Field-Tripped

by Nicole Archer

  Skip reads off the list then crumples the paper and chucks it in the trash. “Screw that. Let’s go get a drink.”

  “I’m so down for that,” Wang says.

  There is heartfelt agreement on both sides.

  And so we wander down to a bar on the corner and get seated at a table for eight. After the second pitcher of beer, Jerry starts telling raunchy jokes. The socially awkward forced laughter from the other team keeps him going until Skip shuts him up.

  By the third pitcher, the topic switches to women. Stanley talks about his ex-wife. Duffy talks about his marriage. Wang hints at his relationship with Joy.

  Skip flies up and sits at the bar. He’s done.

  So am I.

  I wander over and sit next to him. He’s flipping through his phone furiously, tapping his finger loudly against the screen.

  “Everything okay, man?” I ask.

  He sets down his phone and stares at his beer. “Not really.”

  “You worried about the games?”

  “I’m going to have to lay off people at the beginning of the year.”

  I don’t say anything. Because what can you say?

  “Callie Murphy just texted me. She wants me to be her bridesmaid. She and her sister are getting married on Valentine’s Day.”

  Callie is Skip’s good friend. She and her fiancé, Walker, used to work at the agency until they went on a cross-country blog tour for our RV client.

  Recently, she published a book, and Walker became a big shot photographer. Now they live in Georgia somewhere.

  “No shit? I thought they were already married.” I stop and think. “Wait a minute. Elias and Effie are getting married, too? That puto never called me. Then again, I don’t have a phone.”

  Skip’s vacant expression stays put.

  “Are you upset she asked you to be a bridesmaid?”

  He sighs. “I just never thought they’d go through with it.”

  “She’s pregnant, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  I get the feeling something went down between him and Callie. But I don’t pry. Because that’s not what men do. Instead, I ask him about something else that’s been on my mind. “So what’s your beef with Jerry? I get that he’s kind of annoying, but he seems pretty harmless.”

  Skip pounds the rest of his beer. “Can you keep this locked inside the vault, St. James?”

  I nod.

  “Reno knew about the embezzlement and never told my father. He knew it was happening and just sat on his fat ass and didn’t do anything.”

  Before Skip took over the agency from his father, some guys at the top ran out of town with the agency’s profits. The authorities still haven’t found them, and it had a serious impact on the business. Something like a hundred people were laid off. I was one of the lucky ones.

  Skip’s been scrounging for work for the last couple of years, just barely keeping us afloat. Not many people know about this, but since I’m pretty tight with his friend, Callie, she filled me in.

  “You serious?” I ask. “Why didn’t you fire him?”

  “Because I’m a nice guy. And because he begged me. He’s got a disabled sister he’s supporting.”

  “Still…”

  He slides a glance Jerry’s way. “I sincerely loathe that guy. The minute I win a new client, he’s out.”

  “Why don’t you do it now? Hell, I would.”

  “He’s the only one who’s got a grasp on the billing. Besides, I can’t fire him during the holidays. I’m just not that kind of Grinch.”

  I study my boss for a moment. He pretends to be a clueless pothead who doesn’t care about anyone. But really? He’s one of the most compassionate dudes I know.

  “Shots on me. What’s your poison?”

  “Tequila,” he says.

  I signal the bartender, and we down the liquor in one gulp.

  Later, Sam ambles over and sits next to us. He swivels his stool toward me. “Listen, St. James, I’m not normally a pot-stirrer, but that Alan guy is talking shit about your woman.”

  I spin around and train my ears on the conversation.

  “Oh yeah, she’s been on my ass for years,” Alan brags. “But I didn’t want to mix business with pleasure.” He folds his hands behind his head and cracks a dickish smile. “Should have taken her up on it before last month. Never knew she was a screamer.”

  I leap out of my seat, fists clenched and ready to take him out.

  Sam blocks me with his arm. “He’s not worth it. Come on. Let’s take a walk.”

