by Sheri Lynn
It resulted in his pansy-assed brain dictating a get-together. Not a date. Did she think it was a date? He hoped not. He planned to expose her to just how great a life he lived. To prove he did make something of himself. He achieved success.
Shutting off the motor, he gripped the steering wheel. He recognized how ridiculous his entire justification sounded as he spoke aloud to himself. He wanted to impress her. Have her observe how marvelous of a life he had. True. And true again. One motivation involved his ego. The other targeted her company. He wanted to spend time with her.
And he did, until she pulled the same stunt giving her the notorious name, ‘Slo-phia.’ After knocking repeatedly, her predictable stall came from inside.
“Come on in. I’m almost ready,” Sophia claimed.
Stuck in a loop. All of it suggested some unwelcome form of deja-vu. He didn’t have to do this. He lived without her and her inconsideration. He’d been without her longer than with her.
“We leave now, or I leave alone,” he said. He did say it. Or did he just think it. He hoped he did. He knew nothing good could come of them proceeding with a…get-together. He needed to take advantage of her unpunctuality and hit the road.
“Wow. Mister Impatient tonight, aren’t we?” Flitting out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, she spoke without looking at him. Her focus everywhere but him.
He watched her toss shoes out of the closet in a mass of swaying auburn hair and creamy white skin. She wore a white shorts jumper of some form. Her long, smooth legs exposed. The garment had spaghetti straps revealing her ivory shoulders and slender neck.
Why did this one woman render him a mindless, speechless, infatuated adolescent? It pissed him off. He willed his eyes to cease googling her.
“Get your flip flops and let’s go. We’ll be walking on a dirt road, so wear practical shoes,” he urged.
“A dirt road? I thought we were going to the popular area.” She entered the living area in a waft of vanilla. She always did smell so sweet. Kept him forever craving to taste her.
“We are. But it’s just a narrow dirt road adjacent to the water. Small shops and outside dining. Roatán is on island time. Nothing and no one are ever in a rush.” He chuckled at the irony of his statement. “It really would suit the leisureliness you function in and prefer.”
She slapped her hands on her hips. “Are you going to make cracks about my slowness all night? If so, I don’t understand why you bothered to ask me out.”
“It’s not a date, Slo-phia.” The words blasted from his mouth before they registered in his brain. Her light blue eyes went dull. He hated when they did that. “How about I promise not to make any more jokes about it…if you grab your shoes...now. I wanted to give you a tour of the island from a local’s perspective. Let’s not bring up anything from the past.”
Her eyes dropped scanning the floor. “Agreed. If you can help me find my flip-flops. I had them on when I came back from the pool.”
Stepping around her to locate her shoes, the vanilla scent engulfed him. And his eyes went straight to her chest. She wore no bra and the white fabric of her outfit outlined her perfect, taut nipples. For goodness sakes. He remembered her complaining about how raw he made them. He ached to do it again.
Don’t look at her, man. Don’t smell her. Treat her as if she hired you to show her around.
Hustling around the kitchen island and away from her, he spotted a pair of white with yellow daisies shoes in front of the fridge. “Your shoes are over here.” Bending down and picking them up, he dangled them from his finger. “In the truck.”
She walked over and took the shoes from him. “I didn’t transfer my wallet and things to a smaller purse.”
Cupping her shoulder, he led her to the door. “It’s on me. You don’t need another thing.”
They rode in silence for the first couple of miles. She sulked because he wouldn’t let her return to her bedroom and switch bags. He kept his head turned pretending to look out the window. She still pouted like he imagined she did as a little girl. Her hands clasped in her lap. Her lips pursed.
The roads on the island were in major need of repair. As was his truck. It creaked and bounced with every pothole he intentionally hit in order to watch her tits jiggle. He still had it bad for her. What a pathetic piece of work he turned out to be. Being with her had him reacting and behaving like some young horny dude.
