“Worsh…” her surprise doesn’t allow her to complete her sentence. She stares at me, her mouth partially open, unable to utter a word.
“That’s right, he did all the work,” I go on, nodding at the same time. “He didn’t let me do anything. And he’s huge…”
“Keep talking,” she urges, her annoyance turning into sheer curiosity in the blink of an eye.
“Well, he was very nice to me,” I declare. “He was a gentleman, up until the point I convinced him to stop being one. I teased him a little too much in that bar. I practically gave him the green light. We kissed and we couldn’t keep our hands off of each other. Then, we went up to his suite. He was patient; he didn’t rush things. He went down on me, and even paid me compliments throughout our whole time together. I’m getting wet just thinking about it.”
“Two more minutes of that and I’ll start getting wet,” Emily chuckled. “That still doesn’t change the fact you didn’t call.”
“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” I utter, my voice coming out mellower. “I know I should have called, but…”
“Yeah, yeah, he’s gorgeous, I got that,” she interrupts, sauntering off towards the sandy beach behind me. “Does he have a friend?”
“Two,” I reply, walking alongside her. “They must be pretty close.”
“Why do you say that?” Emily asks, her voice picking up volume.
“Well, he brought them up almost immediately, and even said a few things about them,” I explain, gazing out over the sea.
“You’re a lucky girl, Stacy,” she states, assuming a serious tone, throwing a quick glance up at me. “You meet someone hot, he lets you in right from the start, and he’s not selfish in bed…”
“Please, don’t do that,” I request, dropping my gaze down to the sand.
“What, pointing out what’s good about him? Why?” Emily wonders, her voice rising up an octave.
“Because I can’t take any of it seriously,” I claim, while a powerful gust of wind tosses my hair about. “I want to have fun with him and then go back home, without thinking about any ‘what ifs.’”
“In that case, I really hope he turns out a lot different than you’ve described him to be,” she states, her tone firm. “Because if he’s the guy I think he is, you won’t be able to forget him. Screw the ‘romantic’ part. You know as well as I do that there’s ‘romantic’ and ‘hopeless romantic.’ I’m sure Karlie would agree with me if she were here.”
“Please; don’t mention Karlie,” I request, recalling our mutual friend who couldn’t join us on our vacation, because Tony Stinson – her boss at the shoe shop – wouldn’t give her some time off in August. “Look, can we go back to our hotel room? I want to go take a shower and go out with my bestie,” I tell her, in the hope she will stop talking about it.
“Fine,” and a wave of relief washes over me when she agrees. Emily’s advice has been precious in the sixteen years we’ve known each other. Yet, this time, another one of her rants is not what I need. She is being too analytical about a simple situation, and that situation doesn’t need to change. Keeping it simple will work out for both Michael and me. That way, neither of us is going to get hurt.
5
Ray
My buzzing cell phone wakes me up. As I open my blurry eyes, I realize that Dean’s persistence in finding a motorcycle rental dealership the night before has worked out for the better. That maniac insisted we rent a car and go looking for one, instead of having a few drinks. As understanding as I am, I agreed. Sadly, a half hour later, I came to regret my decision. There were tons of such dealerships around, but all they rented were scooters or quad bikes. Those definitely did not fit his style. Dean likes to rent machines that are powerful, bikes “with soul” as he likes to call big Honda’s and BMW’s. We finally found his ideal dealership in Hersonissos, another beach resort twenty miles east, but by the time we got there, it was 10:30pm and it was closed.
In high spirits, I get up and peek out the window. The first beams of sunlight are shining down over the sea. I sneak a peek into Dean’s bedroom. He’s lying on his chest, snoring like a train.
I’m sorry, bro. You’re going to have to find someone else to drive you over to Hersonissos today. I’m out of here.
