by Monica James
Hunter stands up dramatically. “I could have taken it to go.” Now he tells me.
Once we’re checked out, I sprint toward my car with Hunter lagging behind. “We’re kind of in a hurry,” I state, throwing my bag into the backseat.
“Well, I’m kind of hungry, thanks to you, so I’m reserving my energy,” he barks back as he tosses his bag next to mine.
I jump into the driver’s seat, reaching into my suit pocket for the keys. The moment I place the key into the ignition and turn it, I know that someone has a voodoo doll of me and my car somewhere.
“Why isn’t the car starting?” Hunter asks, drawing attention to the obvious as he buckles up.
“I have no clue.” As I turn the key again, the engine simply clicks over but doesn’t start. “No. No. No. Don’t do this! Not now!” I bellow, thumping both palms against the steering wheel.
“I don’t think that’s going to help. You probably blew up the engine on the way here.”
“I didn’t hear you complaining. If I remember correctly I had to wind up the window before your slobber coated my car,” I say, referring to Hunter’s impersonation of what a bulldog would look like driving down the highway at a hundred miles an hour with his tongue wagging out happily.
He shrugs, not denying my claims. “Pop the hood.”
“What for?” I question, watching him as he unbuckles his belt.
“Could be a dead battery.” He opens the door, appearing mighty proud of himself for solving our apparent problem.
But I roll my eyes. “The battery is in the trunk.”
He ducks his head inside. “Oh. Good to know.”
Great, between dumb and dumber, we’re screwed. I’m not going to pretend that I know anything about cars because I don’t.
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my cell. “I’ll call a cab.”
“A cab? Why don’t you call Triple A?”
“Because they’ll take too long,” I reply, my patience about to snap. As I look at my screen, my dwindling patience goes up in flames. “Motherfucker! Have you got service?” I wave my phone from left to right, hoping to get a damn signal.
Hunter pulls out his cell, but when he too moves it above his head, looking at the screen in confusion, I know the answer is no. “How is that even possible? We live in America, for fuck’s sake. There are no excuses for technology to fail us!”
I dance around the parking lot, flapping my arms above my head, hoping I get something, anything, but I don’t. “Fuck this. I’ll ask to use the phone in reception.”
Angrily shoving my phone into my pocket, I storm toward the hotel, ignoring Hunter as he smugly says, “If we had just stayed at Westhampton Beach, none of this would be happening as we’d already be there by now.”
I don’t bother answering as my answer will be the same as it was last night—we can’t check into a five-star resort in the middle of the night/morning without a reservation. I know this for fact, as I tried to make a reservation at 11:30 p.m.
As I shoulder open the heavy door, my gaze lands on the young, pimply teen behind the counter.
“Can I use your phone?”
He looks up from reading his comic book, popping his gum, uninterested. “You’ll have to wait until my manager comes back. She just went to the market.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “How long will that be?”
He shrugs. “I dunno. Maybe an hour.”
“An hour?” I shout, eyeing the phone on the counter. “Look, kid, I’ll give you…” Opening up my wallet, I pull out a twenty-dollar bill. “I’ll give you twenty bucks if you let me use the phone.”
He leans forward, the cash speaking volumes. He drums his fingers on the heavy wood. “Fifty.”
“You little shit,” Hunter scoffs behind me. “Do not—”
But I wave him off. “Fine, fifty.” I hunt through my wallet and toss the cash at him as he turns the phone around so I can dial.
I see there is a list of numbers by the phone, and thankfully, there is a number for a local cab service. I dial it quickly, impatiently tapping my foot as I wait for them to pick up. The moment they do, I bark out my address and where I need to go.
I breathe out a sigh of relief when they tell me no problem. But when they tell me, “The wait time is approximately three hours,” my sigh of relief gets caught in my throat.
“Excuse me? Three hours? Why so long?” Is this a sign, a bad omen that I shouldn’t go on?
Hunter stands beside me, placing his hands out to the side, silently asking what’s up. I cover the cradle and explain it’ll be a three-hour wait.
