The Champion (Racing on the Edge)

by Stahl, Shey

  Whoever was on the other side of the door apparently didn’t realize my husband has some extreme anger issues and was more than likely going to kick his ass when he opened the door.

  “I’m getting security!” he told us.

  I wasn’t sure if he was a man or child at that point. For all we knew he could be a three foot tall little person.

  Emma would be sad if that were the case. She loves little people. I think it’s because she feels so comfortable around them seeing how they are around the same height to each other.

  “This is why Wes flies me everywhere.” Jameson grumbled and opened the door.

  I felt like saying, “Why because you are insane and can’t play nice with society?” but I didn’t.

  Security was standing there when we opened the door and I wasn’t at all surprised by that.

  “Can you two please take your seats?” The officer asked.

  “No.” Jameson objected crossing his arms over his chest. “I won’t take my seat.”

  A flirty flight attendant made her way over to us.

  Completely dismissing me, she looked at Jameson. “Can I help with anything?”

  “No,” we both glared at her.

  “I’m going to have to ask you to calm down.” The security guard motioned toward our seats. “Now please, take your seats,”

  “I’ll take my seat when I fucking feel like it and I won’t calm down.” Jameson snapped back at him before turning to me and pulling me out of the bathroom beside him. His fingertips gripped my waist securely.

  “Where did all this water come from?” The attendant asked me like I’ve done something wrong, which we have, but that’s beside the point.

  I responded with a rude, “How the fuck should I know!”

  Jameson’s attitude was wearing off on me.

  The security guard started threatening Jameson with arresting him if he didn’t comply and take a seat at which point I started pushing him to our seats and issuing my own threats in his ear.

  He went as far as to kick the seventeen-year old kid that was bothering us on our way to our seat.

  Real fucking mature.

  Again, he was like a two-year old trapped in a twenty- three year old body. Lane is more mature than him.

  Apparently, I wasn’t doing any better though.

  When the flight attendant came by to check on Jameson, I gave her a piece of my mind.

  “Listen, he’s fine.” I snapped. “And if he does need anything...I...as his wife...will provide it for him.” And for good measure, I add a snarky, “Just like I did in the bathroom.”

  This just proved my previous theory that combined in age we are barely sixteen. We probably shouldn’t even be allowed on an airplane without parental guidance.

  Jameson started laughing when she walked away.

  “That was hot.”

  “Oh you shut up. You’re going to get us kicked off the plane with your shitty attitude.” I told him handing him skittles.

  “No, I’m not. That jerk had it coming.” He insinuated the word coming to specify something lewd and then winked slowly. Leaning back in his seat, he slouched to one side and then turned to look at me in a very cocky way. “This coming from someone who just went off on a flight attendant,”

  “You really need anger management classes and stop saying coming!”

  “No I don’t.” he almost sounded appalled that I said he needed anger management.

  “Really?” I challenged quirking an eyebrow in his direction and then looked at the fuming kid across from us nursing his sore shin that Jameson had kicked. “You don’t think so?”

  He smirked again. “Nope,” He popped a few skittles in his mouth and chewed slowly. “I don’t think so.”

  When we landed, nothing got better. In fact, it got worse.

  “You didn’t think to check the weather?”

  “Well...I was distracted.”

  “Apparently,” I muttered pushing my waterlogged hair from my eyes.

  This was a disaster. This whole thing had been a complete disaster from the start and it honestly didn’t look like it was going to get any better.

  Jameson’s plan, for our delayed honeymoon, was for us to go away for a few days to Rio de Janeiro before he needed to be in Las Vegas on Wednesday. This left us seven days of pure alone blessedness.

  In theory, it was a great plan but now that we were there, it was not good.

  Did I mention we were also in the middle of a hurricane trying to find an island that was supposedly located somewhere in the middle of the South Atlantic Ocean?

  First we missed our plane and had to sit at the airport for two hours waiting for the next flight. Then we got stuck next to this obsessed fan who talked to Jameson the entire flight about how he got started in NASCAR and everything from his favorite color to the brand of underwear he preferred. Then we had the mile high fiasco, which was another disaster.

  When we finally landed, Jameson was not in a good mood.

  In fact, he was livid and extremely cranky, crabby, grouchy, ornery and just being downright mean to everyone.

  “I hardly see this as my fault.” He added squinting into the darkness.

  “It is your fault.” I told him.

  His head turned toward me, his eyes hard, hair falling against his damp forehead. We looked like two wet rats.

  “How so?” he challenged, water dripping from his nose.

  “I don’t know,” I shrugged indifferently. “just is.”

  The wind blew, rocking the boat. We sat next to each other on the floor now, swaying with the waves, our shoulders bumping against each other with each rock of the boat.

  I shifted beside him, reaching for my water bottle. It was dark and you couldn’t see, so when my hands began searching Jameson tensed.

  “Wait a second...you don’t have a fork, do you?”

  “No.” I said with a giggle. “I was looking for my water.”

  He sighed dramatically. “This sucks.”

  “Maybe you should have listened to the guy at the dock that said we should get someone to help us navigate.” I suggested.