I tiptoe out of our suite. I can’t afford to wake him up, because I know what his reaction is going to be. Dean has a bad temper. He’s been like this ever since I met him eight years ago. Correction: ever since Michael and I had found him on the street, begging for some lunch money. The kid was living a hard life. He was growing up in an orphanage and hated school. When he was released from the home at age sixteen, he resorted to shoplifting, and spent another two years in a juvenile detention center. Making ends meet, for Michael and me, was difficult back then. I sold five houses in almost two years, and he had to work as a burger flipper, because he couldn’t find a job in IT using his college degree. Even so, it was a no brainer. We took him in right away. A year later, I was making good money, and I could afford to send him to a chef college. The macho man didn’t like the idea at first, but we were not going to feed him for the rest of his life. Today, he makes a little more than forty grand a year. I know it isn’t that great, but it’s a lot better than the seven dollars and sixty-five cents he had in his tin can on the morning we found him.
The perfect vacation to me is doing things out of the ordinary, like waking up in a place three hundred miles away from the place you woke up in the night before. It’s all about the fun I can get from mingling with people. In truth, I’m in love with life itself. It’s just too short to be spent on quarrels about accommodations, air conditioning, and other crap that usually are details that Michael handles.
So, this morning, I choose to go on a road trip to the south of Crete. According to a local I talked with last night, it’s a lot more scenic and much less developed than the north. The roads aren’t so good, and some of them aren’t even paved. So, I go back to the dealership and trade the small hatchback in for a black Cherokee. I don’t mind crappy roads, but I do value my spine.
Once I have cleared the freeway, I am in for a pleasant surprise. The route to the south is just fantastic. It is filled with twisty turns and hairpins, but it also contains some breathtaking views of a vast plain. Indeed, I sometimes catch myself believing that I’m onboard a Cessna, during a low flight: houses look tiny in the distance; fields of gold stretch out across the plain; the roads themselves seem more like tiny lines drawn by a skilled painter.
As the minutes pass by, my fascination grows. Whatever online articles I read back in New York about Crete didn’t contain any pictures of this place. Of course, I can understand why they chose to leave it out. No one walks around in skimpy bikinis, taking selfies, drinking cocktails and cheering as if they’re at the Super Bowl. More than that, an unusual sense of curiosity hits me. However, an hour into the trip, this feeling gives way to pure excitement. I drive through numerous villages, before finding myself on the road that leads to the southernmost tip of the island. The light-blue color of the sea that I can see at its highest point sends shivers down my spine.
Here I come, baby. Bring on all the bumpy terrain you can manage. You can’t stop me from getting there.
Amazingly, there is just one patch of bumpy terrain on the coastal road, and it’s too small to bother me. With the SUV turning down the last, right bend, I gaze out at the beach. It must be more than half a mile long. Unlike the beach in the north, it’s pebbled, but I couldn’t care less about that. The best thing about it though, is the number of people. Cars and pickup trucks are parked on either side of the road. Still, the beach is so big that there’s more than enough space for me. Almost in the middle of this grand space is a large rock with a Greek flag planted onto it. There is even a young woman on the top, about to dive into the sea.
“Fucking amazing,” I say to myself, pulling my shirt up and over my head. I toss it onto the backseat, and grab my backpack. Lunging from the driver’s seat, I rush off towards the beach. The
blazing heat on my skin compels me to go faster. Less than ten yards away from the water, I kick off my flip-flops and let my sack slip through my grasp. I lift my arms forward, keeping my hands flat, and jump in. My large body makes quite a splash as it hits the water. In a split second however, I discover my decision has taken a wrong turn. Liquid cold surrounds my entire body, rendering it impossible for me to stay submerged. I thrust my head up, goose bumps rising all over my body. I push my hair back from my face, and look around me. I’m just twenty feet away from the rock. Two men are looking up at a friend of theirs, speaking Greek. Just after he hops off of the edge, his buddies start swimming forward. Still, there’s something else up there, something that doesn’t allow me to shift my gaze away: two women standing next to one another; a tall blonde and a shorter brunette. The blonde in question is talking to the brunette, while the brunette leans over the rock’s cliff. She steps back and tries to turn around, but, before she can do so, her friend pushes her off. I burst out laughing as a loud scream fills the air. The girl drops into the sea feet first, splashing water onto one of the strangers. It doesn’t take long for the blonde to join her.