The pimply teen decides now is a good time to intervene. “I could have told you that. There are like a dozen things going on down there this weekend. There’s the Nutcracker Ballet, Senior Citizen Picnic, the eleventh Annual Great East End Community Picnic…” He goes on to detail each event on his fingers, while I’m seconds away from using my fingers to strangle him.
“And you couldn’t have told us this sooner? Maybe before you took the fifty bucks?” Hunter declares, leaning menacingly close while the kid slowly leans back.
He raises his shoulders, untroubled. “I suppose I could have.”
Hunter immediately launches forward and grabs the kid by the scruff of his T-shirt. He drags him forward while I slam down the receiver and remove Hunter’s hands from the terrified kid who yelps when I set him free. “How far away is the Mist de L’Océan from here?”
“Um…I…hmm…I dunno.” When he hesitates, I take over the role of aggressor and dive over the counter like a wildman. I fist his shirt as I demand, “Listen here, you little jerkoff, if you ever want to get laid, you’ll think long and hard, as I am seconds away from ripping off your dick and using it as a doorstop!”
Hunter bursts out laughing, thumping the counter in delight while I shake the kid, demanding he speak. “It’s like maybe a half hour drive,” he whines, trying to fight me off.
“Are you sure?”
When he falters, I drag him closer so we’re eye to eye. Items strewed on the countertop spill onto the floor. “Yes, yes!” he shrieks. “Please sir, don’t rip off my dick. I’m a virgin!”
By this stage, Hunter is laughing so hard, he is choking on his raspy breaths. “Oh, fuck. This is so worth the fifty bucks!”
I let the kid go, satisfied he’s telling the truth. He quickly runs into the backroom and locks the door. I feel like a brute, but desperate times call for desperate measures. “Right, so he said half an hour drive, which is what, an hour walk?”
That shuts Hunter down immediately. “I am not walking an hour. These shoes pinch my feet.”
I look down at his black loafers and curl my lip. “Are you listening to yourself, you pussy?”
He folds his arms over his chest. “Fine, but you can carry me if my feet get sore.”
“Fine, whatever, let’s just go.”
Snatching a visitor’s map from a stand, I storm out of the office, hoping little Miss Twinkle Toes is following. Thankfully, he is, as I can hear him mumbling how he’s the bitch in our relationship.
Unfolding the map, I look for any familiar landmarks to point us in the right direction. “According to this map, we need to go…” I turn the map upside down, to the side, and then back up again. “Shit, this is not to scale.” I stop walking as I try and decipher which way to go.
“Fucking great. We’re probably going to die of thirst and starvation.”
“Oh, stop being so melodramatic. It’s an hour. You’ve fucked for longer and somehow managed to survive.”
My comment puts a skip in his step as he smiles. “Boom! Yes, I have.”
We decide to turn right for no other reason than I think we drove in from the opposite direction. Ten minutes in, Hunter is complaining that the sea air is frizzing his hair.
“I’ve solved the puzzle of why you’re single.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?” he queries. He’s currently wearing his suit jacket like a cape ove
r his skull, as the sun is apparently too harsh for his skin.
“Because you’re a woman.” He clutches his sides, pretending to laugh at my joke, while I actually do laugh ’cause it’s funny.
However, I stop quickly and guiltily when he smartly retorts, “I’m a woman? I didn’t just drive over a hundred and fifty miles to crash the wedding of my ex-girlfriend, whom I have not spoken to since the day she left a Dear John letter over nine months ago.”
He’s completely right, so I stay silent because I’ve got nothing.
We walk in silence, Hunter’s words churning around my head. I’m the first to acknowledge that I haven’t thought this through at all, but I don’t regret my decision in the slightest. I would have regretted sitting around doing nothing while Madison marries someone who isn’t me.
This right here is what the saying carpe diem embodies. So I plan on seizing.
“So what happens if she actually loves the guy?” Hunter asks, obviously picking up on my pensive thoughts.
“I haven’t thought that far ahead. At the moment, I’m more concerned about getting there in time.”
“You really love her, hey?”