  “Go with him, St. James,” Skip adds. “I can’t afford to bail your ass out of jail.”

  On the way outside, I keep an I’m-going-to-fuck-you-up glare bolted to Alan. Then I storm down the sidewalk like a wild bull on the loose.

  Sam keeps up with me, not saying a word.

  Two blocks later, we halt at a dead-end street.

  Sam rubs his arms and bounces up and down. “Shit, it’s freezing out here. Should have grabbed our jackets.”

  I don’t feel a thing. My rage is keeping me warm.

  “That guy’s lying,” Sam says.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Special Ops. We’re trained to read people. He’s got a tell. Rubs his nose. Nasal membranes flare up when you lie.”

  My anger blows out with a loud breath.

  “So what’s up with you and that chick?” he asks.

  “We dated in college.”

  “Ah, you’ve got a history.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Women are complicated.”

  “Amen.”

  “You cooled down, yet? My balls are about to break off.”

  We walk back in silence. At the bar door, Sam says, “I’m guessing that guy is packing a two-inch dick. Don’t worry about that asshole. Your woman’s got it bad for you.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Told you, I can read people.”

  And just like that, I fall into bro-love with my sneaky coworker.

  Inside, the women’s team is at the table. The ambience has grown louder and more drunken.

  I pull up a chair across from Charlie.

  She gives me a shifty kitty glance.

  A drum beats in my chest. I need to find out the truth. “Are you with Alan?”

  Her answer is quick. “No.”

  “Do you want to be with me?”

  “Yes.”

  I smirk, grab my coat, and nod to the door.

  Her lips part, and she nods back. Signal received, loud and clear.

  Outside, I dial an Uber. One is just around the corner. I stand in the cold, watching the ringlets of my breath.

  Charlie’s still at the table. Maybe she didn’t get the signal after all.

  The Uber dot comes closer.

  She’s not moving.

  The car pulls up to the curb.

  Just as I open the door, she bursts out of the bar and climbs in the back seat.

  I let out an internal sigh of relief.

  On the short trip back to the lodge, we say nothing. There’s a foot gap between us.

  She stays on her side.

  I stay on mine.

  When we arrive, I pay the guy, and Charlie tugs me around to the back of the lodge. We slip inside the back door and hurry up to her room. Even her dogs don’t notice we’re back.

  I unzip my coat. She unzips hers. We take off our boots.

  Electricity whizzes between us.

  I make the first move and trace her bottom lip with my thumb.

  She kisses it then sucks it.

  I lift her sweater over her head and unsnap her bra.

  She unbuttons my flannel and unzips my pants.

  We’re naked.

  I’m hard.

  She’s wet.

  But our gazes stay melded.

  I lift her up, and she wraps her legs around my waist.

  Her hand caresses my face, and finally, our mouths meet.

  The kiss is sensual, d
elicious.

  I set her down on the bed and crawl between her thighs, slowly, carefully, ready to take possession, but not wanting to rush it.

  My cock presses against her heat, and I slide it up and down her slick layers, teasing her, glazing myself with her wetness.

  She’s trembling.

  I’m throbbing.

  Her tongue circles my nipple.

  I play with hers, pinching them into hard peaks and pulling on them the way she likes.

  Her hips grind against mine. She wants me inside.

  A drop of pre-cum erupts from the tip of my prick.

  She smears it over my cock then grips me tight.

  I thrust inside her all the way to the hilt, and when I bottom out, she arches into me, her head tipping back and her eyelids closing halfway.

  I hover my mouth just above hers—still keeping our hot gazes connected—and I roll my hips slowly, savoring the glorious squeeze of her cunt.

  Then her eyes turn glassy, and her chin quivers.

  What I’m doing to her pussy is so amazing it’s actually brought tears to her eyes. I’m a master at turning her on.

  Then, wham! All of a sudden, she shoves me, and my dick is out.

  “What the hell!”

  “You’re making love to me.”

  “You just now figure that out?”

  “You don’t get to make love to me. You haven’t earned that right.”