Nevertheless, once the two of them emerge, waves of cold sweat shoot through me like electric currents. They are no strangers to me. The brunette is Natalie Webster, and the blonde is Laura Harrison, the woman I once thought was the one. It’s been more than two years since things ended between us, but I still carry the scars of that breakup. The reason is simple. It wasn’t exactly a breakup. I wish it was; no; I was left at the altar.
Every painful memory of the worst day of my life pours into my mind. I was surrounded by more than three hundred people, with a bouquet of lilies in my grasp, checking my watch every two minutes or so. It was an hour after the wedding was scheduled to begin; Natalie brought me an envelope containing a letter from my bride-to-be.
“Ray, I’m sorry. I thought I could do this, but I can’t.
Good luck,
Laura”
Fifteen words. Yes, that’s how many words she had used to end a two-year relationship, and shatter the dream of a common life with her. To make matters worse, they were beyond cold. They seemed to have been written by someone who hardly ever knew me. But, no matter what that letter contained, it wouldn’t change the ugly reality that had been forced upon me.
My initial shock turns into utter disgust; just looking at her makes my stomach churn. I turn left and start making my way out of the water. I don’t want to know why she happens to be in the same place as me. I don’t want to hear her voice again or any excuses she might have. My only desire is to get as far away from her as I possibly can.
“Ray!” Laura’s shout rises above the noise. “Oh, my God! Ray? Is that you?”
I pay no attention to her, and continue to head to the spot where I had left my backpack. I hear a quick splash behind me, but not even that is enough to make me halt.
“Ray?” Her feminine voice is much closer this time. I feel her wet hand on my wrist. “My God, I can’t believe you’re here.”
“I can’t either,” I mutter, looking down at her over my shoulder. “But, you know what they say: small world,” I add, twisting my wrist out of her grip.
“You’re still mad at me, aren’t you?” she inquires, her tone losing its nerve.
“Well, you humiliated me in front of my friends and my colleagues, so yeah, I guess I am mad at you,” I affirm, trotting off away from her.
“Ray, I’m sorry!” All of a sudden, her voice is thick with emotion as my ears pick up her quick footsteps. “I just did what I thought was right at the time.”
“Right?!” I exclaim, flipping around to face her. “Do you have any idea what you put me through? You didn’t just break my heart, Laura. You cost me my self-respect. It gets better. Whenever I ran into one of our guests, they asked me if I’d heard from you.”
“I wasn’t ready,” Laura shrugs her shoulders, her voice coming out listlessly. “That’s the truth.”
“You should have thought of that before you said ‘yes’ to my proposal,” I groan, tearing my gaze away from her.
“Well, if it makes any difference, I never stopped loving you,” she maintains, softening her tone. “And I think it’s a sign that you and I ran into each other so far away from home.”
“I don’t care what you think,” I utter, glaring down at her. “You and I had a great thing going and you wrecked it. I just can’t trust you again; don’t you get it?”
“Is that your final word?” Laura asks, her voice beginning to tremble, tears welling up in her brown eyes.
“Goodbye, Laura,” I whisper, leaving her behind. I’m so upset that I don’t even use a towel to wipe the water off of my body. I may be outside, but I feel like the air around me has become too thick for me to breath. I pick up my backpack, wishing I had never decided to drive down here. The woman that had ruined my life has managed to ruin a perfectly good day of my vacation as well.
