The Jerk Who Saved Me: A Romantic Comedy

by Ellie Rowe

  Instead, I decide to try something that’s become a bit of a lost art in my life: honesty.

  “Y’know,” I begin, “it’s because I’m nervous all the time.”

  “What is?”

  “The reason I switch into ‘being chummy’, as you put it.”

  “Nervous?”

  “Yeah.”

  She scoffs. “You’d looked real nervous yukking it up with your pal back there.”

  “You don’t get it. For as long as I can remember, I’ve had one fear. Which is that no one will like me. For any number of reasons. So I perfected being charming. If I’m charming, they have to like me. If I’m charming, they won’t ever see that I’m not very interesting, or not that smart, or not much of anything else. You wow ‘em with charm and you get out of there before anybody can catch on to you. It’s a defense mechanism.”

  “A handy one.”

  “I guess so.”

  “Oh, come on. That charm’s made you rich and famous, right?”

  “It hasn’t hurt, I’ll admit.” I lean back and look up at the sky. The first stars are starting to come out. “It also means I constantly have to keep moving.”

  “Like a shark.”

  “Yeah. See, charm’s got a very short half-life. With some people, it barely has any life at all.” I give her a knowing look. She smiles despite herself. It’s a great smile, with the firelight glowing in her eyes and everything. I go on with my confession. “It’s why I’ve never settled down. I can’t risk it. Can’t risk letting anybody in. ’Cause I think then they wouldn’t want to stick around.”

  We’re both silent for a moment. Then, she whispers, “You’re not so bad.”

  Did she really say that? “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me.”

  “I think the waves were crashing hard against the shore. You said I’m not so what…?”

  “You’re not so bad,” she repeats, just a little louder.

  I hold a hand to my ear. “Not so…?”

  “Careful, or I’ll take it back.”

  I grin ear to ear. Like a schmuck. I swear to God.

  “So,” she says carefully, “if you found someone you felt safe around… you’d settle down?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I think so.”

  “My editor is going to be thrilled,” she gently teases. “I’ve got a Hank Williams exclusive.”

  “Well, I’ve never told anyone any of that before. So, yeah, I guess you do.”

  I grab a few pieces of wood that are among the junk nearby and throw them on the fire. We’re both quiet a moment, listening to the revelry happening a hundred yards and a world away.

  “I’m not really great at staying still either,” she finally says.

  “No?”

  She takes a deep breath, lets it out. “My ex-husband was a capital-A asshole. Controlling. Insecure. I think he was always intimidated by the fact that I could hold my own. Which is why he tried to hold me down. We lived in a small town and he was determined to keep me there. When I got away from him, I vowed to see as much of the world as possible. On my own, if need be.”

  “What if you didn’t need to be?” I ask.

  “Need to be what?”

  “On your own.”

  “That might be nice,” she says. She looks away at the fire again. I reach for her hand. “Don’t,” she says. “Don’t make promises we both know you aren’t going to keep.”

  “What’re you talking about?”

  “You’re not leaving your life behind anymore than I’m going to hope on the Hollywood flotilla.”

  She’s talking tough, but there’s a soft question in her eyes. A question I want to answer. I pull her hand to my lips and kiss it. “I’ll burn my yacht and spend the rest of my life on this rancid little garbage heap, if it means getting to be with you.”

  I check her eyes. Question answered, they tell me. “Wow,” she says, “you really do say the sweetest things.”

  She leans toward me. Our lips gently brush one another. Our mouths come together. I reach up to touch her face –

  Suddenly she pulls away, frightened. “Hey,” I start, “what –”

  She points past me.

  Between the twilight and the firelight, it’s hard to see very far. But I can just make out that someone is approaching us.

  So much for settling down.

  Thirty-One

  Veronica

  As if I didn’t hate this guy enough. Pirate King comes waltzing up to us, completely spoiling our reconciliatory moment. I thought guys like this were supposed to be wing-men not cock-blocks? And it’s more than that.