  “I don’t need any help.” he snapped throwing his arms up. “You’d think he would have warned us about the weather. What an asshole.”

  “Did you even have an idea of where we are going or did you just start driving the boat?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes what?”

  “Yes I knew where we were going...I think.” He looked over at me. “Listen, I hardly think this is entirely my fault. That douche had a fucking map—he should have given it to us.”

  “He did!” I pointed to the map on the floor.

  “Can you see it?” he goaded. “I sure as shit can’t.”

  We were silent for a good ten minutes before I finally caved.

  “Would it help if I showed you my boobs?” I asked wiping water from my face.

  “Maybe, show me and let’s see.”

  Just then, before I can reveal the funbags, the skies opened up and let out the loudest mother loving crack of thunder I’d ever heard in my entire life, no lie. It actually vibrated my entire body.

  Both of us jumped and my hands went wild searching for Jameson to get as close to him as I could. The storm bubbled up, rocking the boat fiercely. With hands still wild and breathing hard, that’s when I found the camshaft.

  Jameson chuckled and pulled me onto his lap. “That’s not your water bottle, honey.”

  The rain, warm and sticky, that was just a steady patter before, increased and began pouring what looked like golf ball sized raindrops onto us and if the darkness wasn’t enough to blind you—the water coming down was. It was if someone opened a faucet on us.

  As the storm surged, it was like a scene out of that movie The Notebook. The only difference being we weren’t in North Carolina and we weren’t famous actors...okay well now that I think about it, this situation had little resemblance to that scene at all—maybe just the rain being portrayed. />
  I took a moment to look over this whole scenario. I was horny.

  When I went back to the doctor for my six-week check-up, he insisted we wait another three weeks for actual penetration. It sucked and I was extremely tired of reciprocating motions.

  “We shouldn’t make so much noise out here. Remember Dayton Peak? We’ll attract Moby Dick or something.”

  I think he was glaring but I couldn’t be sure with all the fucking rain.

  “Moby Dick isn’t real.” He told me, his lips capturing mine again, his tongue swept across my lower lip, tasting me. The water was making our lips incredibly slippery and other things. I had the bright idea of wearing a dress, which was now on the floor of the boat because there was no point in having any clothes on with all the rain.

  “Moby Dick is too real.” I insisted, still kissing him. “He’s a whale.”

  Jameson pulled back. “Sway, Moby Dick is a mythical creature as in fictional.”

  “No he’s not, he’s a sperm whale. They do exist.”

  “Still, the name Moby Dick and the story, is fictional.”

  “Are you trying to shit on my fairytales?”

  “Moby Dick is hardly a fairytale.”

  “Jameson?”

  “Yes?”

  “Stop talking about Moby Dick and show me your di—”

  His lips cut me off as we drifted in the open South Atlantic Ocean. It was one of those moments where nothing else mattered; nothing between us but the moist air. The sky rumbled and growled above us as our passion for one another was the only thing we cared about.

  With the high waves, a considerable amount of water was flooding the boat and the taste of salt was prominent to me.

  “It tastes like salt.” I finally said.

  “I didn’t come yet.”

  “I meant the water, jerk.” I clarified grinding my hips against him. “Why do you say that? It’s not salty?”

  “Just a joke between my brother and me. It’s funny.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  Sitting on his lap, I knew what I wanted and he was gonna give it up even if I had to rape him.

  “Oh,” he chuckled and attacked my neck again with nips and bites. “OW FUCK!” he screamed clutching his leg, I think. I couldn’t see a goddamn thing out there to know if he was really clutching his leg. The wind whipped around us, crashing the boat against the waves.

  “Fuckkkk!” Jameson moaned. “What the fuck happened? It hurts! It burns!”

  “What do you mean? What happened?” Frantically scrambling from his lap, I reached for his leg.

  “Did you bite me?” he yelled over the sound of the waves and wind. “I’m bleeding...fuck it hurts with the salt water!”

  “No, how could I have bit you when my mouth was against yours?”

  “Well I don’t know...something bit me.”

  In that exact moment, while arguing about biting, I felt something wet and slimy against my foot and practically jumped on Jameson’s shoulder because holy shit balls there was a goddamn shark in the boat with us.

  It was either that, or that was one hefty salmon.

  “OH MY GOD...SHARK!” I shrieked in a voice that sounded similar to Michael Jackson in Thriller.

  Jameson went all Steve Irwin of the shark community and kicked it. Yep, kicked it.

  As if kicking it was really going to do anything to a fucking shark.

  “Are you kidding me?” I punched his shoulder.

  I’m not really sure what possessed me to do it but I picked the shark up and tossed it over the edge. And when I say there was a shark on the boat...it was a tiny shark, like something you’d have as a pet but still, it was a shark and teeth that could quite possibly kill you.

  Regardless of the size and teeth, the Mama Wizard shined and saved the night.

  I turned to Jameson who was clutching his calf.

  “Wife ten—husband two,” I swept my wet hair out of my face dramatically as though I’d just run across country. “I need a drink.”

  “How the fuck did you get ten?”

  “Because I didn’t scream like a little bitch,” I told him with poise. “I took care of the problem.”

