Bohemian Law (Traveler Book 1)

by Misty Walker

  “Yeah. Let’s go.” He leads me away from the craziness before dropping my hand.

  “What’s going on with you?” I ask, nudging his shoulder with mine.

  “Nothing really. I just feel you pulling away from me the closer we get to the wedding. It should be the opposite. We should be getting closer.” His eyes narrow in suspicion, but I don’t know what he thinks I’m up to.

  “Come on, Wen. It’s no surprise I’m not excited to get married. It has nothing to do with you specifically, but we’ve talked about this since we were kids. Neither one of us wanted to marry at eighteen.”

  “You’re wrong. The last time we talked about this, girls had cooties. Of course I didn’t want to marry one. It’s been ten years since then.” He lets out an annoyed sound and throws his hands up in frustration.

  “Okay, maybe it’s been ten years since you agreed with me, but it’s not been ten years since I’ve told you how I felt. We’re best friends, basically family. It’s hard for me to make that switch in my head.” I try to explain the best way I can without damaging his ego.

  “What you aren’t considering is this is gonna happen, whether or not you’re on board. You’ve got to quit pushing me away. I won’t stand for it.” He stomps his foot, throwing a two-year-old tantrum right in front of me, and it turns me off even more.

  “The wedding’s not for six more months. Give me some time to come around to the idea.” Just call me the queen of procrastination. I know I won’t ever want to marry Wen, but I have six more months of freedom and damn it, I will make the best of it.

  A place for everything and everything in its place. I organize my active files, stacking them neatly in the right far corner on my desk. I close my laptop and place it in my leather briefcase before flipping off the lights in my office and head out through the casino and into the parking garage. I spot my black Porsche 718, centered perfectly in my assigned stall, and press the auto start button on my fob.

  Sitting down on the ridiculously comfortable leather, I pull my phone from my briefcase and check it for messages before driving to the restaurant. Nearly one in four car crashes are caused by distracted driving and I, for one, don’t plan to be a statistic. Three text messages and four voicemails. Seeing the voicemails are work related, I ignore them until later tonight. Opening the texts, I see all of them are from Chloe.

  Chloe: This just isn’t working out for me.

  Chloe: I left your ring on the island in your kitchen.

  Chloe: I hope you have a wonderful life.

  I read them and reread them and then reread them again. She can’t be serious. She’s breaking off our engagement in a text? I can’t believe it. I hit speed dial one on my phone. It rings twice before telling me they have disconnected the number. I check the phone number, and yes, it’s right.

  Chloe and I have been seeing each other for three years. I had only proposed to her last week. I search my memory for anything amiss, but nothing comes to mind. Just this morning we had coffee together and made plans for dinner at a rooftop restaurant in Tahoe. I think back and wonder if there were any signs.

  “Good morning, Chloe.” I approach my fiancée from behind as she makes coffee.

  “Yeah, hi.” She’s never been a morning person, so I expect her clipped tone.

  “Did you sleep well?” I wrap my arms around her, kissing her cheek. Before she can respond, I pull away and turn my head. “Haven’t brushed yet?” I wrinkle my nose at her.

  “No, I like to have coffee before I brush my teeth. You know that.” Her blond hair is piled on her head and she’s only wearing my button-down. I frown.

  “Chloe?” I start. “Is that my Thom Browne oxford?”

  She knows I hate it when she wears my most expensive shirts to do mundane tasks in. Like drinking coffee, which she’s doing now.

  “It was just for a minute. I needed caffeine and I know how you feel about nudity in the kitchen. It seemed like the lesser of two evils.” She shrugs.

  “I don’t understand why the choice is to wear a four-hundred-and-fifty-dollar shirt or be naked. You have a drawer full of clothes in my room.” Because really, there are at least twenty other options. She huffs at me and storms away.