My heart hurts at the mere mention of her. “Yes, Hunt, I really do. I needed this time apart to realize just how much so I can only hope she feels the same. However, seeing as she’s marrying someone else, she probably doesn’t. But I need to do this, otherwise I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”
“Whatever happens, man, know that I’m proud of you for trying. It takes balls to do what you’re doing.”
I turn to look at him and smile. “Thanks. I wouldn’t want to share this moment with anyone other than you.”
When he unexpectedly stops walking, I turn over my shoulder to see why. As he begins to unzip his pants, I chuckle, afraid to ask what he’s doing. He answers for me, mid-zip. “Are you going to suck my cock now? I mean, that was some sentimental shit back there. I thought you were giving off a ‘I wanna suck your dick,’ vibe.”
“You wish,” I playfully counter, flipping him off. I suddenly hear a car coming up over the hill, and groan when Hunter’s pants are shimmying down his legs. “Zip your pants up, you creep. There’s a car coming!”
Thankfully, he complies and is zipped up and tucked in by the time a little white van comes into view. “We’re so hitching a ride in the Scooby Van,” he excitedly states, clapping quickly.
We hook out our thumbs, hoping whoever is inside this vehicle stops and isn’t a part of the Manson Family. The van does indeed stop and I’m quite certain the occupants are as far away from being serial killers as they come.
“Hello, boys,” says the driver. “Where you off to?”
Hunter shakes his head firmly, indicating there is no way he’s getting inside the van. But this isn’t optional. I need to get to Madison, and I need to get to her now. “We’re headed into Westhampton Beach. Can we bum a ride?”
“Of course. We’re headed that way. Get in.”
Hunter is still shaking his head when I slide open the door and gesture with my chin for him to get inside. “No,” he grits out between clenched teeth. But we’ve wasted enough time.
Walking behind him, I shove him into the van filled with about ten…little old ladies. I don’t know why, but the silver foxes love Hunter. They always have. Sadly, he doesn’t feel the same.
“For the love of God, please no, Dixon, stop!” As I push his torso in, he digs his feet into the pavement and turns over his shoulder, whispering loudly, “It smells like grandma vagina in here.”
“What did he say?” a lady with purple hair shouts as she turns around.
“I think he said he’s a handbag designer,” the lady to her left replies just as loudly.
She nods, none the wiser. “Oh, how lovely.”
Hunter is still fighting me, but with one hard thrust, he falls forward, supporting his weight on the back of a chair. One of the ladies turns around, smiling a dentured grin when she sees Hunter hanging off the back of her seat. “Hello.”
He shudders.
I jump in behind him, pulling him up and dragging him to the back of the bus. His phobia needs to literally take a backseat because this is my ride to freedom.
“I’m Pearl. Where you off to?” the lady in front of us asks, smiling at Hunter.
He hooks his thumb my way. “He’s stopping the wedding of the woman he loves.”
The entire van coos while I look down at my watch. I have time. I have over five hours to figure out what the hell I’m going to do.
“And what about you, young man? Anyone that you love?” Pearl questions.
Before Hunter can reply, I speak up for him. “No, he’s single, and looking, ladies.” I wink at the raring-to-go women while Hunter stomps on my foot.
36
Found Yourself in Her
DIXON
“You owe me,” Hunter grumbles as we wave goodbye to the lovely residents of Shady Pines.
“Oh, come on. I think Pearl liked you.” I reach out to clean the lipstick marks from his cheek.
He pulls away, wiping violently at his face. “We will never speak of this ever again.” And he’s right because now that I’m standing in front of the Mist de L’Océan, I know that playtime is over.
The driver, Bob, was lovely; however, he couldn’t drive for shit. Thanks to his leisurely pace, it took us over an hour and a half to get here.
“So what’s the plan?” Hunter asks as we race up the long, paved driveway. The lawns on either side look out of place considering just over the hill lies a sandy stretch of beach.
“I thought we established there is no plan,” I reply, feeling petulant as we approach the massive reception center.
Off to the right sits a lavish-looking hotel, a hotel which no doubt has a honeymoon suite, Jacuzzi, and heart-shaped bed. I grind my teeth and quicken my step.
