“Now…Ms. Bondurant.” He reestablishes a respectable ballroom dance length between them. “I aim to court you properly,” Brody slips back into his gentlemanly role.
“I’d say once you’ve tasted the milk, you’ve surpassed courting.” Savannah giggles, playing on the age-old adage.
“Maybe I intend on buying the cow,” he spars back with a wink.
Savannah shakes her head, playfully slapping him. “What did you have in mind?”
“Little birdie told me you and your sisters used to go fishing with your daddy,” he prefaces. Savannah’s eyes light up with the memory. “You ever been fishing in the dark?”
“Maybe a time or two in high school.” Savannah recalls a few outings with her boyfriend of seventeen. She smirks. “I don’t recall doing much fishing though.”
Brody gives in to a deep hearty chuckle. “I bet you don’t,” he contemplates her eager sensuality. “Too bad I didn’t know you in high school, Sweet Savannah. We might be a little further along in life.”
“Ya think?”
“Oh, I know,” he says very matter-of-factly. “Now take your fine ass inside and get some clothes on.” He releases her, slapping the apple-bottomed accessory.
Savannah laughs, her lively gumption springing her back through the threshold of her front door in pursuit of fishing gear. “I don’t have a pole,” she yells.
“I gotcha covered,” Brody calls after her, eyeing two fishing rods secured in the back of his pickup. “Got everything we need. Rods, reels, bait, snacks, blankets,” he rehearses yet another one of his infamous checklists. “You roll with me, that’s the way it’ll always be. I’ll make sure you have everything you need, Savannah Bondurant. If you’ll have me,” his voice trails off of his words at a conscious whisper, his heart not yet brave enough to relinquish such desires.
Moments later, Savannah returns, her daddy’s fishing vest zipped around her sweatshirt, accompanied by blue jeans. Fashioning Burberry plaid rubber boots and a matching baseball cap, her dirty blonde hair is pulled through the back.
The image causes Brody to smile as he stands in the grass beneath the porch, looking up at her. “Well, aren’t you just too damn cute.” Internally he marks another check on his ‘must-haves’ list, number ten—confidently casual.
“Thank you,” Savannah says, crossing the toe of one bulky rubber boot over the other, she performs a slight plié curtsy before locking up.
“Hop on.” Brody backs up to the porch, offering his expansive back for a playful ride.
Without a second thought, Savannah lurches off the porch, wrapping herself around his formidable frame. “I haven’t had a piggyback in years,” she chuckles.
“Good thing you wore your boots,” he comments as his hands wrap around the waterproof material. “Gets kind of mucky where I’m taking you.”
“Secret spot, huh?” her excitement builds.
“One of the best for catching redfish,” Brody acknowledges proudly.
“Those are the ones with the black dot on their tail, right?”
“Yes Ma’am.” He pats her leg. “If you’re lucky, you might latch on to a shark.”
“Is this legal?” she contemplates fishing after dark.
Brody shrugs. “So long as we don’t get caught.”
Savannah laughs. Nuzzling her face to his cheek, she kisses it. “I like you, Brody McAlister,” her soft-spoken words thankful and sweet in their expression, the momentum of the late-night excursion effectively wiping out the not-so-pleasant events of the day.
“I like you, too,” he murmurs, his bass-laden voice intense with emotion.
Chapter Sixteen
Back at the Savannah Sun Times on a bright and crisp Tuesday morning, Savannah sits at her desk prepping her next column, its heading, Fishing In The Dark.
Fully content and rested, having called in sick yesterday (a treat she avoided at all costs for the past five years of her employ) after her moonlit excursion with Brody, Savannah enjoys the feel of fall clothing adorning her body, a welcomed fashion overhaul after a typical Georgia scorcher of a summer. Her camel-colored cashmere sweater giving way to light brown skinny jeans, a pair of tall-topped dark brown leather boots round out the ensemble, a nice color palette for her dirty blonde hair and fair complexion.
“Well, well, well,” Tami Lynn chimes while entering their cubicle, “look who decided to show up to work.”
“I was heartsick over you leaving me,” Savannah says, clutching at her chest dramatically, her bottom lip protruding. “I see we’re having a bon voyage party for you this Friday.” She speaks of the communal board in the office break room, announcing Tami Lynn’s departure and well-wishes for her new job with their biggest rival, The Chatham County Courier.