  I drag my hand down my face, wiping off my confused state. It smells like her. I glance at her glistening pussy, trying to make sense of this precarious situation. How do I get back inside there?

  I pump my cock, because it feels good, and her lemon-pucker glare feels bad.

  “Uh…” That’s the most speech I can manage.

  “You can fuck me. But that’s it.”

  I clasp my hands in prayer. “Chicken, for the love of God, please tell me, what the fuck is the difference?”

  Her chin lifts, and a tiny “hmpf” comes out.

  I grunt. “Okay, okay, okay, okay, okay.” I take a deep breath and continue. “How do I earn a pass?”

  “Well,” she says snootily. “You can start by rubbing your beard on my vagina.”

  I’m so confused. “So this is about foreplay?”

  “No, this is about the slow, I-love-you sex and the steamy St. James smirk.”

  You know what? I need to shut her up. So I grab her knees and yank her down to the edge of the bed.

  Eli’s Mixtape: Missy Elliott, “Hot Boyz”

  THE HEAT between her legs draws me in. I nuzzle, lick, and nibble my way toward the prize.

  She tenses and pants as I peel her open and tongue-tease her smooth layers.

  Her scent has always driven me wild. And her taste…

  The grip she has on my hair is downright painful, but I stay focused on making her gyrate her pussy against my beard.

  “Oh,” she moans. “That feels so, oh, so rough, and, ooooh, don’t stop, fun.”

  I twirl a finger inside her and press it against the back of her clit.

  Her thighs lock around my ears.

  I push her knees down and glance up for a second. My heart skips a beat.

  This beautiful creature—so fierce and so reckless—is just about ready to break. And I’m going to shatter her to pieces.

  I get more aggressive and faster. I suck her clit, pinch her lips, and flick her spot. My tongue has gone numb. My neck kind of hurts. But I want her to come so goddamn bad. I grip my cock and jerk it to the rhythm.

  “What are you doing down there?” She lifts her head to check. “Oh, God. That’s so hot. Keep going.” Her legs tremble, and her head falls back.

  Any minute now.

  Whimpers build in frequency, and her squirms intensify. Then her thighs slam against my cheeks, and it’s quiet, except for the ringing in my ears.

  Her orgasm is silent, and by the looks of it, so very intense.

  Dazed, I watch and pump my cock.

  Her hips lower. She’s panting, looking astonished.

  “How was that?”

  “Fucking great.”

  “My turn.” I grab her waist and flip her over on her stomach so she’s leaning over the bed. Once I’m back in, I yell out. “Sweet relief!”

  This time I don’t fuck around. My mission is to come as fast as possible.

  The bed bangs against the wall while I bang her.

  She slams her ass back into me, mewling and moaning.

  Fast. Furious. Fucking.

  The world goes white, and then… “Oooooh, yeah.” In the distance, I hear my own voice. It sounds like a late-night DJ.

  The millennium ends during that moment. And then…

  “Are you okay?” She peers over her shoulder. “You’re not moving.”

  “Can’t.”

  She releases her hold on me, and I spill out of her.

  “Stop.” I gently push her over and spread her ass cheeks. As my cum pours out, my grin builds. “So beautiful.”

  She spins around and kisses me hard. Then she slaps me on the ass and sprints to the bathroom. “Let’s take a shower.”

  While we bathe, I sing, I soap up, I bounce her tits in my hands. I suck her neck. I sing some more. I play with her pussy.

  She plays with my cock.

  We wash each other.

  I suck her nipples.

  She tugs my balls.

  It’s heavenly.

  She giggles. “You’re like a big puppy, splashing around in here.”

  “That doesn’t sound very manly.”

  “Are you honestly questioning your manhood, after that orgasm you gave me?”

  Ready to give her another one, I shut off the tap and dry off like The Flash.

  Just as fast, I whip back the bed covers, climb in, and pat the mattress.

  She shakes a finger at me. “Oh no! You are not spending the night.”