  I pour myself a cup of coffee and sit down to read the Wall Street Journal online. After catching up with the financial world, I rinse my cup and place it in the dishwasher. I gather my briefcase, keys, and cell phone and set out to find my fiancée. She’s applying makeup and making a mess of it all over my bathroom counter. I go to the linen closet and pull out one of the black hand towels I purchased for this exact reason. She must have forgotten. Back in the bathroom, I pick up her cosmetics and lay them down on the towel, saving my marble countertops from staining. Chloe huffs at me again, but I know she must appreciate I take impeccable care of my things, so I chalk it up to her not finishing her coffee earlier.

  “I’m heading out,” I say, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. She doesn’t respond and I don’t wait. I have a schedule to keep. As I move to walk out the door to the garage, I notice Chloe’s shoes from yesterday are thrown haphazardly by the door. I pick them up and place them on the shoe rack and make a mental note to shoot her an email later, explaining the importance of keeping my floors free from the germs shoes track in and without the scratches heels can leave. Sometimes she forgets, but I know she must admire my attention to detail and occasionally I have to remind her of how I accomplish that.

  No, nothing comes to mind. It was a normal morning. Frowning, I place my phone in the phone holder and put my car into reverse. The drive home takes fifteen minutes, as always, and I pull into the garage. Entering the house, I’m struck by how cold it suddenly feels. Chloe may have not left her things lying about, but her lack of presence is still noticeable.

  In the kitchen, the Harry Winston diamond engagement ring sits in the middle of the island. No note, no explanation, just the ring. I pick it up and walk to my bedroom closet where I put it in my safe, then sit down on my bed for a think.

  I’ve always had my life planned out and now I find myself thirty-two years old, the CFO of the largest casino in Reno, Nevada, wealthy beyond what I had expected to be, and completely and utterly alone. I have no family left. Mom and Dad passed away within a year of each other when I was twenty-three. I’m an only child, as were both my parents. Their parents died when I was just a boy. I have no friends because I devoted all my time and attention to my career and more recently, Chloe.

  I take my time undressing and then put on street clothes. I’m not normally one to wander, but I feel the need to take a walk to think, maybe try to figure out where I went wrong. It’s summer and there isn’t a more beautiful place to be than the beaches of Lake Tahoe, so I get back in my car and make the hour-long drive from Reno.

  It’s a Monday night and the beach I choose is deserted. I roll up the bottoms of my jeans and take my shoes off, choosing to feel the sand between my toes despite the pathogens lurking. I’ll shower and scrub when I get home. I walk for nearly an hour, trying to make sense of the turn my life has taken and before I know it, it’s almost dark outside. I turn around and start back toward where I parked.

  A large group of people have congregated since I passed by this stretch of beach and they’ve started a bonfire. I know this is against the law, but I’m too caught up in my own goings on to call the local authorities. I sit down on a large rock to watch the rambunctious crowd for a bit. Their music is blaring, they have portable grills cooking their dinner, there are children splashing in the water, and a few men are passing around a cheap bottle of liquor, something that will surely give them a hangover in the morning.

  A few women and girls are dancing around the bonfire. One particular woman catches my eye. A long, flowy skirt covers her legs. Stopping just above her ankles. On her chest is a cream, crocheted bikini, and if I’m not mistaken, her dark nipples are showing through the tiny holes between stitches. Her skin is a dark copper tone and glows in the fire. Her chestn
ut brown hair is down, slightly curly, and whipping wildly around her face while she dances. Around her flat belly and ankles are chains of tiny bells that tinkle with every movement she makes.

  The way her hips circle hypnotizes me, the way her ass sways makes my jaw hang open dumbly, the way her full lips move as she sings along with the song has a bit of drool spill down the corner of my mouth. I swiftly wipe it away and shake my head, breaking the trance. This isn’t me. I don’t obsess over women. I’ve only had a handful of girlfriends and each of those were more arrangements than relationships. They wanted a wealthy, handsome man on their arm and I wanted to get laid regularly and not be alone. Even with Chloe, she wanted to show off her rich, successful boyfriend, and in return she got naked each night. She was beautiful, but I didn’t pine after her. I didn’t think about her when we weren’t together, and I certainly never hid in a corner just to watch her dance.

