by Marie Wathen
With her idea, I find my voice and it comes out shaky when I ask, “What if I never want to let you go?”
She hesitates, and my heart leaps with hope that she will agree. “We certainly can’t stay like this forever.”
“That’s true, but what would it hurt to hold each other like this for a little bit longer?” Our breathing is labored. Her minty taste is only an inch away for me to sample. I lean up, brushing my lips against hers. When our mouths touch, both of our eyes are open, and for a moment she stares at me. Under her soot colored lashes, I see strong emotions glistening in her charcoal-shaded eyes again before she squeezes them shut, effectively blocking me out. She rips her lips away abruptly. Drawing in a ragged breath, she opens her eyes and stares at me hard. Some strong battle is going on behind those grey eyes. I long for the ability to read her thoughts, but her countenance is one of denial.
After a few moments, she smiles wickedly, pulling herself out of the darkness that her mind travelled. “We stay here and you’ll get sand in your Diesels,” she jokes, answering my question. Then she pushes her hands hard against my chest, pulling away. She jumps to her feet, turning toward the guy who caused the fall.
“You know that I go commando.” I push up onto my elbows, watching her walk away, laughing.
The guard that she puts up when we get so close continues to stand in my way. It is going to take longer than one week for her to trust what we have to be the real deal. Trust after the truth, is it possible? That’s what worries me the most.
On his hands and knees, the drunken beach bum begins puking his guts out into the rolling waves. Angel squats down beside him, placing a hand on his back. “Hey, are you all right?”
Twenty minutes later, she has him drinking water and resting back on his blanket again. His friends promise to watch after him. It’s enough to satisfy Angel, and we begin walking back toward the house. Her compassion toward a total stranger, who almost hurt her, moves me. How could I not love her? There are many pretty little mysteries about her, but I know that she’s good and loving. I need to know everything about her. Right now though, I want to ask her about our tomorrows.
Walking through the soft sand, I take her hand into mine. “Angel,” I pause feeling a surge of terror rushing through me. She casts a sideways glance at me. All of a sudden my voice is thick. Nerves tumble wildly through my stomach, and my heart beats so fast, I’m sure that it could bolt right through my ribcage. Don’t fuck this up. “Would you…” Now, my damn tongue feels like it is sticking to the roof of my mouth.
Running my hand through my hair, I sigh while squinting, probably looking like I’m in severe pain, and she giggles. Of course, she would find my agony humorous. I am a pathetic loser. “What’s wrong with you? Never seen you all ‘cats got your tongue.’ It’s cute,” she teases, referring either to me as being a baby, a dog or a shit-slinging monkey. Her giggles turn into a hearty laugh and she tugs on my arm. Peeling my eyes away from hers, I glance forward, spotting my house coming into view. It sits ahead looking like a safe haven, but what do I really have to be afraid of? The worst that she could do would be telling me that she doesn’t want me. Fucking hell that would be the absolute worst. I can’t screw this up. I refuse to lose Angel. I feel a light squeeze of her hand in mine, and hear her calling my name, “Blues?”
Turning my attention back to her, I find her lovely smile and stellar eyes, the ones that I need to see every damn day for the rest of my pathetic excuse of a life in order to survive. My heart zips up into my throat, causing me to trip over my damn feet. With her free hand, she covers her mouth, smothering more laughter. Oh God, smite me now, I beg silently, lifting my eyes skyward, awaiting his judgment. I get zilch from Him in reply. Giving up, I shake my head. “Ah, it’s nothing. I’m starving. Are you ready for breakfast?”
“Yeah…” she draws out the word. Lucky for me, she drops it, and without another word, we walk the mile back to the beach house, still holding hands. I scold myself again for not feeling comfortable enough to ask her what I’m dying to know.
After taking separate showers, we cook breakfast together and then prepare everything for lunch later. Before coming into the kitchen, she switched on the stereo, which plays throughout the speaker system that is wired up in each room. She found an XM station that plays random songs, bouncing through different genres. The current tune is a country song, Johnny and June. The singer is talking about a burning love that expands beyond the end of time. Just like she’s wailing, I want to ask for more than the average relationship has to offer, loving each other too much to confine it to a few decades.