Just as I’m about to kick open the door, Hunter latches onto my arm to stop me. “So, what, you’re just gonna ride in, gung-ho, throw her over your shoulder, kicking and screaming?”
“Yee-haw! Now please let me go.” I attempt to pull out of his clutches but he tightens his hold.
“Be smart about this, Dix. You go charging in there like a crazy person, odds are Madison is going to be glad she kicked your ass to the curb when she did. Be smart. I know you’re angry, but this barbarian act isn’t gonna stick. Not to mention, you’ll probably get your ass hauled away by security. Take a deep breath and think about rainbows and unicorns, and naked chicks riding unicorns over rainbows.”
His ridiculous pep talk has worked. I feel my heartbeat return to its normal pace, and the urge to murder Alex subsides a fraction.
“There you go. We need a plan, all right?”
I nod and he lets me go. “You’re right. What do you suggest?” For once, he seems to be the levelheaded one.
“Let’s just play it cool. You were invited after all. We’re not crashing this wedding per se; we’re simply crashing the ceremony.”
“And Alex’s face,” I spit out, glaring at the glass doors.
“And there you go again with the flaring nostrils and crazy eyes.” He places his hands on my shoulders firmly. “You want Madison back? You gotta show her you’ve changed.”
He’s right, again. Taking three deep breaths, I nod. “I’m good. Now stop touching me.”
He removes his hands and laughs. “Let’s go get the girl.”
“My girl,” I correct, as I push open the doors.
Once we’re inside, I can’t deny the place is rather stylish. The foyer is decorated in festive, sparkly crap, but I know that crap was handpicked by Maddy—handpicked to make her day as perfect as she is. We make our way through the double doors which lead out onto the beach. There is a huge white canopy a few yards away with white chairs lined up underneath, seating a few dozen guests.
As I look to the left, I see a red carpet extending out from a private room off the side. That’s got to be Madison’s room. I sp
in on my heel, but Hunter grabs my arm. “What happened to cool?”
“Cool can kiss my ass. Madison is in that room, getting ready to marry some asshole. I need to get in there.”
A few guests standing near us and sipping champagne turn to look at the commotion, but I don’t even bother to conceal the fact I’m moments away from going ape shit. I break from Hunter’s grip and march over to the room, not caring who or what stands in my way. My eyes are glued to that room, and that room alone.
When I’m almost there, I can suddenly smell her. Her light vanilla scent catches on the cool breeze, fueling my hunger even further. “Madison,” I say under my breath, quickening my pace to a run. However, what I never expected was running into Madison…literally.
I collide with her tiny frame, which has her yelping and tumbling forward. My brain may be a jumbled mess, but my instinct to protect her is clear as day. I pounce out, my body singing at the possibility of touching her after so many months, but that happiness turns to rage when another hand gets there first.
A growl rumbles from my throat as I glare over to the left to see some wildebeest latching onto Madison’s bicep. I’m…going…to…kill…him.
He saved her from falling on her ass, but now that she’s standing, it’s time to let her go. “Motherfu—”
“My Cherry Pie, Madison! Hi!” Hunter cuts in, stepping in front of me.
“H-hi,” she stutters. That simple word has my body salivating.
I step out to the left because I need to look at her. I need to ingest everything that I’ve been missing for almost three hundred long days. The moment she meets my eyes, I know I’m not leaving without her.
She looks older, wiser, but the innocence I fell in love with is still there. Her cheeks turn a lovely pink hue while she nibbles on the corner of her mouth, toeing the sand beneath her bare feet. She’s wearing a silver anklet, the small star pendant catching the gentle sunlight. I work my way up, remembering how strong those legs were when they wrapped around my waist, riding me until I was milked dry.
She’s wearing a simple white, over-the-knee silk dress, but nothing could ever look simple on her. I can’t help but linger on her incredible breasts, which look just as delectable as the day I first tasted them in the flesh. Her hair is long and flowing, sitting curled and draped across her shoulders. I want to reach out and touch it, sniff it like a creeper because I need to make sure she’s real.