  I was just honest with Hank. For maybe the first time since I met him. I think we’ve found ways to connect honestly. In a physical-making-love-kind-of-connection. The kind I never thought I’d be lucky enough to experience.

  But he just bore his soul a little. And I bore mine. I never wanted Hank to see me as weak, to know my less than perfect past. But I couldn’t help it. His honesty was breathtaking, and I felt like I owed him an explanation.

  I shield my eyes from the sun to look on furiously at King cock-block. I don’t care what he has to say to us at this point, nothing that comes out of that greasy mouth will make me forgive him for stepping into this moment.

  “I’ve decided to commandeer the yacht as a clean place to sleep.” He grunts down to us. “And I’d like you to come along as my most beloved personal guests.” Pirate King flashes a big old smile. He’s still got a bit of his movie star charm to him.

  Okay. Maybe I can forgive him after all. But Christ the thought of getting on that floating prison cell is triggering to say the least. Maybe Hank and his party pirates are used to living large on that thing, but I’ve only ever been there as a hostage. I look over to Hank and mind reels back to our first meeting.

  If I hadn’t been so goddamn stubborn, I might’ve crawled aboard the Let’s Do This those says ago and none of this would have happened. Hank’s body is still deliciously close to mine and the heat coming off of him and our near kiss make me swallow hard against my want of him.

  What if I had gotten on that yacht as a guest? Would things be how they are now? Or would I have blended into the crowd of sun-tan-oil wannabees. I can’t believe I’m saying this, in my head anyway, but If that’s the case…I’m not sure I would’ve changed these last few days.

  These horrible last few days. I move far enough away from Hank to smell the island again and my decision is made for me. Anything. Anything to get off this fucking rotten city island. Where the fuck would we even sleep on this dump?

  Perhaps on that nice bug-ridden mattress over there, or just pile up a few of these moldy trash heaps. The very thought turns my stomach. I realize suddenly that Hank is looking at me. The way he smiles down on me, his eyebrows raised in a question. Wait a fucking minute is he asking for my permission?

  “I think that’s an excellent idea.” I say to the Pirate King smiling as best as I can muster. “Thank you.” Hank gives me a little squeeze on the arm and I can tell it’s some form of a thank you. Thanks for going along with this. Yeah, yeah sure. But I am not sleeping in the same room as a bunch of these pirate yahoos.

  It’s not like we have luggage to grab so Hank and I are ready to board just as soon as the Pirate King Bruce (that really doesn’t trip off the tongue does it?) is ready to go. The sun is starting to descend thank god and the heat is far more bearable.

  I’m already dreading what sort of motley crew we’ll find aboard as I hoist myself up the side and onto the old homestead. Just as I'm hoisting myself up, I feel Hank’s hands on my waist, gently helping me up and over. God even the slightest touch sends little sparks shooting through my body.

  Is this what it feels like to be a boy in middle school? Speaking of boys, where is everyone? I look around but the deck is empty. Strange. Hank’s got the same furrowed brow as me as we scan for signs of life. Finally Bruce pops up from the side of the boat with a big smile.

  “I convi
nced the crew that I’d rather they stay behind, just for the night. Truth be told I’m looking forward to a little civilized company. Told ‘em they lost privileges to be on board with a lady tonight anyway.” He gives me a wink and I’m surprised that I don’t want to hit him.

  Maybe I’m just that grateful. A night. A whole night on the ship to pretend that I’m not a prisoner. Hallelujah.

  “Thanks pal.” Hank grins and shoots me a look. “Gotta admit I’m a fan of the more intimate company. Not that I mind a party or anything, but the lack of weapons in my face is a great change of pace.”

  Bruce thinks that’s funny. I do not. Call me a stick-in-the-mud but not having a gun in your face feels like bare minimum. Still, I should be grateful. It certainly smells better up here. Well. Mostly.

  “That’s very kind of you Bruce.” Listen, I’m trying to play nice. A lesson I learned from movie star Hank Wilder. “Would you mind if we were able to shower sometime tonight? I know we’re still prisoners and all—” Hank gently elbows me. Okay maybe I didn’t listen very hard to the ‘play nice’ lesson.

