by Erin Noelle
She slaps away my hand and crosses her arms over her boobs, lifting her eyebrows. “Mhmm, just like you helped whoever was in your room last night?”
Despite her attempt to hide the hurt in her voice with a joking tone, I know she’s upset because she thinks I took someone back to my place after I vanished from dinner, and typically, I wouldn’t really care—I answer to no one. But she’s different.
“I’m not sure what you think happened last night, Bristol,” I lean forward, lightly rubbing my nose against hers, “but it didn’t. I told you yesterday afternoon what I wanted to do to you, and I’ve been patiently waiting for your answer.”
“But I heard you,” she argues, her anger from earlier reappearing. “I know you had someone else the—”
I gently place my finger over her lips to shush her. “Please let me explain. I promise I won’t lie to you. Ever. I may be a dick most of the time, but never a liar.”
Her expression softens and she relaxes in my arms, nodding to give me the go-ahead to speak. “When I returned to my cottage last night after dinner, I opened the door to find a five foot snake hanging out in the middle of my room, looking at me like I was in the wrong place. So naturally, I did what every normal guy would do and I screamed like a little bitch,” she giggles, “as I ran all the way back up to the office to tell them about it. One of the ladies who works here—I guess she’s the resident snake-wrangler or something—came back and removed it for me. That was it. Even afterwards, I must admit I didn’t sleep too well; I kept waking up thinking the snake had returned to reclaim its room or something.”
“A snake-wrangler?” she titters. “You know how that sounds, right?”
I tenderly kiss across her jawbone, desperately wanting to taste her mouth again. “I didn’t really think about it, but now that you mention it—” She lifts her mouth to mine, softly brushing her wet lips across my own as we lazily drift in the relaxing water. “If you want to be my snake-wrangler, Trouble, all you’ve gotta do is ask.”
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN I look like a prune?” I ask before taking a bite of the best fish taco I’ve ever tasted. They’re also the only fish tacos I’ve ever tasted, so my assessment may be a little skewed, but Davis says he’s had them from all over, and these are definitely the best.
“Look at your fingers,” he says, grabbing my free hand and flipping it palm up. “See how the tips are shriveled up like a prune. You’ve never heard that before?” He stares at me with bewilderment.
“Nope.” I toss the last piece in my mouth with a satisfied grin, licking the sticky juices that had leaked out from my fingers. I watch his gaze drop from my eyes to my mouth, so I purposely swirl my tongue around the tips a second or two longer than needed, then remove them with a loud pop.
Davis inhales a deep breath and shakes his head with a knowing smile as he relaxes back in his chair. “Gonna get yourself in trouble, Trouble.”
That’s what I’m hoping for.
Davis and I spent an hour or so out in the water, which was mainly me jumping around and squealing about the colorful fish I could see swimming around our legs and him laughing at my ridiculous behavior. We wrestled around for a bit, each of us stealing touches and kisses as often as we could. Then, when my stomach growled four times in less than a minute, we came up to the restaurant to grab a quick bite to eat. I’d attempted to order the cheeseburger, but Davis insisted I try something I’d never had back home, and now that I’ve quickly polished off three tacos, I’m sure glad he did.
“What time do we have to meet for afternoon groups?” he asks, looking around for a clock.
“At five, why? What time is it now?”
“Three-thirty. We’ve still got a little time.”
“I need to head up soon to take a shower and get dressed.” I take a big drink of water, my body craving the cold liquid from being out in the heat. “Do you know who’s in your group this afternoon?”
He shrugs his shoulders with a roll of his eyes. “I looked at the names, not that they mean anything to me. Kinda like this morning, my session was with Peyton, so naturally I was expecting a guy, and this lady comes up saying she’s my partner.”
Laughing, I reach out and soothingly touch his hand. “So how was it? Your one-on-one with her, I mean. Did you get anything out of it?”
“Not really. She did most of the talking.” He sighs and interlaces our fingers, staring at our joined hands. “I don’t understand how all of us talking about the shitty things we’ve been through helps anything. It’s depressing and only makes me remember things I want to forget.” Abruptly breaking our touch, he stands up and looks away. “We should probably get going.”
