by Meghan Quinn
If only I could see Rylee’s burnt-red face right now, it would make this moment so much better.
“We have to come out for air at some point, you know?” I wink at the clerk, who blushes herself as she hands me my wrapped up Pearl in a bag.
“Enjoy, you two. And congratulations.”
“Thank you.” I wave to the clerk and leave the shop, Rylee in tow.
When we reach the street, Rylee continues to walk when I half expected her to confront me. Her little legs propel her forward, leaving me in her wake. Running up to her side, I catch her hand in mine and say, “What’s the rush?”
“I want pie.” She forgoes eye contact and crosses the street, barely checking for traffic, and heads straight toward a small yellow building with a sign that says “The Original Key Lime Pie Bakery.”
Hell, if she wants pie, so do I. After listening to Chris and Justine talk this morning at breakfast all about their pie binge, I’m craving some. And from what they told me, this bakery has the best Key lime pie, especially the one with coconut.
My taste buds are already watering.
When we walk in, it’s not the kind of bakery I’m used to. I expected a wall-to-wall bakery cooler of goodies, but instead, it’s packed full of Key lime-flavored everything, packaged and branded for all the tourists. I give the treats a glance, but when my eyes become glued on the pies in the back under a glass case, I’m like a tractor beam to the goods, right next to Rylee, who’s already ordering.
“Yes, one slice of each, please.”
“Oh, you’re a hungry one, aren’t you?” the lady asks.
Rylee grabs my arm and drapes it over her shoulder, snuggling in close. Her cheek rubs against my chest, practically purring. What is she up to?
“Something like that.” Smiling at me, she turns back to the lady and says, “We’re on our honeymoon.”
“Oh really? Congratulations, that’s wonderful. Are you having a nice time in Key West?”
“It’s beautiful here,” Rylee gushes. “Just wish we spent more time in the bedroom, if you know what I mean.”
“Oh dear.” The poor older lady looks shocked.
Rylee sighs heavily and then pats my abs. “He might be a pretty thing to look at, but he’s having a hard time getting an erection. Hence all the pies. Kind of eating my sorrows. Married a bit of a dud, rather than a stud. But hey, that’s okay. That’s why they make dildos.” Rylee takes the bag from the incredibly stunned woman and links her hand with mine. “Come on, sweetie, maybe the sugar rush will help your peenie get happy.”
Peenie?
Dildos?
Dud rather than a stud?
What the hell did I get myself into with this woman?
I’ve met my match.
Stunned, I follow a very happy Rylee out the door, avoiding the raised eyebrows of disappointment from every woman I pass.
Touché.
Tou-fucking-ché.
Where do you live?” I raise a glass of water to my lips and await her response, genuinely interested in her answer.
She bites down on a ketchup-covered fry and says, “A small town in Maine called Port Snow. It’s kind of like Key West, in the way it thrives off its tourists.”
“Port Snow, sounds like a magical place.”
She nods. “It’s beautiful, but the winters can be bitter. We’re right on the coast so we get the whip of the cold ocean breeze, and if you’re not wearing the proper gear, you can freeze your nipples right off.”
“Shit, not the nipples.” I mock horror, bringing my hand to my chest.
She leans forward, fry in hand. “Yes, the nipples.”
“That’s fucked up.” She chuckles and it’s so intoxicating that I can easily see myself getting drunk on that sound. It’s been an amazing day, hanging out with Rylee, ribbing with her. The heated glances, the small touches, the one-upping each other. Fuck, she’s fun. “Other than nipples freezing off, you like it there?”
“Yeah. It’s where I grew up. Everyone is in each other’s business, but we also look out for each other. My best friends live there and so does my family. They own an art gallery that surprisingly does really well. The tourists flock in during the summer, scoop up all the lighthouse pictures, and then take off, taking a little piece of Maine home with them.”
“That’s pretty cool. Where do you get the pictures from? Anyone in the family an artist?”