  “Huh?”

  “Get up. We are not lovers. We’re not even friends. You haven’t earned it.”

  “Huh?” I say again.

  “Out!”

  My sexual stupor dissolves. I haul my ass out of bed and tuck my clothes under an arm. “Woman, you drive me crazy. No lie. By the time this is over, I’m going to be a blubbering, drooling mess.”

  “Maybe you should meditate about it. Figure out why I’m kicking you out.”

  “Maybe I will,” I say like a fourth grade boy.

  “Hmpf!”

  “Hmpf!”

  I turn the handle.

  “Oh, by the way,” she says defiantly. “I won the hunt tonight.”

  “Goodie for you.” I swing open the door.

  “Lock it on the way out.”

  “You got it!” I slam it behind me. Her dogs bark and run upstairs.

  Burt’s on their tail with a loaded gun, cocked and ready to fire. “Who’s there?” He spots me, naked and shivering in the shadows, then lowers his weapon. “Well, well. Look who’s doing the walk of shame.” He clucks his tongue and tromps back down the stairs, yucking it up the entire way down.

  “Goodnight, Chicken,” I shout.

  “Goodnight, Loser!”

  THIRTY

  Charlie Doesn’t Celebrate

  December 2004

  WEINER and I had a long conversation about Loser. He thinks the reason Elliott hasn’t told anyone about us is because he’s scared he’s going to lose me.

  That’s all fine and dandy, but I’m tired of pretending I don’t have a boyfriend. I’d seriously consider something Fatal Attraction-ish, but today he poured fifty pounds of sand in my apartment and rented a bunch of heat lamps. Since I can’t leave because of finals, he said he was taking me on a beach vacation for Christmas.

  I love that Loser.

  Also, he cleaned everything up. That man makes me swoon. Don’t tell him that.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Charlie’s Got Talent

  Eli’s Mixtape: Phil Collins, “In The Air Tonight - 2015 Remastered”

 
ART RIDICULES US. “Pshaw! Everyone’s got talent. America’s Got Talent.” He’s a little too amused with himself.

  Another round of eye rolls and sarcastic protests rumble around the room.

  “I don’t have a talent,” Joy protests. “Not one I care to share publicly, anyway.”

  “You’ve got six hours to make one up.” Art heads out of the room. “Can’t wait.” His sinister chuckle follows him to the kitchen.

  The only thing I feel like doing right now is going back to bed.

  It’s my brother’s birthday.

  For the last few years, this day has come and gone like the rest of my family’s birthdays—another gloriously numb day I have to get through.

  But today, it’s different. Elliott’s brought back so many memories. Not only do I keep envisioning my twenty-year old self chasing after him, I see my brother by his side, giving us both shit about it.

  The ache is bone deep. Prozac can’t deaden it. Not today.

  I wonder if Elliott remembers. From my vantage point, it doesn’t seem like it. He’s the same as he’s been every day—the picture of calm in a storm, offering support to his coworkers, regardless if they ask, warming the room with quiet humor, standing back and letting everyone else shine, even when he’s the shiniest ornament on the tree by far.

  He plays with Avery’s kid, inherently understanding when she needs a break. He jokes around with his boss, knowing that Skip’s beyond worried about these games. He’s friendly and nice to his ex-girlfriend, never broadcasting the annoyance I know is there.

  Part of me wants to congratulate him. You’ve grown into such an amazing man, Eli St. James. But, I’ve always known he’d end up like this—wise, light, loose, comfortable in his own skin.

  Masculine confidence is so easy to spot. Take Shimura’s account guy, Jerry, and his loud mouth and out-of-proportion muscles. That guy has zero confidence.

  Alan’s another perfect example—his unsubtle desperation and dogged determination to chase after me isn’t the least bit attractive. Not to mention, it’s wearing incredibly thin. And it’s constructing an even thicker wall between Elliott and me.

  No, except for the feverish moments my ex and I have spent in private these past few days, one might suspect he hasn’t a care in the world.