I decide to drop the topic for now, but fully intend to bring it up again later.
“Okay,” I slide off my chair, keeping a smile on my face. “Would you mind walking me to my cottage, Mr. McKay?” I ask playfully, trying to lighten the mood back to where it was.
He grabs my hand and pulls me up next to him, gently kissing my lips. “Why, Miss Criswell, are you inviting me to share your heavenly shower with you?”
My stomach flutters and thighs clench together at the mere thought of showering with him. Nipping at his bottom lip, I whisper throatily, “Only if you can keep your snake to yourself. There’s not enough time for wrangling and getting ready.”
I pivot on my heel and sassily sashay away, only to be lifted up seconds later, thrown over his shoulder with my ass in the air.
“Put me down!” I yell, giggling uncontrollably, swatting his butt as he strides towards the chair with my beach bag. “There’s no way you can make it all the way up the stairs with me like this.”
“Did you just issue me a challenge?” He scoops up my bag onto his opposite arm, then strides towards the staircase, still not letting me go. “You need to learn real quick, Bristol, that I never back down from a challenge.”
True to his word, Davis carries me up all one hundred and sixty-six steps and down the dirt road, finally setting me back on my feet outside my cottage. Very much out of character, he offers a jovial hello to everyone we pass en route, as if he’s not lugging me around like a sack of potatoes, while I squeeze my eyes shut, cheeks burning with mortification.
“I can’t believe you just did that,” I say, secretly a little sad not to be in his arms any longer, appreciating the defined muscles in his back.
He reaches his arms over his head, stretching left then right, wearing a devilish grin. “I’ll let you massage the knots out tonight after dinner.”
“Oh, you’ll let me, eh?” I snort a laugh. “How kind of you. Does this mean you’re not coming in now?”
Bending down, he lowers his face to mine as he slides his hand around my back, pressing our bodies together. “If I step in that cottage with you right now, there’s no way in hell I’m keeping my hands, mouth, or anything else to myself,” he lightly brushes his lips against mine, “and when I finally do take the rest of you, Bristol, I don’t want any time restraints. I want to watch you fall apart underneath me over and over again until I’m positive you’ll never forget how I feel buried deep inside of you.”
Holy shit.
I swallow hard, my body tingling all over in anticipation, and take a step back. I need to get away from him before I internally combust. “I guess I’ll see you later then.” I smirk, spinning around to walk to the door. “Oh, Davis,” I look over my shoulder, his eyes staring at my ass as I retreat, a rare surge of self-confidence flowing through me, “I hope I’m not limited to being ‘underneath’, ‘cause I can be all kinds of trouble when I’m up on my knees.”
He runs his hand over his barely-there hair, exhaling a deep breath of self-restraint. “Get your ass inside. Now.”
Clean, dressed, and in a great mood, I arrive at the main house a little before five, where Pilgrim, the regular bartender, greets me with another of his delicious fruity cocktails. “Good afternoon, Miss Bristol,” he says with a bright smile, handing me the chilled glass. “The o
thers are out by the pool, enjoying the fresh air.”
“Thank you.” I return the smile and join the others on the veranda.
Ashleigh, Charlotte, and a few others are all standing around mingling while they wait for the rest of the group to arrive. I make my way over to them and hug my two friends, then introducing myself to Ethan, a thin, older man with dark sunglasses, and Peyton, an attractive redhead, fortyish, who I now know spent the morning with Davis. A twinge of something that resembles jealousy pricks at me, and I immediately scold myself; I’m not an envious person. My life has been far from ideal, but I’m thankful for the blessings I have—so thankful, I often feel guilty to even be alive.
“I’m glad to see you back right-side up, Bristol,” Ashleigh jokes. “You think your friend will carry me up the stairs tomorrow?”
My cheeks burn with embarrassment, and I’m positive the accompanying blush is brighter than the pink stain from being out in the sun today. Charlotte’s knowing grin and nod of her head tells me she’s proud of me, but she says nothing.