She shakes her head. “My mom dabbles in different aesthetics, but she’s never wanted to sell any of her pieces, because she doesn’t think they’re sell worthy even though we beg to differ. We commission all the pieces from local artists and artists from around the state.”
“So where did the writing come in?”
Smiling, she dips another fry in the shared ketchup bowl we have between us and pops it in her mouth. “I was always into telling stories, but it wasn’t until I went to a creative writing class in college that the urge to tell stories really bit me, and I think it’s mainly because my creative writing teacher said I wasn’t very good at storytelling.”
“She said that? Man . . .” I lean back in my chair. “What a bitch.”
“Tell me about it. She gave me a C in the class.” She scrunches her nose, crinkling the skin and it’s cute. Adorable. Sincere.
“And now you’re a successful author. Good job for sticking it to her.”
Rylee leans back in her chair as well and folds her arms over her chest, amplifying her breasts but instead of staring, I keep my eyes fixed on hers—despite the strong temptation to check her out. I have yet to be up close and personal with her sexy tits, but if the opportunity presented itself, I’m there. “I wish. I have no idea where she is, or else I would send her a few signed paperbacks with a copy of every single paper she gave me a bad grade on.”
“You kept them?”
She nods with a smirk. “Have them laminated in a folder.”
“You did not laminate them.”
“I did,” she answers, almost seeming bashful now. “Sometimes, you have to hold on to the things that tried to tear you down, because it’s good to be reminded why you’re going to succeed.”
Studying her, I tilt my head slightly to the side, trying to get a good read on this woman who almost seems like a dream. Sexy, smart, sassy as hell, with enough wit to keep me on my toes. She quite possibly could be too good to be true. Wait, she is, because she lives in Maine. I live in California, and this is a no-strings-attached fling.
But still, I can tell already she’s going to be a hard one to let go at the end of this.
“What’s that look on your face for?” she asks, motioning in my direction.
I rub my hand along my jaw, feeling the rough bristles against my fingertips. “You’re sexy.”
“Oh . . . that’s not what I thought you were thinking.” Her cheeks turn a pretty crimson color. I really like that even though she can hold her own in a battle of wit, she still shows moments of innocence.
“And what did you think I was going to say?”
“I don’t know, not that.”
“Well, it’s true.” I lean forward, eyes focused on hers, loving the way her eyelashes flutter with every glance she gives me. “One thing you’ll find out about me, Rylee, is I don’t lie. I say what’s on my mind.”
“Is that so?” Her fingers twist and pull on the napkin in her lap.
I nod, watching how her eyes light up, ready to strike with that saucy mouth of hers.
“Then how come you told me you didn’t see me naked initially but then told me differently later? Hmm?”
Goddamn that smile. Makes me want to take her back to my room and kiss it right off her face until she’s moaning my name, writhing, begging for more.
“I was sparing you from embarrassment. You clearly were not super excited that I saw you naked.”
“Uh, who in their right mind would be excited about a stranger seeing them naked?”
“I couldn’t care less about someone seeing me naked. You kn
ow, wearing nothing is how God intended it.” I take a sip of my water. “Clothes are just accessories. It’s what’s beneath us—our true selves—that matters.”
Rylee rolls her eyes at my corny philosophy. “Please, you’re just saying that because you’re an Adonis under your clothes. Let me guess, you have hairless balls, a big penis, and thighs that can crush a walnut.”
Laughing, I say, “I don’t know about the walnut thing, but the other two assumptions are spot on. Care to take a gander to see if I’m lying?”
“God, no. That is such a guy thing to say.” In a deep voice, she mocks me, “Hey, girl I find attractive. Why don’t you come pull my pants down and stare at my penis and balls? I think they’re amazing. Balls and penises are not all that great to look at. I would rather play with an eighty-year-old-man’s ear hair than examine balls and penis.”
“You don’t find the male genitals attractive?”
“Not even in the slightest. You have a flesh tube right above a dangling sac of skin full of milky white crap that is less than pleasing to have in your mouth, dripping down your legs, and in your vagina.”
