously Camie, you’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me...”

  Then he stood up in irritation, grabbed the shirt back, and pulled my top from my hand—yeah, I know—then he tossed it on the bed and pulled his shirt over my head. It was a particularly uncomfortable and oddly exciting moment, for me at least, but neither of us acted on the sexual energy that was zapping at us. I think that’s mainly because I’m still pretty mad and he not only knows that, but I also think he’s feeling some form of remorse for his actions, although he still hasn’t uttered an apology of any kind.

  Then he sighed. “I didn’t know. I mean I thought...Christ, I was so fuckin’ blazed…”

  “That’s your excuse?” I asked somewhat incredulous. I mean I can understand that in small part, maybe, but I’m more bent about the fact that he never told me in the first place.

  “I didn’t say it was a good one…but honestly, Camie, I was so fuckin’ stoned that I actually thought she was you. Maybe if I’d been sober enough to think of looking at her when she first crawled onto me I would’ve known but...I was laying on the couch listening to my iPod and thinking about that day at the beach...so, when she kissed me, I guess I just went with it because I wanted it to be you. Then when I realized she wasn’t, I pushed her off me and then I went straight outside and threw myself in the goddamned pool to s
ober up,” he told me dismally and in a pleading way, he tugged at the hem of my shirt (his shirt, whatever). “I swear to God it was an accident, Camie. It didn’t mean anything, it didn’t,” he insisted softly, pulling me to him.

  I allowed him to draw me into a genuine hug. I couldn’t help myself and it felt so incredibly good just to have his arms wrapped around me that I almost forgot I was still mad. And I am actually still very angry with him so when he bent and lowered his head to kiss me, I turned my face away.

  “Why?” He asked, hurt that I’d shunned him.

  “Because I’m still really mad at you, Tristan, and when we kiss, everything else completely disappears. Do you know what I mean?” I asked him seriously.

  I know how I get when his lips are on me and even though it might not be the same for him, I’m not ready to get swept away right now. I haven’t forgiven him.

  “Oh hell yes. Everything fades away until nothing matters anymore, not even breathing. Everything around us, the entire world and every little thing in it vanishes and absolutely nothing matters except you and me,” he answered, giving his own startlingly accurate description of what happens when we kiss. Then he sat down on the bed again, but pulled me with him so I was cradled in his lap.

  “Why is that?” I’ve been wondering about this since the very first kiss and I’m thinking “he who knows his way around chicks better than anyone else “Dear Jeff” knows” will certainly have an answer to this simple quandary. I mean come on, he has to have kissed a bunch of girls and felt that before with at least some of them.

  He sighed, resting his forehead against mine. “I don’t know.”

  Jesus...my track record for being wrong is becoming disturbing.

  “Why not? Haven’t you ever experienced that before?” I asked as he gently brushed my hair from my face and gazed longingly into my eyes; the rawness of emotion swimming in his just about undid me.

  Also, in case you haven’t picked up on it, this is a very tender and open moment for us…it’s pretty freaking great. I mean it doesn’t change anything, but it’s wonderful nonetheless.

  Tristan seemed to find my query rather amusing however, and he started chuckling. “Fuck no. Camie, I’ve done a lot of stuff and I’ve done it all with a lot of girls and that’s definitely one thing that’s at the top of my Only Camie list. In fact, that’s what made me realize I wasn’t with you…”

  For some reason, I didn’t care for how blasé he’d said all that and I began to feel rigid again. The problem, though, was that Tristan didn’t notice my adverse reaction to his words.

  “I mean there were other things that were off too…she didn’t smell like you, she was built differently, she certainly didn’t taste like you, and when she unzipped my pants and wrapped her hand around me, I remember thinking it was a totally unexpected surprise coming from you...not that I was gonna complain or anything (Something inside me just snapped and now I’m irate.), but when I went to roll to my side with her, my earbuds got pulled out… I mean it was instant. All of a sudden I could actually hear everything around me and I knew right away she wasn’t you… Jesus, if that hadn’t happened, it would’ve been so much worse,” he finished, shaking his head in disbelief and not realizing his re-cap of what was very clearly a near miss in a sexual misadventure had smoke coming out of my ears.

  Now I’m fucking livid.

  “Huh. So, I’m curious…why did you stop?” I’m totally fuming fire and brimstone.

  “What?” Tristan asked like he’d misunderstood the question.

  “Well, I know it’s been probably what? Eight weeks or so since you fucked that cheerleader from Valhalla and you sure as hell weren’t getting anything from me, so why didn’t you just end your dry spell last Saturday? Unless of course there’ve been other girls I don’t know about, and let’s face it, you wouldn’t tell me even if there was,” I spewed venomously. I’m really so very out of my mind with anger right now that I want to hurt him.

  “What?! How the fuck do you know about her?” He asked, totally shocked and even a little angry now himself.

  I pushed myself off of his lap and glared hatefully at him. “Not from you, that’s for damned sure. And I’m guessing because you didn’t deny there having been others in the last two months, and much to your dismay, you know I wasn’t doing it for you, that’s why you didn’t feel the need to finish what that skank started last week. You know actually, you’re just as despicable as she is. Really, you guys should go out, you’re the perfect slutty couple. I mean that’s all you’re interested in anyhow…you proved that on our ‘date’,” I said, my voice dripping in scornfully noxious sarcasm.