“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you asked,” I reply shyly. I know our affectionate behavior earlier was in public, out in the open for everyone to watch and pass judgment, but I don’t necessarily want to discuss the fact I’m hooking up with a stranger for a summer fling either.
“I’m only giving you a hard time, sweetie.” She loops her arm around my shoulder and gives me a quick squeeze. Turning her direction to the door of the main house, she waves over Val, who we met last night at dinner.
“Well, our small group is all here and accounted for now,” Ashleigh announces to the group. “Val, Bristol, and I are off to bond. We’ll see the rest of you at dinner in a while.”
The three of us, drinks in hand, wander off down into the pristinely manicured gardens and find a couple of benches to get comfortable on, starting the first group session of the trip. I wished we would’ve waited around a little while for everyone to meet up before we broke off, but I didn’t have a good reason to suggest it other than wanting to see Davis again.
Not surprisingly, Ashleigh leads our discussion, giving a quick recap of her story, most of which I already know, but is still disturbing to listen to nonetheless. It hits too close to home.
Ashleigh’s dad had hurried home from work to pick up her, her mom, and her brother one Tuesday afternoon in October 1989, to take them out to dinner where they could watch what was supposed to be the first World Series game between the San Francisco Giants and Oakland A’s on a big screen television. Only ten years old at the time, she remembers making them run late because she hadn’t listened to her mom and put her shoes on when she was told.
They were on the freeway when the infamous Loma Prieta earthquake struck, causing the upper deck of the section they were on to collapse on top of their car, as well as many others. Forty-two people were killed in the small section of roadway that gave way; one was saved by a man from a nearby car. The miraculous rescue of Ashleigh was captured on live television, and on every anniversary of the earthquake, she’s forced to see footage of the horrendous natural disaster that took her family from her.
All three of us have wet eyes by the time she finishes her story, and I’m beginning to agree with Davis—reliving these stories is depressing. Thankfully, Val must share my sentiments and decides to talk about the charity she began in her children’s memory for underprivileged kids to receive musical instruments. Her two teenage daughters, who were killed in a boating accident—a boat she was at the helm of—were both actively involved in the band at their high school. Providing instruments to other youngsters who would otherwise not be able to participate due to the expense is how she honors their memory.
“I’d like to do something like that,” I blurt out, moved by her generosity, “but I’ve got no idea how to even start or who I’d do it for.”
“May I ask what happened to bring you here?” Val asks softly, tucking her long gray hair behind her ears.
“Tornado,” I answer, not ready to talk about it anymore than that. For years after, Granny sent me to psychologists, where I relived the story so many times I began to feel like a broken record. The broken part was the truth.
“I’m sure you can look up tornado relief programs online and see how you could donate your time. That may be a good place to start and become familiar with the different avenues of assisting.”
I smile a genuine, heartfelt smile. “I’ve always thought I wanted to stay as far away from anything having to do with tornadoes, but listening to you talk about the joy you get in giving back, I think I’ll check it out when I get home.”
We talk a bit longer before breaking to freshen up for dinner. On my walk back to my room, I pass a few others, including Davis sitting on the ground with Isaac and Lynnette. His back is to me, but I can tell from his body language—shoulders slumped and picking blades of grass—he doesn’t want to be there. His obvious unhappiness tugs at my heart, and I pause unconsciously, resisting the urge to do something silly like go throw my arms around him just to make him smile.
I’m not sure if he feels my presence or it’s just pure happenstance, but nevertheless, he slowly twists around, locking his eyes on mine. A goofy grin breaks out across his face, and though I feel a little bad about distracting him from the group, I smile back and wave before scurrying off down the dirt path.
BACK IN MY ROOM, I’ve got about thirty minutes to change into a dress, fix my windblown hair, and apply a little makeup before dinner. After all of those things are done, it leaves me just enough time to stare in the mirror and ask myself if I really know what in the world I’m getting myself into with Davis.
