by Lisa Ferrari
I’m a bit surprised by the quantity of food and Kellan’s apparent willingness to throw caution to the wind.
Kellan takes out the card Manny gave him and texts something on his phone.
Fifteen minutes later, Manny arrives carrying a big silver pizza tray and plates and napkins and knives and forks and two little glass shakers of parmesan and spicy red peppers. It’s a deep-dish with lots of toppings and lots of cheese.
Kellan grabs a slice and feeds me the first bite. I just about orgasm because it’s so good.
“That might be the best pizza I’ve ever had.”
Kellan takes a bite, taste testing it for himself. He nods. “Totally. Here, have some more.”
Kellan puts two slices on my plate. The cheese stretches from the tray to the plate and he grabs it with his fingers plus a bunch more off the tray.
“Put your head back.”
I tilt my head back.
“Open your mouth.”
I open it.
Kellan gently inserts a big ball of cheese and olives and mushrooms and onions into my mouth.
“Chew on that for a minute. Savor the flavor before you swallow it.”
I do as instructed. But it’s so big in my mouth that I couldn’t swallow it right away even if I wanted to.
But he’s right, it is scrumptious.
Kellan offers me his fresh, cold beer. “Here, have a few sips of beer with it.”
He’s right again; the beer mixes with the salty cheese and onions and vegetables and crust and takes the flavor to a whole new level. I finally get it all down.
“Wow. That is good.”
I hand the beer back to Kellan.
“Are you sure it’s okay to eat this much?” I ask again.
“Yes. I’m sure it’s okay to eat this much. On special occasions, it’s fine. Not every day. Portion control is important. Very important. As is self-control and exercising discipline when it comes to our nutrition. But making foods such as these forbidden only makes you want them more. It leads to an unhealthy relationship with food. You spend all your time telling yourself you cannot eat pizza and burgers and fries so you wind up sitting around obsessing over pizza and burgers and fries. You’re better off simply having a burger or some pizza once or twice a month. Enjoy it, and then get back to your nutrition plan. Besides, it’s not like we’re stepping on stage in three days and we have to be perfect. We’re on vacation. Plus, all this food is going to help your legs repair faster.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. Haven’t you ever noticed that when you eat a lot of food, your fingernails grow faster?”
“Not really.”
“I have. My beard, too. If my diet is off because I’m traveling, for example, and I don’t get all my meals in, my beard isn’t as long the next day. But on days like this, when I indulge a bit, it grows more. It’s longer and rougher when I go to shave in the morning.”
“I like it long and rough.”
“I know you do.”
We finish our burgers, and the rest of the pizza. I end up drinking most of Kellan’s O’Doul’s so he orders two more.
Like before, the waitress brings them very quickly. I’m beginning to think Kellan’s notion of how to retain prompt service is a good idea.
When we’re done, the waitress comes and clears our plates for us, which is probably not her job but she seems ready to do it.
Kellan smiles at me. “Ready for dessert?”
“Oh dear God. Seriously?”
He turns to the waitress and reads her name tag: Brandi. “Brandi, may I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
I can see by the look on Brandi’s face that she’s kinda sorta totally hoping Kellan is going to ask if he can taste her vagina. But instead he asks, “What’s your favorite dessert here?”
Brandi grins, disappointed but now entertaining thoughts of Kellan boinking her while they share dessert. “Ooh, toughie. Um, probably the chocolate soufflé. Or the New York cheesecake. Have you tried those?”
“We had them last night.”
Just before we fucked like minks, bitch! I want to shout. I drink beer instead.
“Have you tried the churros from the Sun Deck?”
“No, we haven’t.”
“I’ll get you an order of those.”
She comes back about ten minutes later with a big white bowl. I swear her hair looks better and she’s definitely wearing more lipstick. And the collar of her white polo shirt is turned up now. What is it that makes women so competitive? Biological imperative? Millions of years of evolution? Divine creation?
But she’s right about the dessert. They’re the most amazing churros stuffed with caramel ice cream and rolled in cinnamon and sugar. She has two mugs of coffee, too.
“I brought you guys some coffee as well. Just in case.”
Brandi departs and I try to forget about her. I’m the one who’s going to get thoroughly owned by Kellan’s Viagra-enhanced penis-of-power later. Not her.
Kellan and I enjoy our dessert and coffee. We take turns feeding each other bites.
Brandy eventually returns to clear our plates.
“I hate to bother you, Mister Kearns, but would you mind giving me your autograph and maybe a picture? My husband is a big fan of yours and he’d positively kill me if he heard that I waited on you today and didn’t get your autograph.”
Brandi holds up a Del Coronado cocktail napkin and a pen.
“Sure, no problem. What’s your husband’s name?”
“Roy.”
“To Roy… get swole. Kellan Kearns.” Kellan returns the pen and napkin. “There you go.”
“Thanks. And a quick picture?” She holds out her phone.
“Sure,” says Kellan. I can’t tell if he’s fine with it or if he’s annoyed.
Brandi fiddles with her phone, swiping to the camera to launch it. It’s an iPhone in a pink Playboy Bunny case with rabbit ears. Several of the sparkly rhinestones are missing from their little indentations.
