by Eliza Freer
I shovel the rest of the sandwich in my mouth and reply with my mouth still almost full. “Well, I think I got my emotional quota in for the morning. It’s your turn.”
Wilder flags down our waitress and gets the check. “Oh, I’m sure you’ve got big plans with this truth or dare game of yours, but that will have to wait. We’re blowing this joint.”
I take a big gulp of my water. “Wy, for real, thank you for bringing me here. It’s wonderful and different and special.” I tap his chin with my finger so he looks at me. “This is special. Thank you.”
His breathing gets a little more irregular. “Are we still talking about the restaurant?”
I open my mouth to answer when our waitress drops the check off at the table. Wilder and I both blow out breaths I hadn’t realized we were holding, he throws down some bills, and leads me out of the restaurant. He hasn’t let go of my hand since we got here. I don’t even feel all clammy with nerves as he rubs his thumb across my knuckles. It just feels like it should. It feels like my hand is supposed to be in his. That’s a trippy emotion I’ll deal with later.
He opens the passenger side door for me and I get in. He pauses after shutting it and just looks at me for awhile. He makes his way over to the drivers side, hops in and starts the car. He looks my way and flashes a huge smile. “You ready for part two?”
I smile back, a smile so large my cheeks hurt. “Aye, aye, Captain.”
He chuckles. “Great, but we have to make a stop first.”
I sit in relative silence for awhile as he drives, just studying his profile. I don’t even care if he catches me checking him out. This man is nothing like I thought he would be. He’s beautiful, yes, and he is cocky and too charming for his own good, but he’s also sweet, kind, thoughtful, funny, smart, and might already be the best guy I’ll ever date. I furrow my eyebrows, thinking about what all that means to have those revelations before we’re even an “us” yet, or if that’s what he even wants. I can’t imagine that he doesn’t, based on how hard he’s worked to get me to go out with him, and based on everything he’s said to me since the beginning, but I don’t want to get too ahead of myself. This thing with us is meaning a lot more to me than casual dating, and I don’t want to ruin it with pressure and questions from the start. I’m already falling, but now I’m wondering how much of that safety net I’ve left for myself. It’s feeling more and more like it’s been packed up and stored away, which means if this crashes and burns, I’ll be left with nothing to catch me.
“Whatcha thinking about, there Femme? You think really hard. Like really, really hard. I didn’t know faces could scrunch together as much as yours does when you’re deep in it.”
He reaches over and tries to smooth out my furrowed brow. “Relax, East. Talk to me.”
I take a deep breath, knowing that conversation is a bit too premature for a day long date, and decide to wade into safer territory. “Truth or dare.”
Wilder looks at me for a few seconds, knowing I’m evading, but since he agreed to such terms, he’ll follow through. He gives me a small frown and turns his head back to the road. “Well since I’m driving and feel like I shouldn’t do anything daring, I’ll say truth.”
“Okay, Wilder Erasmus Sullivan.”
“Marcus. My middle name is Marcus. Erasmus? Where in the hell did that come from?”
“He was a theologian, amongst other things. But honestly it just seemed like something rich people might name a kid.”
“I think you’re going to be really disappointed when you meet the rich people I’m associated with, East. Plus, you have to know rich people because of who your dad is. All those donors, all those hangers-on.”
I sigh. “Yeah, I never said I don’t KNOW rich people, but there’s a difference between putting on a pretty dress and walking around beside my dad pretending I’m not dying inside, and actually getting into the mind and inner workings of a real life Richie Rich.”
Wilder mutters under his breath. “It’s not at all what you think. But proceed.”
I glance at him sideways, knowing we’ll get to that later. “Okay, truth then. You mentioned when we first hung out that you were a communications major, but afterwards you said “whatever that means”. So, I’m asking. What does that mean? Why are you a communications major?”
He sighs and grips the steering wheel a little harder with his left hand. He runs his right hand through his hair and sets it back down on his lap taping his fingers nervously. I grab his hand and lace our fingers together again to center him like he did me. He looks down at our hands, then over at me and smiles. He takes a more sure breath, and the smile doesn’t fade.
“Well. As you know, and have stated on multiple occasions, my family has money. We are of the aviation royalty going back many many generations so we come from old money, meaning we’ve had it for so long, and have so many properties and businesses and accounts and whatnot, that we will always be rich. It’s not in oil or a resource or something finite, it’s in an area of business that will for the foreseeable future always be in high demand. There are many different applications of flight technology, not just for actual commercial or private planes, but military uses and stuff. I say, and stuff, because that’s all I really know about the family business. I never wanted to be in aviation. I never wanted to do what my father does, or my family has done. Of course, that didn’t really sit well with Dad, but luckily my mom didn’t come from the money world. They met at some aviation convention, she was working a booth and he was there as someone in the business. They met, fell in love, all that jazz, so she’s not like him. She knows there’s more and just because my blood says planes, doesn’t mean that’s what I should do with my life.”
Like he did for me in the restaurant, I trace my thumb across the line of his knuckles. As I adjust my grip so I can make small circles in his palm, I notice he has calluses I didn’t notice before. I’ll ask him about that one later, as he doesn’t really seem like any sort of manual labor guy.