“Eek!” Tami Lynn squeals, excited about the advanced opportunity. “Give me a copy of your book proposal. I’ll be sure to slip it through to the editor once I get my feet wet,” she encourages.
“What about Larry?” Savannah asks, inadvertently prodding about their date.
“We’ll still see each other, outside of work. We talked about it. Might be kind of exciting, not working together. Builds the tension, you know.” Tami Lynn organizes her desk, a large box sitting to the side, gathering her personal office belongings for her transfer.
“He talks?” Savannah pipes.
“Oh yeah.” Tami Lynn giggles. “Once you get him alone. He’s not big on crowds. Major anxiety issues. He’s looking forward to Jac’s bout, though,” Tami Lynn proudly emphasizes the correct roller derby lingo.
“So…” Savannah spins around in her chair, looking expectantly at Tami Lynn for the intimate dish.
“Well, it’s not as steamy as you and gym boy,” Tami Lynn dismisses before continuing. “But, we did spend nearly the entire weekend together. We didn’t get it on or anything,” she blurts out, stalling Savannah’s mind from running away with the dialogue. “We just talked, mostly. He showed me his Dungeons & Dragons collection.” Tami Lynn laughs, still marveling at the fact.
“What was that like?” Savannah squints her eyes and attempts to understand how grown men get caught up in fantasy warfare.
Tami Lynn shrugs her shoulders. “It was kind of cool. He’s really smart. Each character has their own set of capabilities…powers. They all have strengths and weaknesses. You have to strategically select them.” Tami Lynn talks with her hands attempting to remember the details. “It requires a lot of forethought, actually. It’s kind of like playing chess. You really have to think. Might make for some great role-play. If we ever get to that part,” Tami Lynn mutters.
“Did he kiss you? Or anything?” Savannah’s voice rises inquisitively.
Tami Lynn shakes her head. “He acted like he might a few times. But he didn’t. He’s pretty awkward, in case you haven’t noticed.” Tami Lynn chuckles. “But I kind of like that. Builds the suspense.”
“Oh yeah.” Savannah nods, recollecting a few rather awkward and prolonged first kisses in her lifetime and how it seemed to take forever for those to actually happen. “Like fireworks. You never forget them.”
“I’m hoping. I mean, it has to be, right? He’s sweet and attentive. Why wouldn’t he be a good kisser?” Tami Lynn reasons, hopeful. “It’s nice though. At least I know…well, I think that means he’s interested in me on a deeper level than just the physical.”
“And you’re interested in him?” Savannah asks, knowing Larry is a far-cry from the ‘bad boy’ type Tami Lynn usually goes for.
“He’s interesting. Something sexy about him in a dark, nontraditional way. He’s artistic,” she walks through the positives. “You should see his drawings. He has this idea for a graphic novel. He does all the illustrations. He wants me to create some fonts for his speech balloons. You know the bubble above characters’ heads depicting their thoughts. He thinks I’m really talented,” Tami Lynn’s voice fills with wonder.
Savannah approves with a beaming smile. “I like him already. That’s freakin�
�� exciting, Tami Lynn! What if you two pull this off and release some bestselling graphic novel. That’s too cool!” Savannah’s mind runs wild with the thought of the grueling yet rewarding task of actually getting published. “And you are talented. And so deserving of feeling the way you do right now.”
Tami Lynn ducks her head momentarily, the joy and promise of a new relationship that may have both personal and professional perks nearly too good to be true. “We’re taking it slow. I think that’s the only way he knows.” She laughs. “Although, we’ll have to work on the introvert in him.”
“That’ll come,” Savannah encourages. “Maybe he’s never had anyone give him the chance…to come out of his shell.”
Tami Lynn hunches her posture, leaning in toward Savannah, she whispers, “You think he’s still a virgin?”
Savannah throws her hands up, palms out at shoulder level. “Maybe. Or a total closet freak!” She laughs, her imagination instantly picturing an S&M room in Larry’s home—whips, chains, handcuffs and ticklers abound.
“I can only hope!” Tami Lynn joins in.