  I continue to watch, trying to keep my wits about me, for nearly an hour. She ate a hamburger, the ketchup and mustard dripping down her chin, and instead of embarrassment, she laughed and wiped it away with one finger. The same finger she then put in her mouth to suck the condiments off of. Then I stared, slack jaw again, as she took a bottle of cheap liquor and poured it straight down her throat, laughing as a little dribbled down her long neck.

  I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed anyone so free, so enchanting, so mesmerizing. For over an hour, I spy on her like a creeper in the shadows, knowing she would never know I was there.

  It was when she started making her way down the beach and toward me that I panicked. I don’t want her to see me. Her appearance alone turns me into a drooling idiot, and I don’t have the emotional resilience to be made a fool of tonight.

  She picked up a shawl somewhere on her way away from the bonfire and it’s wrapped snugly around her as she takes long, slow strides and stares out at the water, the small bells around her ankle and waist still jingling with every step. Instead of making myself known, I chance her being too distracted, but right as she’s three feet away, I lose my balance on the rock and fall into the sand. I hop up quickly and quietly, but it was no use because when I look back in her direction, she’s peering right at me, laughing.

  “You all right, mister?” she asks between giggles; her voice is deep and raspy. So much different than I had expected, yet so perfect in contrast to her feminine appearance.

  “Ah, yeah. Yes. Sorry. Just seem to have—” My words trail off when I see her smile. She’s quite possibly the most magnificent creature I’ve ever seen. My breakup with Chloe and the realization of my lonely, miserable life vanish with just one smile from her.

  “Good, glad to hear it. You have a nice night.” She strolls away again. I can’t let her get away. I need to talk to her. Preferably without me sounding like a bumbling disaster.

  “Wait!” I call out and jog to catch up. “Would you mind if I walked with you?”

  Her eyebrows rise in stunned surprise before she shrugs.

  “I guess it would be okay.” And just like that, she’s off again. At first, I can’t think of what to say. I know nothing about her, so I have no points of interest to discuss. I’m so out of my element it takes a good five minutes for me to gather my bearings and strike a conversation.

  “I’m Lawrence, by the way.” She just nods. “And you are…” I trail off.

  “Oh, Thea. Well, Theodora. But everyone calls me Thea.” She briefly makes eye contact with me before looking away again, but in those few seconds, with the light from the moon reflecting off the water and illuminating her face, I could see her eyes were an unusual color. The colors in a raw golden nugget. Darker, shadowed streaks around her pupil, but it fades to a bright gold before going back into the dark color around the rim of her iris. I’ve never seen eyes like hers before.

  “Theodora,” I mull over. “That’s an unusual name. Why did your parents name you that?”

  “It means, ‘gift from God’,” she explains. “I was my parents’ first born, and they wanted to thank God for giving me to them.”

  “I like it,” I compliment. “Do you live in Tahoe?”

  She smiles at me, like I asked a funny question.

  “No, I don’t live in Tahoe. I don’t really live anywhere, except I kind of live everywhere.” Well, if that answer doesn’t make me scratch my head. She sees the confused look on my face and expands. “My family, we’re pretty nomadic. We pick somewhere to go and then only stay in that place for a little while before moving on.”

  “Military?” I ask and she laughs.

  “No, definitely not military. We’re Romani.”

  “I don’t know if I’ve heard of Romani people before.”

  “You might be more familiar with gypsies. We get called that often, but prefer Romani when it comes from others.” She leans in and whispers, “It’s kind of derogatory.” She looks at the sky and throws her arms out wide as if she’s asking something from the stars. “Wanna have some fun?” She lowers her arms and her gaze meets mine, one eyebrow crooked in mischief. The look in her eyes makes me nervous. I’ve already stepped so far outside of my comfort zone tonight. I’m out of control.

  “It depends. What do you have in mind?” I’m almost certain I won’t take part, fun is not something I’m used to having, but I’m still interested to know what her idea of fun is.