He continues, “So, I grow up, Dad’s trying to get me invested in the whole thing, and Mom kinda convinces him maybe it’s not where my passion lies. Being the pragmatic guy he is, he lets my mom take the reins, so to speak, and says that she can indulge me, but I have to keep my grades up, still have to go to a top of the line university, and have to major in something that will give me a realistic career path once I graduate. It’s clearly the best I can do, the best Mom could convince him of, so we take it and she starts exposing me to the arts. We went to see musicals, plays, operas, poetry nights, concerts trying to suss out what might draw something out in me. When we ended up at this cafe that had a small stage where local artists would perform, I fell in love with the idea of being a singer/songwriter. I watched the guy on stage just pour his emotions into his playing and his words and just knew that’s what I wanted. I wanted to turn what I think and feel into something that makes other people think and feel. Something that people can tap into and find their own truth inside. Kind of like how people can read a horoscope and gravitate towards the words and parts of it that they want to apply to their lives, to the part that might mean something to them.”
I sit back and watch his face change as he talks about music and I’m floored. Never in my big head would I have thought that’s where he was going with this.
“So, I started learning how to play guitar when I was sixteen, all the while trying to find my style when it came to songwriting. But my dad being who he is, and with the stipulations on this whole, indulge but contain thing regarding my future, it’s always been kinda a secret. Outside of my parents, Kyle knows, and now you. I love it, I do, but having a communications major was the closest I could get to anything creative, but also has a high probability of landing me a job out of college with my dad’s endorsement and money behind him. There are a lot of ways to tip a communications major, a lot of different jobs you can have with that degree, so it was the best compromise I could make at the time. I thi
nk it was the best my mom could do for it, and the most my dad was able to compromise. I know it was hard enough for him to give on the points that he did already.”
I smile at him as he turns left into a very fancy looking neighborhood. He stops at a guard gate, does the guy nod, and the security guard lets him through into the swankiest part of town I’ve ever seen. I’m in awe of the mansions we pass and wonder what all these people must do for a living.
“So, do you ever play out? Where do you play? Can I hear your stuff?”
Wilder laughs a sad laugh. “I’ve never played out. I’ve never played for anyone but myself. I’m sure my mom and Kyle have heard it since we lived or live in the same house, but it’s not something I do publicly. Not that I don’t want to, but there’s that fear there. Fear that maybe my dad is right. That I should do the family business thing and this was just a little side project to indulge. He never came out and said that or anything, but I think that’s what he was hoping for in the long run.”
Wilder takes a left into a large circular driveway and opens the front gate with a clicker. I didn’t know wrought iron gates with family initials had clickers, but all I know from houses this fancy is from movies. Even all the events I’ve gone to with Dad have been in halls or near the university or in some rich guy’s house, but never like this. Wilder pulls his car to the side of the house and kills the engine.
He turns to me. “So, that’s what I meant when I said, whatever that means. I’m doing what I promised so I can work on what I love. Maybe one day I’ll let someone special to me hear something I’ve written, but I’m not quite there yet.” He brushes his thumb over my cheek. “But never say never.”
I blush and look back up at his house. “Wilder, what are we doing at your giant mansion?”
He hops out of the car and races to my side to open my door. Before I can jump out he puts his hands on my waist and lifts me out of the car. Totally unnecessary, but I’m pretty sure he just wanted to touch me and pull me close to him. Not that I mind, but I snort anyway.
“What?” He looks a little perplexed.
“Nothing, Casanova. Just, as much as I’m digging the Dirty Dancing lifts, that was a pretty transparent way to touch me.”
He moves a step closer, never moving his hands from my hips. “So, you’re telling me you mind when I touch you?” He pushes some strands of hair that slipped out of my hair tie that I use to pull it back while we’re driving out of my face. “That you’d prefer it if I kept my hands all to myself.”
I hold my breath and hope he can’t feel how hard my heart is pounding in my chest. “Now, don’t get carried away. I didn’t say THAT, I just said, you’re transparent. I didn’t say I’m not all about transparency.”
He laughs and drops my waist only to grab my hand and lead me around to the side of the house back towards the pool. “We are here because there’s something I need to grab from the pool house.” He stops and makes sure I’m looking him in the eye. “Now, while I know you and that brain of yours are tempted to tour the house and suss out all its secrets, that will come at a later date. We have places to be, and here isn’t one of them.”
“Then why are we here if here isn’t one of them.”
He turns back towards the pool house and grips my fingers tighter. “Smartass. Just keep walking.”
Wilder steps up to his pool house which is mostly all windows overlooking the very fancy gardens below. He opens the door, pulls me inside, and drops my hand as he moves towards the back room, which looks like a bedroom. I know he’s not bringing me here for THAT, but I have to say I’m suddenly not hating the idea.
“Whatcha doing, Wy?” I ask as I’m starting to get a little nervous.