  He stood up to face me and yelled, “Where the fuck is this coming from, Camie? I don’t know what the fuck you’re getting at here, but so we’re clear…I haven’t so much as looked at another goddamned person since I met you, I’ve never once pressured you, and that is NOT all I want from you!”

  I snatched my torn top from the bed, held it up and shouted, “NO?!”

  “Oh my God, Camie, you fucking know what that was about!” He shouted back at me.

  “Oh really?! You’re such a fuckin’ liar Tristan! Tell me what you really want from me…tell me what you wish I would do,” I said malevolently. I’m moving towards a dark place here and I know it, but I really don’t care right now.

  “What I wish? I wish you’d fuckin’ get over this and believe me! I am not only looking for sex!” He hollered.

  He sounds very angry again and I think even hurt, but I’m so not rational right now. On the contrary, I’m about to step into the deep and ugly rabbit hole of vulgarity…

  “Uh-huh…tell me Tristan, who’s the boat? Because if it’s me, I’ll need some gum,” I said with a callous sneer.

  That got his attention and not in a good way either. He narrowed his eyes at me and clenched his teeth, and I knew, without a single doubt, this was gonna be vicious…

  Tristan reached into the pocket of his jeans to retrieve a pack of gum, then he tossed at me and off kicked his shoes. Then, he started unbuttoning his pants. He stopped abruptly with the zipper more than halfway down and almost like it was an afterthought and he was just trying to be considerate, he said, “Oh, did you wanna be the one to do this?”

  I threw the gum back at him and I swear you could’ve choked on the vile and rancorous atmosphere swirling around us.

  He caught the gum in one hand, threw it aside and then said vindictively, “Okay, I can be the boat…I’m more than good with that, but I won’t need the gum.”

  I was standing there, already shaking with rage, when he went one step further… The surround system is wired for the entire house so music’s been playing the entire time and when he recognized the song coming in through the speakers, he cocked his head to the side slightly, listening to it or considering it in some way, and then cruelly he said, “Hey, you hear that? They’re playing your song.”

  At the exact same time Tristan said it, Mike opened the door with his hands over his eyes so he wouldn’t see something he shouldn’t and said, “Don’t mind me, I just gotta get something…”

  Understanding that Tristan had just called me a bitch, because the song that’s playing is “Bitch” by Meredith Brooks, I spit out contemptuously, my voice full of acid, “Go to hell.”

  Then, just as I turned and started for the door, Tristan infused his chivalrous words with icy coldness and said, “Ladies first.”

  Mike was just standing there in stunned silence looking back and forth between us when I left the room. I didn’t run in my escape, but...maybe I should’ve. I would’ve at least gotten farther than the game room before I heard the thunder of Tristan’s roar. Without looking back to see if he was coming after me, I picked up the pace but he caught up to me so fast that I didn’t even get three feet into the game room that still was crowded with people.

  All of a sudden his arms were around my waist and I was in a vice-like grip, my arms trapped to my sides as he lifted me
from the floor. This time, I did try to struggle. It was a valiant effort on my part but it really didn’t do any good. The power of my substantial fury was no match for Tristan’s even more considerable physical strength. Plus, out of the corner of my eye, I saw that our host had caught up to us.

  So, while I writhed and thrashed about, Mike abetted my captor by saying, “Move along folks, nothing to see here…” and with a large box of condoms in one hand, he began waving back all the people who were staring, gawking and snapping pictures; ultimately obliging Tristan with a clear path as he manhandled me back towards the room.

  “Let go of me!” I demanded furiously.

  “No, goddamn it! We’re gonna fuckin’ talk about this if it takes us all goddamned night!” He growled.

  With that declaration and remembering what Mike was waving about, I’m thinking I have just as long a night ahead of me as Kristen must...

  19.

  Single Or Double Digits?

  Once back in the room, Tristan slammed the door shut and I started to rail at him again.

  “You are a fucking ASSHOLE!” I screamed at him.

  I should mention that he’s completely blocking the door too or I would’ve tried to fly again. He’s also surprisingly calm.

  “Yeah, and you were being a fuckin’ bitch, Camie,” he told me in a normal tone of voice. Honestly, it’s like he’s done a complete one-eighty from where he was just minutes ago.

  Instead of using words to attack him this time, I went the physical route and started hitting him. Not in the face, though. I tried, but he caught my wrist before I could make contact. Other than that, he’s letting me wale on him without trying to defend himself in the slightest.

  “You can beat the shit outta me for hours, Camie, verbally or otherwise, but I’m not gonna hit back again...that was way over the top. You just came at me really fuckin’ hard and it was gut instinct, but I won’t go there again even if you do. I don’t know how you heard what I said and I know Jeff’s not stupid enough to tell you or anyone else, but you need to understand it had absolutely nothing to do with you,” he told me very rationally, patiently taking the beating I’m giving him. I’m fighting tears now too, though.