“So, what kind of work do you do. And where do you do it?” he asked. This would go nowhere. This could go nowhere. Exactly as it should not. Casual conversation. Talk to her about how all her dreams came true.
“I assumed Renee would have kept you filled in,” she grumbled.
“Your assumptions are incorrect. Our contact over the years has consisted of Christmas cards. Facebook. You never came up,” he barked.
“I see,” she snorted. “Do you think you can miss a single jarring hole on the drive?”
“Your wish is my command, Madame.” He pressed the gas harder. Until then he drove slower since the windows were down and the truck had no air condition. Going faster, the warm air rushed inside the cab sending Sophia’s loose hair everywhere. Out the window. In his face. He swatted it out of his eyes. “So, you going to tell me anything about your life now?”
Using both her hands, she gathered her hair and twisted it in a knot at the back of her neck. “I run an event management company out of D.C. It includes a lot of travel. I could reside anywhere, but I started out in D.C. and it feels like home to me.”
The information stunned him. She traveled? And D.C. He always thought she would be in New York. Or Chicago. Not that D.C. dimmed in comparison. “I imagined you living in a penthouse apartment in a major city. Not that D.C. isn’t major.”
“I lived in the heart of the city for a couple of years. I decided to get away from the crowds and the noise.” Her eyes widened and she rubber-necked as they drove through Lawson Rock. Of course, the trendy, upscale development would grab her attention. “How’s your dad? Do you still join him every winter at the hunting lodge?” she inquired, but it presented more as a formality. The large homes and perfectly manicured lawns and flowers held her attention.
“I do. Mom and Dad are well.” Probably best if he gave her a head’s up about the opposing conditions of their destination. “Once we get to West End, I’ll be driving down the very narrow, very slow dirt road full of locals, tourists, fruit trucks. If you think the condition of the roads we just drove were bad, you haven’t seen anything yet, baby. The path is laden with deep dips and pits. I wouldn’t even drive you down it, but parking is scarce, and I have a spot at the dive shop.”
“Okay--,” she said, hesitantly. “I always envisioned you in the colder climates. Taking over the lodge. Snowboarding and chasing tail to your little heart’s content.”
He humphed. He actually humphed. “Well, funny how people and goals can change as we grow older and expose ourselves to…more.” He did not like this side of her. No. He didn’t. Silly, impudent prima donna. Remember it he repeated silently.
Coming down the hill into the congestion of people and vehicles with the ocean splayed out in front of them, Sophia sat quietly taking it all in. He steered them onto the busy dirt path where they progressed a few feet—and stopped for pedestrians or outgoing traffic. An abundance of smells assaulted you. A diverse assortment of food scents drifted through the vehicle. As did the thick, humid salty sea air. Stray dogs roamed. And the noise of conversing people and Latino music sounded in every direction.
“So, this is really it. This one stretch is the main attraction?” Sophia scoffed.
“Not everyone longs to live in big fancy cities. I decided on Roatán because it wasn’t overdeveloped and super touristy. West Bay has small condo establishments, a beautiful beach, and restaurants. That’s where the visitors from the cruise ships are taken. It’s the diving that sold me. It’s phenomenal and not so commercialized where boats are out one on top of the other.” A few locals of neighbori
ng businesses came up to his window and filled him in on an available lease for a small shop space he requested information about. Divers, or wannabe divers, sat on every patio and deck reading their manuals or sharing a cold beer. A couple of teenage girls raced up to the truck.
“Trevor, we took our test and are going out in the morning. But we’re disappointed to learn you aren’t taking us out.” The rounder freckled-nose and doe-eyed girl leaned into the window moping.
The cute blonde nudged her friend out of the opening and confessed, “We really wanted to go out with you. When are you coming back over here?”