My virginity was lost several years back in less than spectacular fashion, so it’s not my innocence or virtue I’m worried about. I simply need to remind myself whatever this thing is I’m starting with him will most definitely end in less than two weeks, and I can’t allow myself to develop any substantial feelings or attachment in the meantime. This is about having fun and being carefree, forgetting my troubles for a little while, indulging in my short-lived youth, not anything else.
Typically, I wouldn’t be concerned about this at all; I’ve purposely never been in a relationship other than a casual hook-up here and there. I’m too focused on school and work to get involved in unnecessary drama. Occasionally, I’ll allow Lyv to talk me into going out with her on our night off, which sometimes leads to a much needed release of pent-up sexual energy, but that’s it—one night and I’m out.
But there’s something different about Davis, and I’ll admit it scares me a little . . . just not enough to stay away from him. There’s no possible way I can deny myself the opportunity to be with someone like him, even if it is for a short period of time. I’ve been able to handle purely physical relationships for the past four years, there should be no reason I can’t do it now.
A knock on the door interrupts my internal pep-talk. “Bristol, you still in there?”
I hurriedly unlock the door and open it to a freshly showered and shaven Davis, dressed in grey slacks and a black Tommy Bahama button down shirt. My heart skips a beat at the sight of him all cleaned up and smelling downright edible in whatever cologne he’s wearing. I’m in so much trouble.
“I’m still here,” I smile, “was just about to head down.”
“Good. I was hoping I didn’t miss you while I was in the shower.” He grabs my hand, intertwining our fingers like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Let’s go eat. I’m hungry.”
We stroll lazily down to the restaurant in comfortable silence, both enjoying the peaceful surroundings. A little ways before we get there, he unexpectedly stops to pick a fuchsia hibiscus from one of the hundreds of plants lining the road. Catching me off-guard, he slips it behind my ear with a gentle kiss on my cheek, and my insides liquefy into girlie gooeyness.
“Perfect,” he murmurs as he redirects us on our path.
I reach up with my free hand, lightly trace my finger around
a petal, and beam up at him. “Thank you.”
Dinner is downright delicious, even better than last night’s steak and the fish tacos from lunch. Of the three options on the menu, I’ve never heard of any of them, so I let Davis order for me—trusting he’ll choose something tasty—which he does. Having no qualms about eating heavily in front of a guy or anyone else, I damn near lick the plate clean of the pork something-or-other and mashed yucca potatoes. I limit myself to only two glasses of wine, enough to feel a faint tingle buzzing through me, but also preventing another hung-over morning. Plus, I want to be aware and alert for whatever may happen after dinner.
We sit at a table with Ashleigh, Charlotte, Kayden, Isaac, and Peyton; I’m in-between Davis and Charlotte, while he has Peyton on the other side of him, which I’m trying to convince myself is pure coincidence, except for the fact she’s so close, I’m afraid she may sit in his lap at any moment. The older adults, mainly Ashleigh and Isaac, lead the conversation, which centers around how St. Lucia compares to other places they’ve traveled to. Since I have absolutely nothing to add to the discussion, and because Davis isn’t big on talking much anyway, we sit there relatively quiet, just listening to the others.
“Davis, have you been out of the country before?” Isaac asks, trying his hardest to bring the new Enduring Life member out of his shell.
“I’ve been to Mexico and Costa Rica,” he nods, setting his fork down, “but never overseas. The beach here is pretty similar, a little more secluded, but the water is the brightest shade of blue I’ve ever seen.”
“Oh, you should see the water at the Maldive Islands,” Kayden pipes up. “I think I prefer it to anything in Central or South America. The temperature is perfect year-round.”
The table turns their attention to Kayden as he continues on about his travels, and I’m pretty sure I hear Davis grumble something, but I can’t make out what exactly. I remain silent, growing more and more ready to leave. I know I’m young and still have a long time to travel and see the places I want to visit, but everyone discussing vacations they’ve taken with friends and family makes me sad. Once I realize I’m sad, the familiar guilt settles in because my parents, as well as the rest of the people who lived on my street, will never be able to travel to any of the places they wanted to. Then I feel like an ungrateful bitch.