Savannah watches in delight at her cubicle mate and friend for the past five years. “I’m really happy for you, but I’m going to miss this,” she laments fondly, wondering with whom she will share her morning latte. The action causing her to cup the beverage in her hand, taking another satisfying swig.
“You could come with me you know,” Tami Lynn entices, taking a drink from her green friendly tumbler as well. Savannah shrugs, a fitting ‘we’ll see.’
“How do you two ever get any work done?” associate editor, Sam McDonald, rounds the corner to their cubicle, peering over Savannah’s shoulder at her computer screen. “Willodean sent me to check on your column,” he continues, annoyed at the gopher-esque treatment.
“Sending out her flying monkeys, is she?” Tami Lynn spars, comparing Willodean to the Wicked Witch of the West from The Wizard of Oz fame.
Sam mimics the high-pitched noise the monkeys make in the film as they descend on Dorothy. Stopping, he counters, “You, too, could hold such a position. If you only had a brain,” he contrasts her to the Scarecrow.
“At least I’m smart enough to leave this place,” Tami Lynn jousts back, clicking her not-so-ruby red heels together.
“Be careful, Einstein,” he warns playfully, “who do you think they put in charge of your going away party? I was thinking Le Petit Bistro.” Savannah and Tami Lynn ooh and aah at the swanky five-star eatery. “Maybe Burger King would better suit your tastes.” Sam smirks at her.
Tami Lynn smirks back, exaggerating his most detestable moniker, “Wear dark pants, Sammy. You know red meat is adverse to your irritable bowel.” Savannah giggles at their backbiting interplay.
Sam flips the palm of his hand up in Tami Lynn’s direction, no worthy insult coming to mind with which to reply. “Fishing In The Dark?” he reads Savannah’s title condescendingly. “Have you forgotten you write a relationship column? Sounds like something out of Field & Stream.” He crosses his arms across his svelte, well-toned chest, his thumb and forefinger thoughtfully stroking his chin. “Willodean is not going to like that heading.”
“Apparently you’ve never been fishing in the dark,” Tami Lynn defends her cubicle mate.
“Gay men do not fish, sweetheart. Unless it’s a fun game of naked sushi,” he speaks of the Japanese inspired dinner theater where sushi is served on the body of an uber-attractive woman, or man in his experience.
“Hmm,” Tami Lynn postulates, securing the inventive idea in her memory bank for future reference.
“It’s a metaphor for figuring out what you truly want in a relationship. In life,” Savannah begins.
“No it’s not,” Tami Lynn chuckles. “It’s about necking. Doing the dirty. In a remote, woodsy location. Like a couple of wild animals.”
“That sounds more accurate,” Sam agrees flippantly. “Although it pains me to say.” He rolls his eyes at the thought of agreeing with Tami Lynn.
“I know. I know,” Savannah defends. “That’s the initial interpretation. But it’s more than that. It’s about getting away from it all…the city. Escaping into the night…the quiet. Picture it,” she prefaces, “you’re on a boat. In the middle of nowhere. Soothing water all around you. Moon up above. Crickets singing.”
“Sounds about as much fun as my daily commute,” Sam mutters. “Not to mention dangerous. Water draws mosquitoes. Those things carry all kinds of diseases, Savannah.” He shivers exaggeratedly. “Give me the downtown rooftop Hilton and a hot tub.”
Tami Lynn cackles at his dire sincerity.
“Really,” Savannah continues with her point. “People say fishing in the dark is pointless because you can’t see what you’re fishing for. Maybe that’s the point. Just sit there in the dark…the quiet…until you find it.”
“Whatever.” Sam flits his arms about. “Take it up with Willodean. I’m just the messenger.” And he’s off to report back to his demanding superior.
“So that’s where you were,” Tami Lynn inquires, awaiting the juicy details of her absence.
“It was so much fun, Tami Lynn. We stayed out there until sunrise, fishing. Mostly talking.”
“What’d you talk about?”
“Life. Love. Future,” Savannah recalls.
“Things must be getting pretty serious with you two?”
“I don’t know that I would call it serious. Enlightening, maybe,” Savannah reflects. “Do you have a checklist? You know, must-haves. For guys you date?”
Tami Lynn thinks momentarily. “Not really. I mean there are things I like and don’t like. But I guess I just figure that out in the dating process. Doesn’t everybody?”