Caught off guard from her candidness, I take a sip of my water, eyeing her from over my glass. “I don’t think it’s the male genitalia that you find repulsive—”
“I never said repulsive. It’s just not something I want to have a staring contest with, that’s all.”
“Either way,” I cut in, “I don’t think it’s the dick’s fault. I think it’s the men you’ve been with, because I’m going to tell you right now, when my come is dripping down your thigh, or across your stomach, or in your mouth, you’re going to crave it.” Leaning forward, my voice dropping lower, I say, “And remember, I don’t fucking lie.”
Tossing some cash on the table, I stand from my seat, pick up our shopping bags, and hold my hand out to Rylee. Shakily, she takes it and once again, we hop on our ride for the day. This time, though, she’s sitting in the back. I refuse to ride on the bitch seat anymore.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Pulling an alpha move on you, and you’re going to let me. Hop on, Saucy. It’s time I showed you the island.”
With little hesitation, she straddles the bike and wraps her arms around my waist, her fingers barely caressing my abs. Fuck, just the way I like it.
You’re cheating!”
“I am not.”
“Yes, you are,” she accuses me, swiping the dice before I finish entering my score.
“How the hell am I cheating?”
Shaking the dice in her hands, she watches me suspiciously. “At the moment, I’m unclear how you’re cheating, but I will find out. And when I do, ohhhh boyyy, are you in trouble. I’m coming for you, Wilder.”
“There is no way someone can cheat in Yahtzee. It’s all luck.”
“Oh yeah? Then why do you yell Yahtzee every time you throw the dice? Are the dice voice controlled?” She tosses the dice on the table and yells Yahtzee at the top of her lungs, shaking the water glasses perched on the table. When the dice stop, they reveal a load of crap.
“Damn it all to hell.” She tosses her arms in the air.
“You can’t cheat in Yahtzee.”
“Clearly I can’t, but you can.” She looks under the table. “What do you have under there? What are you playing with? Do you have some kind of dice flipper like in the movie Ocean’s Thirteen?”
“You’re losing it, Saucy.”
“How can someone have five Yahtzees in one game? What are you playing with?” Standing from her chair, she pushes me so I’m sitting back in my seat and lifts my hands from my lap. “What’s this piece of paper? Does it have Yahtzee secrets on it?”
I toss the rolled-up piece of paper and hit her between the eyes. She huffs as I say, “It’s my straw wrapper. Can you please undo the calamity that is your mammary, take a seat, and finish your turn?”
Eyes on fire, a fierce pinch to her brow, she puts a hand on the table and leans into me. “What did you just say to me?”
Nervously laughing, I play with my water glass and say, “I, uh, asked you to calm your tits, you know, adjust your bust before it combusts.”
Her tongue runs along her teeth as she straightens. I don’t think I like the wild look in her eyes, like she could easily pull a shiv from her back pocket and stab me in the thigh with it.
“Let me get this straight. You’re the one cheating and you tell ME to calm my TITS? Is that right, Beck? Is that what I’m hearing?”
Wow, talk about sore loser. Note to self: don’t play games with Rylee unless I can purposely lose.
“Well, for one, yes, that’s what I’m saying, and two, I’m not cheating.” Call me stupid, but I’m not one to back down from an angry female. If anything, I like to push them even harder, because fuck if it isn’t fun. Especially when they’re hot like Rylee and easily riled.
“Beckford Wilder, don’t you dare lie to me.”
Holding back the laugh that wants to spring out of me, I answer, “My name is Beck, but I like how you tried to add a little finesse to it. And what did we just talk about? I don’t lie. I’m not cheating.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes!”
I calmly fold my arms over my lap. “No.”
“Ugh, you’re infuriating.”
“And you suck at Yahtzee.”
Ooo, did you just see that fireball? Holy hell, I swear one just popped out of her eyeballs.