  “Okay first off, you did scream and climbed on my shoulders. Second, the goddamn thing bit me. I could have died!”

  “You’re overreacting.” I slumped against the floor beside him, exhausted by my endeavors.

  “No...I’m really not overreacting.” Jameson turned wiping water from his face. “Have you ever been bit by a shark? Or stabbed with a goddamn fork?”

  “Well no...but that’s hardly a shark bite. It’s more like a scratch.”

  He pushed his leg in my face. “That’s a scratch?”

  Now that I was closer, it was obviously not just a scratch.

  “Holy fuck! You need stitches.” I told him acerbically. He actually might, but I decided to keep with the sarcasm because this honeymoon was turning out to be a shitstorm.

  Just when I was thinking we might possibly die out here and how I would decorate my Wilson, we crashed against something hard and then scrapped along it.

  The boat jolted forward and then slammed to a stop throwing us against the seats.

  “What if it’s Moby Dick? Or another shark?” I asked shyly covering the funbags that were still playing in the rain.

  “It’s not...Moby Dick. And let me tell you something,” he glared. “if it’s a shark, I’m feeding you to him.” He moved me off him and peeked over the side of the boat. “It’s shore!”

  The relief I felt was hard to describe. I wondered if that was how the pilgrims felt when they made it to North America. I resisted the urge to say “Land-ho!” If that’s what they said.

  I should have paid better attention in history class and then maybe I’d know the correct terms.

  “Really?” I peeked over the edge as well to make sure he wasn’t joking. I wouldn’t want to get my hopes up. I was already picturing this turning into the movie Cast Away and having to make my water bottle my own personal Wilson.

  “Yes really.” Jameson said. “Get your ass out. I’m done with this fucking rain and this boat.”

  I slapped his wet shoulder. The sound echoed throughout the boat.

  Walking forward, his jeans clung to him but I was more distracted with the fact that he had no shirt on and the water gliding off his chest was creating a waterfall effect over his abdominal muscles.

  With the breaks in the clouds, the moonlight reflected off the white sand glowing against his skin.

  “Stop gawking at me and get out of the boat.” He clipped smacking my wet ass as he helped me out. “With our luck, this thing will carry us to China.”

  I stopped, my feet sinking into the warm wet sand.

  “Where the hell were you in history class? China is on the other side of the world.”

  It’s not like you’re any better dumb-shit. You couldn’t figure out what they said when they discovered land.

  “No it’s not...” without looking back at me he kept walking toward the trees. “It’s that way.” He pointed at the ocean behind us.

  “No...it’s not. That’s Africa.”

  Jameson stopped suddenly and spun around to face me, his breath tickling my damp neck. He leaned forward, his lips gliding across my jaw.

  “Stop arguing with me, wife.” His hands moved to pick me up bridal style. “I’m soaking wet, I’m extremely horny, and the last thing I want to be doing right now is arguing about Moby Dick or where the fuck China is at or talk about what is or isn’t a fucking scratch. I want to have sex with my wife. Right now.”

  I giggled the entire way to the bungalow he rented.

  The secluded house was situated in amongst the trees, set back away from the ocean by about a hundred yards or so. It was beautiful, dark, but beautiful. I assumed with the hurricane the wind had knocked out any power this place might have had and did I mention it was still raining and still blowing like a motherfucker outside.

  Once we made ou
r way through the dark vegetation and up the few stairs that led to the front door, I heard Jameson groan. “Damn it. It’s locked.”

  “Huh?”

  “It’s locked, the door...it’s locked.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Do you really think I’d be lying at a time like this?” he challenged.

  “Now wha—” Before I could even finish my sentence Jameson kicked in the door, the sound deafening as hefty wood splintered crashing to the ground.

  Jameson stood beside me all hulking looking, staring at the door. He probably couldn’t believe he’d gotten it down.

  “Was that really necessary?” my eyes focused on him and not his insanely hot body. “I’m sure we could have called someone.”

  “Apparently it was. Did you see any other boats out there in the ocean?” He asked with a sly grin. “It’s the only way onto this island.” He then winked and lunged for me.

  My head tipped back, giving his lips access to my neck and when he gently bit, I whore-moaned louder than I think I ever had. “Jesus Christ!”

  “Not quite.” He pulled my earlobe between his teeth. “But I’m pretty damn good.”

  Restart – Jameson

  Every time I thought about this night, with my wife, I had pictured spending hours exploring her skin with my tongue, kissing every inch of her and teasing her into a frenzy before we finally came together and made love at a reverent pace until the sun started to rise. That’s how a honeymoon was supposed to be like, right?

  It wasn’t going down that way.

  At least not this first time or after everything we’d been through in the last day. The need I felt was too great, all encompassing, and it appeared that my wife was in the same frame of mind.

  The frantic desire had to be sated. Neither of us was in enough control of our want for the other to take our time.

  Between the airplane and the boat teasing, it only amplified our need.

  Not that I wasn’t still upset about being bit by a fucking great white, but still, I was horny and that took precedence over everything.

  Sway ended up on top when we hit the floor once inside the house and immediately snaked one hand behind my neck to pull my face to hers. The other reached down to stroke my camshaft with the heel of her palm.