“That’s my experience,” Savannah agrees. “But Brody actually has a list. Some negotiable, some nonnegotiable. Said he conjured it up after his divorce as a means of catching red flags early on before hearts get too involved.”
“Hmm,” Tami Lynn expels. “Well, men do tend to be a bit more logical, calculating about all of that stuff. Some of them anyway. Wonder if Larry has a list?”
“Probably. Hidden deep in that S&M closet of his.” The two women laugh with the thought. “Brody says their lists really don’t matter much seeing how we’re the ‘pickers,’” Savannah accentuates with air-quotes, a doubtful grin spreads across her lips.
“Sounds like he’s been reading your Jungle Love proposal!” Tami Lynn jousts, recapping the theory that wild males prance around and show off for the affection of their female counterparts.
“I know, right!” Savannah explodes. “He says that’s why it’s so important that we have a list, because ultimately the final decision is ours.”
Tami Lynn shrugs. “Guess he has a point. It is standard practice for a man to propose. It would be kind of hard to form a union without a woman’s consent. Hmm,” she says, her voice rising in its pitch, coming to an affirmative declaration, “we are the ‘pickers.’”
“Yeah,” Savannah agrees, her voice as shrill and flabbergasted as Tami Lynn’s with the responsibility. “He says we’re slipping in our duties if we don’t have a list. We actually got in a little tiff about it.”
“Ooh,” Tami Lynn purrs. “Did you have crazy wild make-up sex?”
“No,” Savannah giggles. “He said it’s unfair for us to expect them to know what we want when we don’t even know what we want.”
“Ooh,” Tami Lynn grumbles. “He didn’t.”
“Yeah. He did,” Savannah growls. “So, then he said, ‘Tell me what you want.’ All challenging and holier-than-thou.” Her hands and face antagonizing in expression.
“What’d you say? That you want.”
“I said I want a nice guy with a positive attitude who I can have fun with.”
Tami Lynn shrugs, agreeing, “That sounds about right.”
“Not good enough for Mr. I Have A Checklist,” Savannah belittles. “He said, ‘Does it matter what the guy does for a living? Does it matter if he wants to get ma
rried? Have children? Is he a saver or a splurger? Homebody? Does he drink? Occasionally? Every night? Can he take care of you? Do you want to be taken care of? Or work as a team?’”
“Whoa. Whoa. Whoa!” Tami Lynn gasps at the barrage of questions.
“My sentiments exactly!” Savannah pipes.
“What’d you say? To all of those questions.”
“‘I don’t know. I’ll figure that out along the way.’ That’s what I said.”
“What’d he say to that?” Tami Lynn asks, her expression completely enthralled.
Savannah looks at her, her eyes wincing uncomfortably at the corners. “He said, ‘You just proved my point. You really don’t know what you want.’”
“Huh!” Tami Lynn gasps, her mouth wide open.
“Yeah,” Savannah scoffs. “That’s when things got a little uncomfortable.”
“What’d you do?”
“I didn’t do anything. I said, ‘Let me see if I can guess what’s on your checklist, Mr. I Know What I Want.’” Savannah’s animated hands fly about.
“Uh-huh.” Tami Lynn smiles, retribution gleaming in her eyes, knowing where this is going. The ideal checklist for any man, consisting of mostly superficial physical attributes.
“Number one…HOT. Number two…HOTTER. Number three…HOTTEST!” Savannah counts on her fingers.
Tami Lynn cackles, quickly hushing herself at the scolding eyes of nearby co-workers. “And how did the fabulous gym boy respond to that!”
“He laughed. Which was kind of nice. We needed a little tension breaker,” Savannah admits. “But then he rationally explained.” She rolls her eyes. “The man has an answer for everything,” she spews, annoyed yet very attracted to the fact. “So then he said, ‘Sure. Looks definitely help. Attraction doesn’t lie. But it doesn’t equate to compatibility either.’”
“Does his penis know that?” Tami Lynn spars condescendingly.
“Believe it or not, I think his actually does.” Savannah throws her hands in the air, letting them fall defeated onto her lap. “I don’t know. I think his divorce screwed him up enough that he truly doesn’t let his pecker do the picking anymore.”
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