Scoring Big

by Sterling, Rex

  “Yeah,” Hazel said. “I agree. It’s hard to infer anything from a single word. Which makes me believe there are more figurines floating around. Together, they might form a message.”

  “Unless they’re gone forever,” Brooke said.

  I frowned at her. “Way to think positive, Miss Negative Nelly.”

  Brooke shrugged. “I’m not saying we shouldn’t try, but hopefully there’s more than one way to decipher its meaning.”

  “What about the slate tablet,” I asked.

  Hazel nodded and slid it across the table toward us. “I believe it’s a treasure map. Or at least part of a treasure map.”

  I leaned over the stone and studied the lines and etchings marking the surface. Unlike the last time I saw it, the grooves and indentations were much more noticeable after Hazel had scoured away the centuries of muck.

  The piece showed a series of squiggly lines with a coastline on one side.

  “Is that a swamp?” I asked.

  “I think so,” Hazel said. “But I can’t be sure which swamp without the other pieces. I believe there are three missing pieces still out there somewhere.”

  I let out a sigh and ran my fingers through my hair. “I was hoping for a little more to go on.”

  “Are there any other clues?” Brooke asked as she leaned over the table and studied the map. Her shirt fell away, revealing the stunning curves of her inner breasts and the edges of a pesky silk bra.

  Hazel’s eyes drifted to the front of Brooke’s t-shirt before she averted her gaze. I didn’t blame her. Brooke’s tits were impossible to ignore, and even I had turned my attention from the map to her swaying breasts.

  “Yes,” Hazel said after a long pause. “I found a big clue.”

  Brooke stood up straight and glanced at me before we both turned back to Hazel.

  “What do you have?” I asked.

  “I found this sewed into the lining of the pouch containing the figurine and the tablet.” Hazel produced a thin sliver of steel engraved with more lines and handed it over to me. “It was badly tarnished, but it’s made of stainless steel. It’s not as old as the tablet or the figurine. I estimate it to be a civil war era relic.”

  “Someone from the Lady Dancer hid it in the pouch,” Brooke said, leaning into me to examine the artifact.

  “That’s the same conclusion I drew,” Hazel said.

  The roughly six by six-inch square depicted a map of Florida, including the keys. One of the tiny islands near the tip of the keys was marked, but there was nothing else to go on.

  “Can you find the place?” Brooke asked, gazing up at me.

  “I’ll find it,” I said. “I’ve got a good idea of where to start,” I said, before turning back to Hazel. “Can you lock the figurine and the tablet in your safe?” I asked. “I don’t want to risk putting them on my boat.”

  “Of course,” Hazel said.

  I turned to Brooke. “Can you be ready to go tomorrow morning? We might need a few days, so pack for at least a night or two on my boat.”

  Brooke’s face sagged. “I can’t go this weekend.”

  My jaw dropped, and I stared at her in disbelief. “What? Why?”

  “Don’t kill me,” Brooke said. “My parents are flying in from Indiana tomorrow. They’re meeting Logan’s parents for the first time.”

  I groaned in disbelief. “Tell them you’re busy,” I said.

  “I can’t do that,” Brooke said. “Especially after my argument with Logan’s mom.”

  “Fine,” I said, turning my attention to Hazel. “You said you wanted some field experience? Now is your chance.”

  “I can’t,” Hazel said, her face sagging in disappointment. “I’m presenting a paper on the Mayans at a conference tomorrow. The entire event hinges on my findings.”

  “Right.” I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair. “Looks like I’m going solo on this one.”

  Chapter 11

  During our short drive back to the marina, Brooke and I barely spoke. But I put on my best face and wished her luck with her boyfriend’s parents before I dropped her off and headed back to my boat.

  Once on board, I grabbed a cold brew and stretched back on my favorite deck chair beneath the bright mid-day sunshine. I gazed down at the thin strip of stainless steel perched on the table beside me and picked it up.

  All I had to go on was a map inscribed on a nearly two-hundred-year-old scrap of steel. There were dozens of tiny islands in that area of the keys, some of them not even a stone’s throw wide. Finding the right one might be tricky.