6
Ray
Only one word describes the hours that follow my encounter with Laura: torture. I glance out the windshield of my car, and all I see is me on the day of our wedding, dressed in a beige suit and a red tie, holding her letter in my trembling hand. It’s as if my mind is stuck within that moment in time; that point when my world was turned upside down. And, much to my frustration, none of the scenery that had stunned me earlier appeals to me anymore. They seem too small to overshadow the memory of Laura’s betrayal. Worse than that, she had the nerve to tell me she still loves me. Unbelievable… How can you claim to love someone and treat him in the worst possible way? How can you humiliate him to pretty much everyone he knows? These two questions will continue to bother me, even after I’ve found my significant other. I have to talk to Laura again to get answers, and this is way more than I can handle.
Still, the worst part of this unfortunate meeting isn’t the memories that plague me. I’m sure I will find a distraction, sooner or later. Besides, that’s what a vacation is all about: getting away from it all. Michael and Dean can see right through me. A single glance is all it will take for them to understand that something went wrong on my little excursion. I can picture the whole conversation. They will both freak out, and start remembering that fateful day. Dean will lecture me again about “why a guy shouldn’t date rich chicks,” It’s one of his favorite topics, if not his most favorite. He believes that the richer someone is, the less chances she or he has of finding happiness. Regardless of my opinion on the matter, the effect it will have on both of my friends will be catastrophic. We’ll end up staying in and reminiscing about the past. I can’t do that to them. Therefore, I prefer to text Michael, saying that I’ve found good company, and that I’ll be back by tomorrow morning.
Daylight is already fading away when I drive into the city of Heraklion. I drive past the main port and reach a smaller harbor. The image that enters my view splashes a warm sensation onto my face. Dozens of small, fishing boats are adjacent to one another, gently rocking in the calm water. The Venetian Castle on the massive breakwater catches my eye. Most of the people I see stroll away from the shore and toward that historical monument. I park my car at the side of the road, believing that I have found the distraction I need so much.
I let out a long, deep sigh as the call of a seagull fills my ears. I stride into the breakwater, wondering for the millionth time why Laura had gotten cold feet. For the first few weeks after the fiasco, I believed it was completely my fault. “Maybe I didn’t convince her about my feelings for her,” was one of the statements I repeated the most to Michael and Dean. “Maybe she believes I’m too laid back to start a family,” was another thing I used to tell them. Still, after recovering from such a shock, I realized that taking the blame for what she had done was nonsensical. Laura had all the proof of love she needed. The sapphire wedding ring I had given her screamed “I love you,” Furthermore, I’m not the first laid back guy ever to get married, and I definitely wouldn’t be the last.
“Excuse me?” A female voice interrupts my thoughts. I look up and to the left, only to see a slender brunette standing beside a curvy blonde, with a cell phone in her grasp. “Can you please take our picture?”
“Yeah, sure,” I nod, arising to my 6’2” stature. Taking the phone in my hand, I press my eye to the lens. The two friends are all smiles, with their arms around each other’s waists. The flash illuminates the night as I press the button. Without uttering a single word, I hand over the device back to its owner.
“Thank you,” she chirps, flashing me a bright-eyed look. I dismiss them with a nod, and return to the bench. I’m not interested in socializing with them or anyone else for that matter. I just want to be alone with my thoughts. I ease my back against the wall, my gaze returning to the brilliant harbor lights. At that moment, I catch something else, out of the corner of my eye: Two, long legs in a denim miniskirt on my right.
“My friend and I have made a bet,” she informs me. “I think you look so sad because of a woman. She thinks you lost a loved one recently. Which one is it?”
“You and your friend should mind your own business,” I mutter, unwilling to play her game. “Please, leave me alone.”
“Sorry, I can’t do that,” she says, her voice lowering to a much softer tone. “We’ve been watching for ten, maybe fifteen minutes. You’re distracted. I can tell by the look in your eyes. And, uh…” she pauses. “You proved it by taking our picture. We could have taken a selfie.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” I agree, pressing my lips together. “Will you go away if I answer your question?”
Filthy Desires: A Romantic Suspense Collection Page 4