The silence between us still lingers, but it isn’t uncomfortable. While cutting up cooked chicken breast for chicken salad sandwiches, she glances up and catches me looking up at the exact moment while I’m chopping up the vegetables for our omelets. We offer shy smiles and glance away quickly, her cheeks are blazing red, and I’m still unable to find my voice. Are we flirting? I think we’re doing this relationship in reverse from the way that normal people usually go about it. Then again, I don’t think there will ever be anything normal about us. After sneaking the fourth glance, our mirroring smiles cause us to bust into a heavy laughter.
“Have I told you how beautiful you are today?” I ask, reaching my thumb up and swiping away some of the mayonnaise dressing that dripped from the spoon onto the corner of her lip after she checks it for seasoning. I pop the tip of my thumb into my mouth and her eyes zero onto me licking it. The grey turns dark, heating with desire, and I smile. She breaks her gaze, focusing on her task of stirring the salad together.
Clearing her throat, she replies, “I look like shit.”
“You’re talking shit,” I tease, and she scrunches her eyebrows while licking the spoon clean and then dropping it into the sink.
Refusing to make eyes contact, she stores the chicken salad in the refrigerator for lunch later and then turns around to dust off the counter with a towel. Frustrated, I make a mess of our omelet in the frying pan. She pours two glasses of juice, and I dump the skillet into the sink.
“Seriously, Angel, you are breathtaking,” I say, stepping in front of her, but she sidesteps, moving around me toward the food. Following, I add, “I will tell you every day just how amazing you look, if that’s what it will take for you to believe me.”
She snorts, piles her omelet on a plate and grabs it up, along with her glass. Taking it out toward the patio, she calls over her shoulder, “I don’t need that, Blues.”
“Sure you do,” I insist, following her out with my plate in hand.
She sits on a lounge chair, crossing her legs and placing her plate on her lap. I remain standing, hovering over her. She takes a huge bite while avoiding eye contact, and then with her mouth full, she mumbles, “You can stop. I’m not some silly little girl who needs reassuring.”
“I agree…” I pause, capturing her attention. Her eyes are riveted on me, awaiting my explanation. I sit my food down in front of her and squat down so that I can take one of her hands into mine. Releasing a heavy breath, I continue, “But, the truth is you are the most beautiful and intriguing woman that I have ever known, and you deserve to hear how you take away my breath with the simplest of things.” The air around us sizzles while she studies me for a few moments. “More importantly, I appreciate how you let me be myself. I don’t…I can’t get that freedom with anyone else.” Her gaze becomes contemplative, and maybe, a touch of longing is mixed within it. “I love being here with you. I don’t know when I have been happier, and I’m pretty sure the smile that’s been on your lips all day is probably the brightest that I’ve ever seen on you. We don’t have to rush back to our lives. I don’t want us to. What do you want, Angel?” She holds my gazes intently. My heart thunders rapidly while I wait for her response.
“You’ve made this the best week,” she replies softly, shifting her eyes out toward the soft, calming waves of the ocean. “I am so happy here.” She turns back to me, squeezing my han
d and adds, “With you.”
Shifting her plate away, her hands come up, framing my face, and she leans forward delicately touching her lips to mine. I kiss her tenderly, moving mine slowly, savoring. The passion behind this kiss expresses an establishment of a further need for each other. One way or another, our love will allow us to find our way back to each other once we survive the hell, the pain and all the lies.
Chapter Thirty-Three
After eating, I ask Angel to join me on a ride. I have a special day planned for us. On the way to the country club, I divert and head into the city where I drag her into a boutique and purchase her a gorgeous light blue cocktail dress and silver strappy heels, which gives her several inches on her 5’8” and brings her closer to my 6’3”.
“What is all of this for?” she whines while I pay for her gifts.