Kellan smiles patiently at me while Brandi readies her phone.
“Roy is in dental school at Loma Linda,” Brandi says, filling the silence. “He lives there and comes home about two or three times a month. It’s hard because I work weekends. But we’ll get through. It’ll all be worth it one day.”
She awkwardly half-kneels down, holds out her phone and snaps a selfie of herself and Kellan. My face is cut off the side of the picture.
“That’s perfect,” says Brandy. “I’m going to text this to him right now.”
“Wait,” says Kellan, “Claire’s face got cut off.” He takes Brandy’s phone and extends it further, as his arm is longer. He gets all three of us in the picture. “There you go.” He hands the phone back to Brandi.
“Thanks,” Brandi croons, taking our dishes and departing.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to thank Kellan for taking a second picture and making sure I was in it. But I don’t say anything.
Kellan and I read for a few more minutes. We get warm and decide to go for a swim. He tells me to ride on his back while he swims around the pool.
“Didn’t the gingerbread man ride across a river on the back of a fox?” I ask. “And the water got too deep so the fox made the gingerbread man ride on his head, and then his nose, and then he ate him.”
“Are you saying you want me to eat you?”
“Absolutely.”
We swim a few more minutes and climb out and lie down and resume reading.
I make a trip to the ladies’ room. When I come out of the stall, Brandi is coming out of another stall. We meet at the sinks and wash our hands at the same time.
“How long have you and Kellan been going out?” Brandi asks.
“Awhile.”
“Cool.”
“How long have you worked here?”
“Awhile.”
Her reply is short and clipped. Why is it that women are always such bitches to each other? It’s not like w
e’re in competition. I’m with Kellan and she’s married and her husband Roy isn’t even here.
“Watch your back,” says Brandi.
“What do you mean?”
“My husband has been following Killer on Instagram for like two years. He’s dumped girls way hotter than you. No offense. I’m just saying. I’ve had my heart broken too many times to count. So, you know, just, like, watch your back.”
“Yesterday we were talking about getting married here.”
“Oh. Cool.”
She totally does not believe me. I can hear it in her dismissive-cunt tone.
Brandi turns and leaves the restroom.
Fucking women.
ON MY WAY back to the pool, I am fuming.
Well, tempted to fume. I’m trying to keep my composure. My mind is running in overdrive now. I don’t know if I should believe Brandi.
But I know for a fact that what she said is true. Kellan did break up with Stacy and she’s very beautiful and has a perfect body.
And I’ve seen lots of other girls flashing themselves all over Kellan’s older Instagram posts. He’s told me that they weren’t what he was looking for.
And yesterday we truly did talk about getting married here at this hotel in the beautiful ball room where we ate brunch this morning with the SEALs.
Could Kellan have merely been saying that?
Is he that pathological or sociopathic or just plain messed up that he would lead me on, saying he loves me and having sex with me and buying a car for me and talking about marrying me, only for it all to be bullshit?
How could it be?
By the time I return to the pool, I see Kellan on his chaise lounge, looking brown and ripped and big and perfect.
He’s talking to a tall brunette.
I get closer.
She shakes his hand and departs.
I can’t be sure because I only see her long, straight brown hair and her round ass, but I swear to God it’s Kim Kardashian.
I lie down on my lounge chair beside Kellan and I don’t’ know what to say.
He smiles at me from behind his shades. “All better?”
“Was that Kim Kardashian?”
“Yeah.” He merely looks at me.
“Yeah? That’s it? No explanation as to why I leave and she shows up and I come back to find you guys chatting away and her shaking your hand?”
“We met at a charity event a few years ago. She asked me about bodybuilding and how to train the glutes. I told her squats and lunges and lots of hip thrusts.”
“So the world has you to thank for Kim Kardashian’s notorious ass?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say that.”
“What would you say? Would you say that you’d like to marry me but when we get home and you get tired of me, you’re going to dump me two months from now?”
“What?”
“You heard me.” I’m feeling brash and reckless and insecure and part of me knows this is dumb. But the floodgates have opened.
“What are you talking about, Claire? You’re all pissed off now. What the hell happened in the bathroom?”
“Nothing. Just that I had a little chat with Brandi the cocktail slut. She warned me that you’ve dumped girls way hotter than me. And I know she’s right. I’ve met Stacy. I’ve seen your old Instagram posts. It’s like a Dolce and Gabbana ad for cars and watches and sunglasses and breast implants.”
“Claire… what the fuck, man?” His voice sounds funny; he’s pissed. I get scared.
Kellan sits up and takes my hand. I feel his calluses rough on the back of my hand. It irritates me.
“Okay,” he says, “we need to go back in time about ten minutes to before you went to the bathroom. You need to pee in the pool or something because you went into that bathroom and entered an alternate dimension and now you’re all twisted up in your head. I’m not going to dump you in two months, okay? If anything, you’ll probably dump me in two months, like you did before.”
“What?”
“Yeah. Your mom or dad or sister or Denise or some random fucking cocktail waitress will make some random fucking remark that will go into your head and start drilling little holes in your confidence like a goddamn virus. And the next thing you know, we’ll be right back to square one with your insecurities and inability to think for yourself sabotaging our relationship.