  Based on the existence of this map, I firmly believed the Lady Dancer never intended to dock at Fort Sumter. The first clue was the lack of supplies in the cargo hold. Brooke and I scoured what remained of the cargo bay and didn’t find so much as a broken barrel.

  I held the second clue in my hand. The Lady Dancer was on its way to the keys and never made it. The map along with the statue went down with it. Whatever they were looking for was on that island, presumably one that didn’t routinely become submerged by hurricanes.

  If I was the one burying the treasure, I would pick an island with some heft to it. That drastically limited the possibilities but also increased the search area of the island itself. Plus, there was the problem of me not knowing what to look for. A buried treasure could literally be anywhere.

  I took another swig of beer, put down the map, and picked up Butch’s journal. I meant to tell Brooke about the journal, but after she stiffed me, I held back the information. Not that I wouldn’t tell her later, but part of me wondered if I was truly losing her. Maybe she really would marry the guy. The thought of that happening made me physically ill, and I pushed it out of my mind.

  I opened the journal. Inside the front cover, I found Samantha Monroe’s name and address scrawled in Lindsay’s handwriting. Maybe I could use the rest of the day to find out what she knew about the journal. Hell, she might have even more information about the treasure that, for whatever reason, Butch had withheld from me.

  I pulled out my cellphone and dialed her number.

  After three rings, a familiar voice answered. “Hello?”

  “Sam? It’s Trap Ashford. How are you?”

  There was a long silence on the other end, and I wondered if calling her had been a mistake. Maybe she didn’t want to talk to me? I was just about to say something when she spoke.

  “Hi, Trap,” she said without a hint of her mother’s southern drawl. “Sorry about that. My roommate is so nosy, I left the room. It’s been a while. How are you?”

  “I’m great,” I said. “Well, as great as I can be. It feels like I’m finally back to normal since the funeral.” I hadn’t seen Samantha at the funeral. In fact, I hadn’t seen her in years.

  “Sorry I missed it,” she said. “I’m kind of weirded out by funerals. I wanted my last memory of Butch to be when we last spoke.”

  “That’s kind of why I’m calling,” I said. “Your mom told me you and Butch had a special bond. What’s strange is that he never mentioned it to me. I’m hoping you might be open to plugging a few holes for me.”

  “Plugging a few holes?” she asked. “Is this about the treasure?”

  “Maybe,” I said. “Or not. Are you available for dinner this evening? My treat.”

  “I’m really glad you called,” she said. “I think Butch wanted you to call me.”

  I frowned. “I’m not following.”

  “Nothing,” she said. “What time should I be ready?”

  I checked my watch. It was 4:00 pm. “Let’s say seven? Is that too early?”

  “That’s perfect,” she said, then paused. “Trap, I can’t wait to see you.”

  I hadn’t expected such an eager reception. Not that I was complaining. “I have an address for you,” I said and read it off. “Is that current?”

  “Yeah. It’s the Alpha Chi Omega sorority house. You can’t miss it.”

  She was in a sorority? That made me feel even older and creepier
. I hadn’t dated a sorority girl in at least a decade, maybe longer. “Great. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

  “I’ll meet you out front. Look for the blonde with the big boobs.” She laughed and my stomach seesawed.

  “Right,” I said, laughing nervously before we hung up.

  I siphoned off half the bottle of beer in a single swallow and savored the bite of the ice-cold brew stinging my brain. If Sam looked anything like her mother, I was in deep shit.

  Chapter 12

  True to her word, I found Sam waiting outside on the front porch of her sorority, sitting next to a smoking hot brunette in a cut-off tank top and short shorts.

  “Holy shit,” I muttered under my breath as I guided my old Ford truck up the curb.

  Sam stood and said something to her friend, then quickly made her way down the sidewalk, turning a huge, toothy grin on me.

  My stomach slid into my sandals, and I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. Samantha Monroe may have been the most beautiful woman I had ever laid eyes on, and that was saying something.