Exclusively for her, tonight will be filled with romance. We’ve spent several days and nights together, mostly wrapped in each other’s arms, which I will never get enough of or give up for a romantic evening, but Angel deserves a night of decadence. I want her to remember fondly every moment that we’ve spent together. I know that I will.
“That dress gets me hot,” is all that I give her, earning a smile from the woman working the cash register. She looks to be around fifty years old with a thick streak of silver in her light brown hair. Her gold name tag reads, “Tilley”.
With a clenched jaw and a note of anger in her voice, Angel insists, “I don’t need for you to buy me clothes. I have my own money. Why in the hell do I need a fancy dress?”
“Stubborn woman! Our plans for tonight are a need to know basis. For now, you have restricted access to that intel.” I glance at her, noticing that splendid stubbornness glowing brighter than the early morning sun. Her brows are pinched in, and her arms are folded together defiantly. Sincerely, I say, “Please, let me buy you these things.” She growls with annoyance, and I exhale loudly while thrusting a hand into my hair and staring her down, also growing exasperated. “Honestly, I’m not doing anything other than rescuing the damn thing.” An eyebrow arches suspiciously. “This lovely garment deserves to be worn by the most beautiful woman, because it would look like shit on any other.”
“Smooth…” she teases, losing her temperament and allowing one corner of her lips to tip upward. I’m wearing her down. With that, I smile and take the change from Tilley’s outstretched hand.
Observing our heated exchange, Tilley chuckles softly and then comments, “Ah, new love. It is quite marvelous, isn’t it?” Angel pulls her gaze away from me to glare at Tilley. “Your young man is a keeper, sweetie.”
On a growl, Angel mumbles through gritted teeth, “Whatever.” Then she snatches the bag, offered by the clerk, and huffs her way back to the car. Grinning like a buffoon, I wink at the observant clerk and rush to follow Angel out.
She remains silent on the drive over to the golf course. Once we arrive, she shoots me an odd look. “Where are we?”
“Seabrook’s famous golf course,” I answer, stepping out of the vehicle and walking around to her side. I pull open the door and she extends a hand, allowing me to assist her.
“You think that I play?”
“I’m guessing that you may have been on a mini golf course at least once.” I wink, and she crinkles her nose. I have the feeling that she knows the game. I still can’t shake the feeling that she is cultured, or has experiences outside of the degenerative lifestyle that she claims to have grown up in. “I’m teasing. If you don’t know, it will be my honor to teach you.”
After we purchase her an appropriate outfit from the pro shop to wear on the greens, and I change into mine, her eyes light up as we step outside. Because I want to spend time alone with her, I opt out of using a caddy and we load up the golf cart with my equipment and a cooler. I had stored everything in the trunk of my rental car while she was taking a shower earlier.
“So, you’re really going to teach me, huh?” She sips from her beer bottle, using it to block a smirk while sitting in the passenger seat of the cart watching me.
“Yes.” I nod after setting up the first tee. “I’m dying to get my hands on you.”
“Is that what all of this is about?” She pins me with an arched eyebrow, looking adorable as hell in her white golf shirt and matching pants. Along with her hair tie, the LPGA logoed visor helps hold back her thick waves and shields her eyes from the blazing sun. We’ve been lucky to get several warmish days during our stay in South Carolina. I’m completely grateful, but cozying up together in my beach house would also make me happy. However, today is about experiencing things with her that I enjoy, and seeing just how matched we are for each other.
“Nah, this is about me spending time with you. Among other things, I enjoy golf, and I think that you may as well.”
“We’ll see.” She points to my golf bag. “Where do I start?”
“With your first lesson, we’re going to go slow. The things that you’ll learn that are key to a successful game is grip, stance, and swing. But the most important is your posture. Come here,” I encourage, retrieving my nine-iron from the bag, and she moves to stand beside me. “When addressing the ball, stand firm with your feet shoulder’s width apart while keeping both arms straight and your upper body relaxed. The key to becoming a great player is to have patience.” She snorts, and I glance up catching her mesmerizing smile. “I realize that you are slightly lacking in that area.”