“Look, maybe that waitress’s heart was in the right place but she never should’ve opened her mouth. Our relationship is nobody’s business. Certainly not hers. She doesn’t even know us. And you don’t need to be jealous of Kim Kardashian. Up until today I hadn’t seen her or talked to her or even thought about her for almost three years.”
“So you’re saying when her TV show is on at your gym and all the cardio bunnies are watching it, you don’t occasionally glance up at the TV while you’re working your abs and see Kim on TV and wonder if maybe you could’ve gone out with her? If maybe you could’ve fucked her? And maybe shot one of your huge loads all over that ridiculous ass?”
“Jesus, Claire.” Kellan lets go of my hand and runs his hands through his wavy hair. “Did I ever think about sleeping with her? Yes, of course. Most guys probably have. But did I? No. Would I if the opportunity presented itself? Yeah, maybe. If we were both single. But we’re not. I am with you. Okay?”
Kellan takes my hand again.
He asks, “Do you want to go to Vegas and get married in some sloppy little chapel like Ross and Rachel to make it official so you can stop worrying about me dumping you?”
“No, I don’t want to get married in a sloppy Las Vegas chapel. I think I’m worth more than that.”
“Yes, you are. And you would do well to remember that. And to remember that I think you are, too. I just bought you a car for Christ’s sake. You think I go around buying new cars for random girls?”
“You said it was a used car.”
“Yes, it’s a used car because they don’t make them anymore. But it’s new to you. And no, I’ve never bought a car for a woman before. Well, I bought my mom a Lexus, but that’s different.”
Kellan takes a deep breath and exhales. He kisses the back of my hand. “Everything is fine, okay? Please don’t be upset. Please don’t be crazy, mean, insecure Claire. Go back to being sweet, sexy, stronger-than-she-knows Claire who nails movie auditions and carries Navy SEALs on her back. Please?”
Deep down, I know he’s right. I’m being totally irrational. Brandi shot her mouth off and I’m letting it get to me and, what’s worse, I’m taking it out on Kellan.
I’m sabotaging our relationship.
Again.
“So, what should we do now?” I ask.
“Want to go back to the room and I’ll make you squirt?”
I can’t help but smile at the thought. “No.”
“Okay. But how about a kiss?”
I kiss him.
Tentatively at first, but then harder.
Kellan puts his arms around me and kisses me back.
He looks into my eyes. “I love you.”
I want to say it back.
But I can’t.
So I hug him as hard as I can and hope that’s enough.
WHEN WE GET back to the room, Kellan is all over me.
He wants to make love.
He wants us to take a shower together.
He wants to skip our trip to the hotel gym, take the Viagra and make love in the shower.
And on the bed.
And on the chair.
And on the sofa.
And on the table.
And on the balcony, although I’m not so sure about that one; it isn’t exactly private. Felonious displays of indecent exposure and public fornication have never been to my liking.
Kellan has me remove one of the little blue diamond-shaped Viagra tablets from the foil packet and place it on his tongue. He chews it up and swallows it with several big gulps of water from one of the gallon-jugs he always has handy.
He begins kissing my neck and
shoulders as he undresses me.
We stand in front of the full-length mirror and I see him eyeing me up and down as he caresses my breasts and nibbles on my neck.
I reach behind me and grab his erection with one hand and his scrotum and balls with the other.
He’s already hard.
“Has the Viagra kicked in?”
“Not yet.”
“How much harder can it get?”
“You’ll see.”
I have an idea. “Come here.” I switch places with him so I’m standing behind him, caressing his body in the mirror. I can’t see over him because he’s so tall, so I peek around him. I untie the drawstring on his swim trunks. I pull them down so he can step out of them. He looks gorgeous in the mirror. The light above us shines down, creating contrast that makes his muscles really pop.
It makes his erection hypnotizingly delicious.
I begin tracing my fingers lightly up and down the shaft, teasing him.
He flexes it each time I touch the head. It bounces up and down, and I can tell it’s getting even bigger and harder. It’s pointing more and more toward the ceiling.
I press on the underside of it, below his scrotum, like he once showed me, pushing more and more blood into it.
I squeeze it several times, beginning down low at the base and working my way up. I want to pump it up even more. I want to see how big it can get.
Inside, I know Kellan and I should probably talk before making love. The tension from downstairs by the pool is still there, bothering me. Doubt continues to swirl in my mind. I feel vindictive as a result, and I’m taking it out on Kellan’s penis.
I know I shouldn’t.
I know I should tell him I’m not fully resolved.
I know our lovemaking should stem from a place of love and friendship and joy and passion; not from insecurity and doubt and a misguided need to claim one another.
But the anger and, I’ll admit it, jealousy also feel good. They drive me to want to dominate him, to control him physically, as if I ever could given that he can squat almost six hundred pounds.
But I can control him sexually.
I grab his cock and squeeze it hard. I’m vaguely aware that I’m clenching my teeth.
I hold his penis, leading him over to the bed.
“Don’t you want to take a shower?” he asks.