“Okay. Okay. I can take on five from Wonders. Hit Marti up and see what’s on the books and if it’s no more than five, you all come on over to Sunny Daze and we’ll go out together.” The blonde bounced up and down squealing. “But we leave the dock at eight in the morning. You’re either on the boat or you don’t go,” he emphasized the last part. Most females ran late. Not just Slo-phia. And he had a reputation for punctuality. Island time or not. He kept a strict schedule.
“Thank you,” both girls chanted, hurrying off toward the shop.
Looking over at Sophia he cringed viewing the expression on her face. Tilted to the side, her lips scrunched, she commented, “I guess all the drooling young girls never gets old.”
“You don’t garner business by being an unapproachable jackass,” he countered. “But certainly, you understand that being that you too run a business that relies on customer service and referrals.”
“I’m not included with the service.”
He laughed. But not the funny, haha kind. “And you think I am. Don’t answer that. Of course, you do. I don’t know why I bother to conceal my gigolo skills behind the pretense of operating a legitimate service.”
She crossed her arms across her chest and rolled her eyes. “Enough already,” she stated.
“You’re the one who continues to make catty unnecessary remarks. Can dish it out but not take it.” Finally, the shop came into view. He pointed to some trinket vendors. “I’m going to go park and check in with Marti. Why don’t you get out here and take a look around? I’ll meet you across the street on the patio of the restaurant overlooking the water and pier.”
She opened the door and got out crossing in front of the truck. Introducing her to Marti wouldn’t be wise. He would receive additional negative attitude and criticism. Not on his must have list for the night. Keeping his outing with Sophia to himself and from Marti would alleviate an entire rant of how he still carried a torch for the high-maintenance beauty.
Sipping his beer at a table he chose so he could watch Sophia stroll from shop to shop, she approached and reminded, “You didn’t give me an opportunity to bring my purse. I can’t even buy anything.”
Shit. Dumbass. “Damn, I’m sorry.” Pulling his wallet out of his back pocket, he thumbed through the bills and offered her some. “You found something to your liking?”
“I did. Thank you. I’ll be right back.”
She went back across the street and returned ten minutes later with several plastic bags draped from both arms. Taking a seat at the table with a huge smile on her pretty face, she plopped the bags down at her feet and began pulling out items. She had an embroidered table runner, several colorful pottery vases, an anklet which she fastened to her left ankle, and a thick leather necklace. “This is for you. I saw it and pictured you wearing it.” She waved her hand from his thigh to his head. “You know. The whole surfer dude look.”
“I’m a diver not a surfer. But thank you.” He lifted it to his neck and clasped it.
“So, what are we drinking. I’ll take anything except a monkey lala,” she declared.
“That’s what you were drinking last night? Yep. Those little boogers will sneak up on your ass.” Picking up his beer, he handed it to her. “Taste this and see what you think. It’s local and my fave.”
Without hesitation, she drank some. “That is good. Get a couple more. I’m finishing this one.”
He saw that coming. Another one of her irritating and presumptuous tendencies.
Just as the next thing she did. A practice he’d seen her perform when she finished a first beer. But not irritating, and one he would have thought she gave up. He did not expect it. And he laughed loud and hard gaining attention from the other diners and people walking on the street. She tilted her head back, drained the remaining contents of the bottle before banging it down on the table and announcing, “That really hits the spot.”
Her blue eyes went wide, and she put her hand to her mouth and muffled, “I guess that was louder than I thought.”
“Nah, not too loud. Just unexpected,” he clarified.
“Why would you say that?
“I figured your tastes had…altered since college.” Now who deflected with a borderline slight. He enjoyed detecting traces of the girl he once loved.
Leaning back in the chair, she crossed her legs and glared at him. “Really. I don’t think you’ve spent enough time with me to know that. You claim people and goals change as we get older. Me and my goals didn’t. I reckon I had the maturity to choose a lucrative path for my life and remained on course. I liked who I was before and still do. For your information, I always keep beer in my fridge. Sometimes nothing quenches a thirst like a good, cold brewsky.”