“What on earth would make you think that I am an impatient person?” She’s still smiling trying to look demure, but I can see right through that smokescreen.
“Oh, I don’t know.” I pluck the beer from her hand, drain it and then place the empty bottle on the ground behind us. “It could be your inability to sit still for more than a few minutes. Or perhaps it is your insistence on doing everything your way without waiting for assistance. Or maybe it is because of the way you devour a plate full of bacon, like an emaciated dog.”
With wide eyes, Angel shouts, “I am a dog in this scenario?”
“Exactly.”
“Ass,” she scoffs, and I chuckle. “You might want to work on your sweet talking skills.” Stepping forward, she jerks the club out of my hand. “Give me that big stick.” She steps toward the tee, bending at the waist and arching her back slightly. My eyes shift toward her perfect ass. Her eyes lift toward the horizon, searching for the red flag that marks the hole. Glancing back over her shoulder, she says, “Well, don’t just stand there. Aren’t you going to do what you really came here for?” Angling my head slightly, I narrow my eyes. “Let the groping commence.”
Smiling smugly, I move hastily, pressing my body against hers. My hands round over her soft hips and I draw her against my cock, already growing with the thrill of her enticing idea. Lowering my face so that my lips brush her ear, I reply, “I already told you. Not this time, doll. I could have stayed home and done that. In fact, I’ll have my wicked way with you tonight. But, today, you play golf with a master.” She laughs, bumping her ass against my crotch. I warn, “Easy, or you’re going to start something in public. The retirees playing ahead might become distracted by you yelling out my name repeatedly while I fuck you on the greens. Averages will suffer, and their old tickers might give out.”
“Too bad for them, I don’t have a problem with PDA,” she says with a sly wink, referring to the night that we met and mocking Lourdes for what she said after I kissed her in front of everyone at Holidays.
Loving her feisty spirit, I take her up on that challenge. Moving my hands, one cupping the back of her head and the other wrapping around the long column of her sexy neck, I kiss her sweet mouth while she is still facing over her shoulder.
“Blues,” she moans as my lips brush along her jaw line. Her tone is demanding. She wants to fuck and doesn’t give a damn that anyone will see us. My resolve to behave is melting away in this tantalizing kiss and with the allure of her plea.
“You are so damn distracting.” With a smile, I lo
ok deeply into sparkling eyes and then press one more kiss to her lips before saying, “All right, Job. Let’s get started.”
“Har, har, your bible reference poking fun at my lack of mastering patience is hilarious.”
With a few instructions, she lines up her first shot. Drawing back, she swings and hits the ball with a surge of power. It sails through the air a good two hundred and fifty feet before dropping. A dazzling smile streaks across her full lips when she turns to look at me offering a naughty wink.
“Nice beginners luck,” I compliment before pressing a kiss to her succulent lips. I retrieve my club and smack her ass. “Now watch the master and learn.”
“Oh, good grief,” she grumbles playfully, and I plant my feet near the tee. Before striking, I peek over my shoulder and offer an equally wolfish wink. She rolls her eyes and then plops down in the driver’s seat of the cart, snagging another beer from the ice chest. My golf ball flies and then lands several yards past hers. “So, you can hit it,” she admits with a taunting giggle. “Let’s see if you have the fortitude to get it in the hole without too much trouble.”
“Tease, you know that I am all over that hole,” I counter, kissing her before taking the passenger seat, letting her drive us over to it.
A couple of hours later, we leave the club. The smile on my face matches the brilliant one on Angel’s. We didn’t keep score, but she played one hell of a game. I’m no expert instructor, and I don’t doubt my teaching skills, but clearly she has played golf before. I would venture a guess that she may have even been holding back her capability. After numerous perfect shots, one random ball sailed toward a group of old farts who continued to ignore her warnings when she yelled ‘fore’. One of them will be nursing a lump on his forehead for a week. I stood there with my mouth hanging open as she squealed and jumped around crazily with pride, looking like that it was definitely intentional, but she denied it by saying that a beginner couldn’t have that much control.