  She wore a white sleeveless sweater that did little to contain tits so big, firm, and perky they couldn’t have possibly been real. Yet, the way they swayed and bounced left me no doubt that Sam’s tits were as genuine as her big, showy smile. The loosely knit sweater hung off the front slope of her incredible tits and dangled away from a waistline carved by the hand of God. She wore a pair of tight black shorts revealing a high, tight ass that made me hard just looking at her.

  Sam’s legs were long, toned, and smooth, sporting a lush south Florida tan. She wore slick white polish on her toenails and fingernails that matched the crisp white veneer of her straight teeth. Sam’s plump, pouty lips glistened with a sheen of gloss and made me want to pull her into a long, wet kiss.

  Her face was beautiful and flawless, sporting a pert nose and a smile that revealed twin dimples, one on each cheek. She had a perfect chin, neither too round nor too chiseled, and eyes that sparkled with an ice blue crispness. Sam’s golden hair, rich and luxurious, sparkled under the early evening sunshine and flowed over shoulders like spun gold, ending halfway down her back. Unlike her mother, Sam was more of an all-natural, all-American beauty than a pure sex pot. She was the type of girl that radiated the ‘it’ factor, creating her own orbit and gravity that drew people in no matter their gender.

  Sam flashed me a sweet smile and a fluttery wave as she practically bounced down the front steps, taking her big tits for a glorious and bumpy ride.

  I was beyond fucked. She was a twenty-year-old goddess who I had no business taking out for what appeared on the surface to be a dinner date. She was mind-blowing and mesmerizing, and I watched her move, too stunned to think. What the hell had I got myself into?

  Sam tucked her purse over her shoulder and came around my truck, curling a long lock of her golden hair behind her ear. She pulled on my door handle and climbed in, turning to me with a smile. “I love your truck,” she said, her blue eyes dancing with nervous energy.

  Her scent washed over me like a fever dream. She smelled like warm vanilla, with a hint of sweet strawberry that left my brain hazy with lust. I took her in, licking the dryness from my lips. The opening of her sleeveless sweater revealed the white lacy side of her bra, and my cock thickened, turning harder by the second. “You aren’t the fifteen-year-old girl I remember,” I said. “What the hell happened?”

  Sam laughed. “I grew up. I was a late bloomer.”

  “Well, you bloomed,” I said, not wanting to come off too creepy. “You look great.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “So do you.”

  I glanced down at my outfit. I had thrown on a navy-blue polo shirt and a pair of faded blue jeans. “Thanks. This is my formal wear,” I said.

  Her eyes flickered over my muscled chest and back up to my eyes. “It suits you.” She reached over and straightened the edge of my collar, unleashing a cage of butterflies in the pit of my stomach. “Sorry,” she said. “It was a little crooked and I’m slightly OCD.”

  That brief touch had spiked a wave of adrenaline inside me that left my legs rubbery and teetering on failure. I silently sucked in a cleansing breath and let it out. “You like seafood?” I put the truck in drive and pulled away from the curb. “I know a little place.”

  “I love seafood,” she said. “Maybe after dinner, you can show me your boat?”

  I didn’t know what to infer from her suggestion. She had thrown me completely off my game, not knowing whether to treat her like a daughter or a potential girlfriend. That I didn’t know made me feel absolutely uneasy. But the way I felt about her made the entire situation more difficult. Once Brooke got a look at Sam, the little green monster inside the redhead might crawl out of her throat and straight-up attack.

  “Sure,” I said. “Fair warning… it’s a little messy.”

  “I don’t mind,” she said. “Besides, there are things we need to discuss.”

  “Things?” I asked guiding the car around a corner. “That’s cryptic.”

  “For now, let’s leave it at cryptic,” she said. “I want to enjoy our date.”

  “This is a date?” I asked. “You know how old I am?”

  She frowned. “God, Trap. You’re only thirty-five. It’s not like you’re ancient. Besides, I’m attracted to older men.”

  I nodded and let out another held breath. “I’m in trouble here, aren’t I?”

  She grinned and inched a little closer. “Trouble is where you find it.”