  Bruce doesn’t seem to mind and waves me off. “Of course you can have a shower! A lady like you shouldn’t be in these kinds of conditions.” He may be trying to get on my nice side, probably for Hank’s sake, but I was willing to accept any kindness I could get. I give him a genuine smile.

  “Tell you what, how about you two take the master suite? Hank that was supposed to be your shack anyway right? Me? I’m just happy I got a soft bed to sleep on and no worms in my ears.” I try my best to hide my grimace but I’ve never been a very subtle woman.

  “Much obliged old friend.” Hank walks over and shakes his hand, and they do that thing men do where they slap each other on the back without really hugging. It’s a fascinating anthropological study really. The male baboon firmly handpats the other, signaling fraternity and kinship.

  I’ll have to save it for my next article. The sun is starting to set, and if I stand at the far side of the deck all I see is the ocean and the dazzling rays of sunset across the water. If I turn around however, it’s all garbage island as far as the eye can see.

  I should probably be facing the reality of the situation. We’re still not free. Hank’s just, once again, wrangled us some better treatment. The realist in me should keep right on facing garbage city, taking deep whiffs of the stench of hostage-ness. But I just can’t bring myself to do it.

  Not when all I can think about is the way Hank looked as he opened up. The way his eyes got sad and distant, but came right back to me like they were looking into my soul, afraid of how I’d react. I can’t help but smile to myself at the thought that a man like Hank Wilder would care what I think of him.

  But what about me? Did I scare him off talking about my ex? I haven’t read any ‘love-advice’ columns in quite some time (maybe once recently, drunk with the gays of LA) but I’m pretty sure a big rule of dating is not to drag on about your exes.

  Except we’re not dating. We’re just prisoners together right? Doesn’t count. Unless. Bruce saves me from my teen-magazine dreamscape by hollering at us.

  “I’m gonna take a self-guided tour of this monster! You two enjoy the master suite, maybe I’ll catch you in the morning for some breakfast? Until then Hank, wanna show me to the hooch?” With another faded movie star grin he disappears below deck.

  I turn around to find that Hank is watching me with a look that makes my knees weak.

  “Shall we?” He holds out his hand and I don’t even hide the fact that I want to take it. We descend the narrows stairs I’ve been pushed up so many times, but with Hank’s hand in mine it feels a lot like it’s supposed to. A lot of things feel like they’re supposed to with Hank so near to me.

  Oy vey woman, let’s not forget you smell like pirate garbage alright? Bruce and Hank chat about the size of the boat, the number of rooms blah blah blah but I can hardly concentrate.

  “Well this is us.” Hank says as we arrive at the door of the master suite. “Keep down this way and there’s plenty of rooms to choose from. Hooch is all the way at the end, hang a left. Not sure what’s left there…” he grunts a little, clearly still bitter about the booze piracy.

  “Thanks old pal, m’lady.” The Pirate King gives me a theatrical bow and strides off down the hall, marveling at the extravagance of it all.

  Hank shakes his head fondly after his friend then shoots me a look. With a wink he opens the door of the master suite and I try to keep my jaw from hitting the floor. This shit is luxurious. I’m talking about crushed blue velvet chaise, California king, silver accented hardware kind of luxurious.

  I hear Bruce open and shut a door down the hallway and Hank slips past me to do the same. He closes the door slowly, his eyes on me the whole time. I’m starting to feel the same kind of heat we started just before we were interrupted. Hank must be thinking the same.

  He locks the door and I rush into his arms, ready to finish what we started.

  Thirty-Two

  Hank

  Bruce is barely gone for ten seconds before Veronica and I are in each other’s arms. We hold tight for a long time. Finally, we pull apart just enough for us to touch foreheads.

  “What is happening…?” she chuckles to herself. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Don’t ask any questions,” I chide. “Let’s just… enjoy it.”

  She nods once, looks into my eyes. Tenderly, almost hesitantly, we kiss.