Steam is billowing from every orifice of her body. At least it seems like it as her hands flex at her sides. Is she going to . . . punch me?
“Is everything okay here, miss?” the waitress asks, looking a little frightened herself.
Hell, I don’t blame her. I’m two seconds from hopping behind the bar and ducking for cover, because I’m nervous her bust is truly about to combust.
Exploding nipples, take cover!
Whipping her head to the side, Rylee points at me and says, “Do you smell that? He won’t stop farting, and I can’t take one more second of it.”
Say what?
The waitress lifts her nose, her nostrils sucking in the air around us. Oh for fuck’s sake. “Oh, I do smell something.”
Okay, for the record, I haven’t been farting. I wouldn’t do that. I’m all male, but I’m not a moron. Rule number one: don’t fart when with a woman you want to fuck on the beach. It’s common sense.
“You smell nothing,” I scoff. “Rylee here doesn’t like how I’m beating her at Yahtzee. If anyone should be offended it should be me for the cheating accusations she’s throwing my way. I’m an honest man, a man of integrity, and I would never cheat when it comes to anything, especially such a vivacious and exhilarating dice game. No, I like a true, honest, and hard-earned win, something I can be proud of for many years to come.” Tapping the table with my index finger, I continue, “This day will be marked in memory as the day I scored over six hundred points in Yahtzee, a day of infamy.”
The waitress and Rylee exchange glances after my little speech only to be followed by Rylee rolling her eyes and saying, “No one asked you.”
The waitress walks away and Rylee retreats to her side of the table, but not before I snag her arm and pull her onto my lap. A sound of surprise escapes past those luscious lips as she pushes stray strands of her silky hair out of her face.
Not able to control myself, I graze my hand up the length of her arm, over her shoulder, to the dip in her neck, our eyes connected the entire time. “Do you really think I’m a cheater?”
Her eyes search mine, her body leaning into my touch. “A cheater?” She gently shakes her head, becoming serious. “I don’t think you actually have that bone in your body.”
Cupping her face, I stoke her cheek with my thumb, once, twice, three times. Her eyes flutter shut, her lashes long and black, curled at the ends. When they open, I’m met with beautiful blue eyes, sincerity ringing through them. There’s a depth to them, slightly wea
ry, hopeful . . .
A shaky breath escapes her when I grip her hip, my fingers, just the tips, skimming her backside. She’s sitting sideways on my lap, one of her palms pressing against my chest with the other snaked to the back of my neck. Our light and jovial energy slowly morphs into something more sensual, more seductive.
Her pink tongue peeks out and wets her lips. One swipe, then two. Glistening under the sun, plump and ready for me. So tempting.
She leans forward, her nose mere millimeters from mine, her breath mixing with mine, her body humming with anticipation. Lightly her fingers play with the short strands on the back of my head, her nails scraping against my skin. Feels so fucking good.
Clearing my throat, I lick my lips as well, prepared to take what I want, her mouth pressed against mine, my tongue sliding across hers.
I inch forward, our foreheads pressed together, her fingers digging into my skin, my hand a death-grip on her hips, not wanting her to move an inch away. Just one quick taste to hold me over, something to solidify this day, to calm the restlessness churning inside me.
Just a few more inches.
Three.
Two.
My skin ignites, my stomach dropping with anticipation, my heart hammering, causing my pulse to skyrocket. Her scent, her soft skin, her goddamn heaving chest . . .
“Would you like a refill of water?” the waitress asks, killing the mood immediately when Rylee is snapped out of the moment. She jumps off my lap and stands, fumbling with her shorts and straightening her outfit.
“Bathroom. I need to use the bathroom.” She points in a direction and the waitress points her in another.
“Around the corner.”
“Yup. Okay, going to pee. Bye.”
She bolts off, walking as fast as her little legs will allow her. Exhaling heavily, I glance at the waitress, shoulders slumped. “Great timing.”
She winces and holds up my cup. “Refill?”
I wave my hand at her. “Sure. Fill me up.”