“I’m going to grab a couple more.” Scraping his chair away from the table creating a shrill, juddering racket, he strutted away before their banter escalated and he rushed for the truck and rid himself of her. She relentlessly circled his comments around painting him as some guy he had never been. Especially, when they were together. He didn’t womanize. Never did.
Could she still be insecure? He never did understand why she couldn’t see herself as everyone else did. He tried during their years together to get her to. As successful as she seemed, it made the realization harder to accept. She may live and look different, but deep down, she wasn’t.
Had she had a string of bad relationships? Had some asshole treated her badly? Stuart said she responded to the wedding invitation as a plus one. And she didn’t have one. Did someone stand her up? Fuck that. He would show her a fabulous, no expectations, and no pretenses night. He needed one too.
The rare glimpses of the fun-loving Sophia he received so far proved she still existed. And he wanted her to come out and play.
Chapter 5
Thursday night
Sophia
After several beers and superb lobster tacos, Trevor took her to his dive shop. It didn’t look like much, but what did she expect? It had the islandy look. Wood slatted ceiling, sandy floors, a large counter the width of the building in the back. Amazing photography of him in and out of the water. Brochures. Accessories not familiar to her.
He beamed with pride. As he should. He did what he wanted. He earned a living. He appeared genuinely happy. The excitement exuded from him as he talked about how the risk concerns outweighed his optimism in the beginning and how now they had a profitable company with undeniable growth potential.
Over their dinner, they talked about their successes. And he had many to be proud of. He incorporated the lifestyle he enjoyed into a thriving business. He owned one boat and was looking to purchase at least two more as he planned to expand and open more locations on the island.
They laughed. It came natural and familiar. He explained how he met Marti in Belize four years earlier. Both were traveling the islands diving, learning the trade, and appraising locations. Once they arrived on Roatán, their search ended. They knew they found their site to start their dream. For now, he and Marti shared a studio apartment behind the shop but didn’t plan to renew the lease on the apartment. So, he refused to show her where he lived until he had a real place.
Both he and Marti alternated traveling to the U.S. throughout the year. Trevor still assisted his dad with large hunting parties at the lodge. He fulfilled his love of winter sports while there.
He asked her question after question about
her business. He asked if Renee enlisted her in planning the wedding. Dancing around the fact she knew nothing about the island until she received the wedding invitation, she informed him she didn’t. It did however steer her to consider it for future assignments. She usually didn’t scope out venues outside of the U.S. She had Molly, her assistant, do it. Molly loved the opportunity. She loved the sand and sun and begged for those prospects.
“How about we walk on down and I’ll introduce you to the family that own and run The Buccaneer. It’s one of the finer eating establishments on the island, but we’re going for the coffee and mango cheesecake,” Trevor suggested. He escorted her outside.
Mango cheesecake. Mm. She hoped they had a decent walk ahead of them. After the beer and tacos, she felt more than a little bloated already.
“After, I’ll take you to the Twisted Toucan for a sample of our night-life.” He shimmied in front of her and proceeded to fling his arms and hips in several ancient dances—the swim, the twist, maybe the mashed potato, or water sprinkler. She couldn’t be sure. “Let me lock your purchases in the truck and lock up the shop,” he added.
“You want to go dancing? Seriously. Trevor. I haven’t been out dancing in--,” she hesitated.
“More reason we should then. To be honest, me either. I do frequent the Toucan to socialize with clients and potential ones, but I can’t say I’ve danced.” He mimed a couple more of his antiquated moves. His eyes were as warm as the sun going down over the water. Damn he still took her breath away. “I say it’s a damn shame we haven’t danced. It’s on, baby girl.”
Ugh. She always melted when he referred to her as his ‘baby girl.’ More when he whispered it to her on the edge of an orgasm and it sent her over. “Sounds like a plan. But no monkey la las,” she stressed.
“Coffee. Water. Maybe a beer or two. Water,” he stated.