Wilder appears holding up something bright pink. “Now, the second part of our day will require swimwear and being outdoors. I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you’d say something about nature being akin to watching a Real Housewives marathon, but it’s a must do, and you promised to go along with things. Yes, what you’ve heard is true, rich people do have spare suits in their pool houses for guests. This one has all the tags and hasn’t been worn before and seems like it’d be your size. You can check it out for yourself, and putting it on under your clothes now probably isn’t a bad idea. I need to grab some more supplies anyway, so the bedroom is through that door. I am a complete gentleman, and don’t plan on watching or helping you take your clothes off until you ask me.”
He gives me one of those rakish smiles and I blush from head to toe. Literally. My feet are as red as my face and there is zero way he’s not seeing how much he’s affecting me. I clear my throat. “Smooth, Sullivan. I do know Krav Maga, so if you do anything untoward, I will chop you to pieces.”
“You know Krav Maga? Really, East?”
“Okay, maybe I took a couple classes once and then stopped going, but I understand the basics. I could get a swipe in.”
He laughs. “I’m not even going to test your theory. However, there are so many holes in your logic. Now go, scoot.” He pushes me towards the bedroom and shuts the door behind me.
I look down at the bathing suit. It’s not a super skimpy bright pink bikini, but much of my skin will be on display. I guess it’s a good thing I shaved my legs, because heaven knows I don’t enjoy doing that. I quickly change into the bikini, throwing my regular clothes back on top. I emerge from the bedroom to find Wilder waiting with a bag that seems to have some towels, water, trail mix and sunscreen in it.
“I hate beaches, Wy. I told you nature and me, not friends.”
“Woman, shut it. I know what I’m doing. Now, let’s go.”
I follow Wilder back out of the pool house and make our way to his Jeep. We hop in and he has a big smile on his face as he looks at me and starts the car. “Okay, it’s my turn now, right? In our little game?”
“That is how it works, so carry on Casanova.”
He finds my hand again and laces my fingers through his as he leaves his driveway and heads toward out next location. “So, truth or dare?”
“Hmm….I mean I’m not driving, so I could pick dare, but I don’t feel like there are a lot of safe dares you can do from a speeding car, so I’ll go with truth.”
He pauses, thinking. “Not that I’m complaining, but why don’t you date football players? It seems like it’d be a natural progression with your dad and everything.”
I let out a long sigh. This is a much larger conversation and right now, I feel like maybe the confession portion is over, so I’ll just give the bare minimum for now.
“I had a bad experience previously dating a football player, and decided to swear them off. Because of my dad it doesn’t just affect me, but him also if things go south.”
Wilder looks over at me, the questions marring his face. “That seems like a pretty broad statement. What do you mean affects you and your dad?”
“Um, just that. That people know players that are good, and I really only know players that are good, so if something happened it could mess with him too. Like imagine if I dated Riley and things didn’t work out. That’s his quarterback, ya know? That would be a mess, so I just stay away.”
I sneak a glance over to Wilder who clearly knows there’s more than what I’m saying, and I don’t know if it was the Mom/Dad/Sam bomb earlier that’s letting it slide, but he’s seeming to take my answer as is.
“East…just…I’m going to tell you now, I will be digging back into that question and almost no response later.”
I sigh. “Yeah, yeah, I know. But, your turn. Truth or dare?”
“Time out. But I pick dare.”
Wilder slows into another parking lot, this time at the marina. He puts the jeep in park, grabs our supplies and runs over to open my door for me. This time I engage in the physical contact, and feel my skin heat up as well as cover itself with goosebumps when I put my hand on his shoulder as I hop down. He responds by putting his arm around my waist once I’m on the ground. He do
esn’t move his arm from that position as we walk down the ramps leading to the boats.
“Of course you have a boat.”
He laughs and stops in front of one named “Mercury Rising.”
“So are we a fan of cliches, or Greek and Roman mythology?”
He tosses our bags onto the speedboat and grabs my hand to help me hop on board. “Well, it’s my dad’s version of a joke. He studied some mythology in college and was fascinated by it, so it’s kind of been an obsessive hobby and research topic ever since. Mercury was the god of making money, travelers and luck, among other things. Those are all things my dad prizes, so he thought it was a perfect cross section. We also have a line of planes called The Mercury Line, so it was great for him.”
Wilder finishes untying us from the dock and backing away. He keeps it slow in the no wake zone, and really picks up some speed once we get further out into the lake. We don’t do much talking while I enjoy the scenery of the sun over the water and the trees on all sides. I pull out my phone and take a look at the time, wondering how it’s already after five PM. I take another look at my surroundings and walk over to where Wilder is driving the boat.
“Ya know, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you completely disregarded my no nature rule.”
Wilder laughs, but says nothing in return. He turns his head and winks at me, before reaching over with one of his hands and lightly pinching my side. I lean into him for a moment before walking to the nearest seat facing him and watch him guide our boat to it’s final location. When I look up I see a small beach, completely empty, and a path leading behind it to god knows where. Wilder has to dock us in the water back from the beach…something about shallowness or something. I wasn’t listening.
Wilder strips off his shirt so only his swim trunks remain. How did I not notice he’d changed at the pool house? “Okay, kitten, strip. We gotta swim the rest of the way to the beach.”