  The passion is as strong as in our previous encounters. This time, though, we start slow. The kisses are deep and strong – and lasting. She turns in my arms and looks at the room. “Holy shit…” she states, still impressed by the master suite’s splendor. “Your interior designer did a good job.”

  “Interior designer?” I run my hands up and down the front of her thighs, pulling her toward me. “I picked all this out.”

  “Impressive,” she says, taking one of my hands up to her mouth. She coyly nibbles at my fingers.

  I nuzzle her ear and kiss the back of her neck as my other hand begins unbuttoning her shirt. She leans into my kisses. One of her hands moves between us, presses through my thin pants against my growing hard-on.

  “Can I tell you something?” I murmur in her ear.

  “Mmm, please…”

  “You stink,” I tell her.

  She spins playfully to face me, a fist tapping at my chest. She kisses me hard, then snaps her head back. “You don’t exactly smell like roses.”

  “We should do something about that.”

  “Like what?”

  I scoop her up in my arms and carry her across the threshold of the bathroom. I use one of her feet to flip the light switch on.

  “Are you kidding me?” she asks. This bathroom is actually nicer than some of the ones in my mansion. Everything is polished marble or Italian tile. Centered in the shrine to luxury is a large, stylish tub.

  “Ever taken a bath while on the ocean?” I ask.

  “Can’t say I have ever indulged in that, no.”

  I set her on her feet and turn on the faucet, filling the tub. There’s a container of bath salts, and I toss a generous amount into the water. An aroma of lavender and roses fills the air. When the tub is full, I turn back to Veronica.

  She’s stripped herself completely nude. God she looks gorgeous. Her breasts high, her nipples firm and ready. She turns once for me, giving a glimpse of her firm ass, more fit than some women half her age.

  She plays with her breasts, teases herself between her legs as she pads over to me at the tub. She takes a finger out from between her legs and sticks it in my mouth. The wetness of it lets me now how eagerly she wants me.

  I stand up. My hands trace intricate shapes along her bare flesh. My eyes take in every curve and freckle. She soaks me up with her gaze, as well.

  She unbuttons my shirt with sexy deliberation. As she undoes a button, she pulls the shirt more open and kisses the exposed flesh. Then the next, so on, until she’s on her knees and my sh
irt is completely open. I let it slide off my arms.

  Her mouth now at my groin, she presses her lips against my dick, through the linen of my pants, her breath hot. She undoes my pants and puts the tip of my dick between her lips. Her lips encircle the head of my penis. Then she works me deeper into her mouth.

  When I give a moan of pleasure, she slowly withdraws my cock and stands. She works it a few times in her hands, then steps into the bath. I follow.

  The temperature is just right. The salts have created a healthy cloud of bubbles atop the water. We take our time. There is no escape happening tonight. There is no one who might kill us in the morning. So we indulge.

  Our hands intertwine, then go exploring various parts of one another’s bodies before coming together again, then exploring once more. Our mouths do the same. I round my back, lifting her breasts to kiss her wet breasts. My tongue circles her nipple one way, then another, teasing her with different rhythms.

  Meanwhile, my fingers slip under the water and find her pussy once more. I lightly work at her clit and she gives a little gasp of joy.

  We kiss. Now the passion turns up. She presses her pussy against my dick, rubbing her labia up and down along my shaft. Then, she sits her ass on the edge of the tub. Her legs open wide before me.

  I glide my lips down one thigh toward her warm, waiting pussy. My tongue runs the entire length of her slit, does a figure eight around and over her clit. Then I slide my mouth down the inside of the other thigh. She coos in anticipation of me eating her out. I kiss her tits once more before I really dive in, kissing and licking her box.

  The more excited she gets, the more I tease, bringing her close to an orgasm, then slowing things down. Without breaking the rhythm of my mouth and tongue, I slip two fingers inside her, working at her g-spot. Her stomach twitches in ecstasy and she gives moans of pleasure. Her legs press against the sides of my head. When I hear a moan deeply again, I slow down once more.

  “Hank…” she gasps as she tries to catch her breath. She winds her fingers in my wet hair.