  “Let’s skinny dip.” Smirking, she unties her bikini top. Her eyes never leave mine and I swallow, hard. Her bikini top gets thrown to the ground, one arm draped over her breasts. Her skirt comes off next, leaving her only in her panties and those goddamn strings of tinkling bells.

  “I, uh, well. I don’t, I mean. Maybe I’ll just stay here and watch.” I’m not a stuttering man, but this girl unnerves me. So much so I don’t even tell her about the potential threat of deadly bacteria in lakes. Knowing fish poop in them is enough I’ll never swim in a lake. Ever.

  “Suit yourself.” She shrugs. Her arm falls to her side, showing me her breasts. They’re small but perky, and the cool air makes her nipples point in my direction. My jeans are suddenly very uncomfortable in the groin region. She turns toward the water, showing me her magnificent, tight ass and I bite the side of my mouth until I taste blood. I watch her round globes bounce while she jogs to the lake with fixed attention. She steps in and bends forward, scooping and tossing water into the air while laughing. She looks over her shoulder at me before stepping in farther and farther until finally diving in, fully submerging herself.

  Seconds pass, then more seconds, and even more until I’m completely convinced she has drowned herself. The same moment I decide to call for help, her top half bursts from the water and her hair flips over her head, sending beads of water through the air. She looks like a goddamn mermaid out there. I get another quick look at her pert tits before she’s under the small waves up to her neck.

  “You all right?” I call out to her.

  “Come on in! The water is perfect,” she calls back. I’m certain the water is not perfect. This lake’s water supply is from snow runoff and snow is the opposite of the perfect temperature for swimming.

  “Uh, I’m okay.” I tell myself I need to get going. It’s almost nine o’clock, which is almost my bedtime. If I don’t get at least seven hours of sleep, I can’t function properly the next day. But I look out at Thea, splashing around, doing flips and handstands in the water, and decide it’s not safe to leave her in the water alone.

  After fifteen minutes of her swimming and me creeping, she finally leaves the water. If it’s possible, her nipples are even harder than before and seeing her wet all over makes things harder on my end too. I’ll most definitely have to rub one out tonight, but I’ll have the most beautiful inspiration.

  Thea pulls the elastic band of her skirt over her wet legs and up to her waist, then she covers her breasts with the completely ineffective bikini top before showing me her back and pointing at the ties. I take her hint and pick the two strings up in my hands, tying them together at
her back.

  “Thanks,” she says, using her shawl to twist her hair into a turban. Clever girl.

  “You’re welcome. Thank you for letting me walk with you.” I nod in her direction. “I’m going to head home now. It’s getting late.”

  “It can’t be later than nine o’clock. That’s early.” A slack expression takes over her beautiful face.

  “Not for me. I wake up at five a.m. every morning, so to ensure I get enough sleep, I go to bed at ten.”

  “Five a.m.! Are you joking?” She laughs out.

  “No, I wake up at five and then work out for an hour and a half before showering and heading to work. I don’t think it’s particularly strange.”

  “Law, I’m going to call you Law, okay?” She starts. It isn’t okay because it’s not my name, but I don’t stop her train of thought. “I don’t even go to bed until five a.m. most nights. I’m such a night owl.”

  I’m shocked. I’ve never once stayed up late, not that I can remember at least.

  “Well, I have to be at work by seven thirty. If I didn’t go to bed until five, I would be exhausted the next day.” I try to explain.

  “Where do you work?”

  “At The Grand Royals Casino in Reno,” I say proudly, because it’s the best casino outside of Vegas. Five-star restaurants, world-class entertainment, and our slots are twenty-five percent looser. She perks up in recognition.

  “Oh, I think I’ve been there. Is the Silver Duck restaurant in your casino?”

  “Yes, it is. Have you been there?” Maybe she’ll come back and I can see her again.

  “Well, sort of. We mostly just scoured through the dumpster for food, but the chef there must be highly trained in ordering what he or she needs and doesn’t waste much food at all.” She continues her pace while I remain standing. Did she just say she was a dumpster diver? I must have misunderstood.