  Before we even arrived at the restaurant, my cock had turned rock hard. It stayed that way as I guided the truck into the parking lot and stayed that way even after I parked and held the truck door open for her.

  The hostess led us to a romantic table on the deck that overlooked a seaside canal. A candle flickered on the table and strings of outdoor lights provided dim illumination. In the distance, the faint sound of the waves breaking on the beach mingled with a cool evening breeze that shifted locks of Sam’s hair over her forehead and cheeks.

  She drew the attention of every red-blooded male inside the restaurant, much to the ire of their dates. But even the women gawked after her. Who could blame them? There were pretty girls out there and then there was Sam Monroe who, like her mother, broke the scale. It was like living life in cheat mode, but I’m sure her beauty wasn’t all the peaches and cream I imagined. What had Lindsay said? Sam had a crush on me? That was impossible. She must have misread her daughter. Sam could have had literally any man she wanted. Why would she want me?

  We sat down and I briefly scanned the menu. “Do you like oysters?” I asked.

  “Love them,” she said. “Did you know they’re a natural aphrodisiac?”

  I peered over my menu. “Then maybe we should get the shrimp cocktail.”

  She laughed. “No. I want oysters.”

  “Fine,” I said, and set the menu down. “So, tell me, you must have a boyfriend. Does he know you’re out on a…?”

  “Date?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “No. He doesn’t know I’m out on a date. I was supposed to go to a party with him, but I canceled.”

  “Shit. I’m sorry. I can drop you off after.”

  She laughed and shook her head. “I don’t like him that much. He treats me like a fucking trophy. I hate that. Besides, he’s boring and predictable.”

  “Then he’s not the one, huh?”

  She laughed. “God, no. He’s the latest in a long line of stiffs. That’s all. I seem to draw them out of the woodwork. But I’m not a slut if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “I wasn’t thinking anything,” I said, which was a lie. Of course, I wondered if she had sex with all her boyfriends, but I wouldn’t tell her that.

  She studied the menu. “What’s good?”

  “The lobster is great,” I said. “So is the crab or any of the shrimp dishes.”

  She put down her menu. “Order for me. Let’s see if you can guess what I would pic
k.”

  “I already guessed the oysters,” I said.

  “That’s an appetizer. It doesn’t count.”

  I studied her face for a long time, rubbing my chin and studying her thoughtfully.

  That elicited a giggling fit from Sam. “Are you that stumped?”

  “No,” I said. “I’m just using it as a chance to take a good long look at you.”

  “What do you think?” She opened her arms and tilted her head as if posing for the camera.

  “I think you’re with a man who’s way too old for you.”

  She laughed again and shook her head. “I’m already having more fun with you than I’ve had since….” She gazed upward as if searching her memory, while a broad grin seemed permanently fixed on her face. Finally, she shrugged. “Since never. No one tops you.”

  “Aren’t I lucky then,” I said returning her smile.

  That’s when the waitress appeared. I ordered a bottle of a fruity Cabernet I knew Sam would love, the oyster appetizer, and for the main course, I ordered seared scallops for Sam and the swordfish steak for me.

  After the server left, Sam stared at me with her mouth open in disbelief. “Did you ask my mom what I like? I was totally going to order the scallops.”

  “Is that so?” I asked, examining her again. “Or maybe you’re just trying to butter me up.”

  “I swear to God,” she said. “I’m calling my mom right now and she’ll tell you.” She reached inside her purse, and I laughed.

  “Okay. I believe you,” I said. “It was a lucky guess.”

  Sam put away her phone and turned back to me. “Fine, but I’m not trying to butter you up. We just seem to be in complete sync.”

  Dinner flew by in a flash, with the flirtatious banter continued back and forth. Talking to Sam was a skilled conversationalist, and I lost myself in her eyes, words, and the sweet lilt in her voice. I didn’t bring up the journal or speak about her relationship with Butch. We finished the bottle of wine and skipped dessert while I picked up the check. I wasn’t rich by any stretch, but I wasn’t a pauper either. I had reeled in a few good wrecks that padded my bank account with just enough zeros to live a simple but comfortable life, allowing for the occasional splurge like this one.