“Whatever,” the cop said. “You can tell that to your lawyer. You’ll need to hire one. Or your parents will.”
If he took me out to dinner, he’d probably ask the waitress to get me a kiddie menu. I sighed. Just because I was a college coed with straight teeth and blonde hair, everyone assumed I was a goody-goody. The bane of my existence. And now the cause of a man’s violent death.
The reality was, I’d never attracted the kind of man I really wanted. I wasn’t interested in the weird guys who followed me around. Certainly not the lonely guys who stalked me. Even my literature prof was too dull. And nice guys finished last. Nice guys finished dead.
I wanted a different type of man to fall for me. Hard, skeptical, worldly. A man who had been there and didn’t care. A tough guy with a gruff voice and big, strong hands. A man who could grab me and hold me steady while he said, “I can give you what you need, girl.” Then give it to me.
Officer Handsome seemed just the type. In Los Angeles, you have to pay for what you want. And even then, it’s not what you really need. Florida seemed like it might offer me a whole different menu.
“Maybe I should move here so I can be available to all the new people who will be taking over my freaking life,” I said.
He smiled at that. He had dimples in his cheeks, deep lines from worry or good genes. “Maybe you should. We have colleges. Crummy state colleges, but we’ve got ’em. And beaches, we’ve got some white sand to rival your rocky coast.”
When I tried to shift my legs, they were stuck to the seat. I unstuck them carefully and stood up. He watched, those iceberg eyes not missing a trick.
“Are you going to ask me more dumb questions, or am I free to go?” I pressed my damp dress down over my thighs, smoothing out the wrinkles. I needed a daiquiri and a blunt and had no idea how to get access to either one.
“There’s a decent B&B in downtown Dusky. And several passable hotels on the beach. Do you want a lift?”
I wanted a lift, all right. “Where’s this going, Officer? Are you asking as an officer of the law or as an interested party?”
He reddened at that and looked away. “You’re free to go, Miss Winston. I can give you a ride to the airport or a local hotel. Or not. Your call.”
His embarrassment really turned me on. I had this overwhelming urge to show him who I was. After listening to Harry the antihero’s description of his passionate love for this imaginary female, I needed to demonstrate to him that I was not that girl.
I walked to his side of the desk so that I could stare down at him. He smelled like spicy after-shave and Cuban cigars. I stood over him until he looked up. We regarded one another steadily.
My heart sped up when I thought about how much older he was than me, how much he outweighed me. He was massive, a man. I was small, still a girl. He was the authority. I was the victim of a crime.
What a joke. This whole thing was a misunderstanding. I wanted to wrest my life out of his hands, out of the audio on the memory card. I wanted to yank my life away from Harry, Mr. X, the investors, the state of Florida, the SEC, gravity, and any stars that may have determined my fucked up fate.
“Are you married?” I asked him.
“Not anymore.”
“Right answer,” I said. “So yes, I could use a ride.”
I didn’t step back. That way, when he stood up, we were pressed against one another. Our bodies were equally tense. I came up to his chest. His wide, muscled chest. I imagined his heart in there, pulsating wildly in anticipation. Or fear. Or excitement.
He pulled away and stepped around me. “My car’s out back. We’ll pick up your luggage. It’s in administration. We’ll stop there first.”
Before he could ease past me I grabbed his hand and blurted, “You can watch somebody their whole life and never know anything about them. You believe that, right?”
“I’m a cynic,” he said, his skin warm in my hand. “But life is full of surprises. And people never do what you think they’re going to do. Who knows what they’re thinking? If somebody spied on me all my life, would they know what I’m thinking right this minute? What I’m going to do next? I doubt it. Because, if they did, they’d know more about me than I do.”
I let go of his hand and followed him out of the office into the din of the police station. I had no idea who he was, what he would do next, or what he was thinking. I would let him surprise me. But I hoped our immediate future would include a bunch of slushy daiquiris, a long hot bath, and a night of lovemaking so furious I could forget all about RealLife Shares and the trouble it had created for me.
Sometimes destiny can be a short-term goal. Personally, I prefer it that way. Otherwise, it’s just too tough to call.
Chapter Seven
On our way east to the beach hotels, I said, “What’s your name? If you already told me earlier, I forgot. I’m usually good with names, but today I’m totally out of it.”
He took a left turn onto the shore road. “Understandable. Detective Doug Manning. At your service.”
I wish.
I rolled down my window and let the sea breeze cool my face. We weren’t in a squad car. After we left the police station, he’d escorted me across the steaming hot parking lot to his own vehicle, a semi-hip Mercedes coupe from like the 1970s or something. It was cute, but I could smell the diesel fuel burning. I rolled my window back up.
“You know a lot about me, Doug,” I said with a hint of sass. “But I know nothing about you. Care to tell me a few pertinent facts? Only fair.”
He grimaced. Like I’d offended him. Then he gave me a quick look.
I knew that look. He wanted me. But he didn’t want to want me.
I hid my smile and teased, “How ’bout if I ask the questions for a while, Doug?” I liked saying his name. It was so east coast, so squared off and regular. Hard, too. Manly. Manly Manning. “My turn to pry.”
He pointed ahead to a row of pastel-colored high-rise buildings. “There’s a beachfront motel that’s got reasonable rates. I think I can get the city to spring for a night. That suit you?”
“I guess.” The truth was I already had a reservation. My so-called benefactor, the boss of the dead guy, had paid for a suite at the Beach Club. Or Harry had. But I didn’t care who paid for my hotel, just as long as the room had a well-stocked minibar.
Doug stared straight ahead, the wind ruffling his hair. I wanted to ruffle his hair. I wanted to blow warm air on his face. I wanted to blow…
Enough, Marina.
“So where are you from, Doug? And how long have you worked in the criminal justice system?”
He snorted, drove on in silence.
“Okay. Well, how about this for interrogation? What do you like to do when you’re off-duty? Do you chill out with friends? Do you chill out with girlfriends? Do you want to chill out with me tonight?”
He didn’t say anything. This guy was as quiet as Don Draper on Mad Men. I loved Don Draper. He was like the sexy father girls my age all wished they’d had.
“Just one night. Nobody has to know,” I said in a sultry voice.
He flicked on his blinker and turned into a broad, sandy parking lot. “You’re not at all like the girl that vic was half-mad for,” he said. “You’re a force.”
Was this an insult or a compliment? I wasn’t sure. Either way, I didn’t let him detour me.
“It’s only six o’clock. What am I gonna do with myself ’til my flight leaves tomorrow afternoon? Text message everyone I know about how I’m a stupid pawn in some fucked up chess game?”
My voice sounded whinier than I’d wanted it to. But before I could say something witty to cover it up, Doug parked the car.
The lot was empty. And trashy.
Ick.
“This is the King Kong. It’s not high class, but the rooms are clean and the beach here is as nice as it comes in east Dusky. I’ll take care of check-in for you. As for what you can do tonight, I’m not sure what to tell you. Get a good night’s sleep? Think
about how close you came to getting shot by a nut job?”
He sighed, still staring straight ahead. At the ugliest motel I’d ever seen. Cellblock-style cement block rooms with stupid ape cartoons on the metal doors. Talk about cheesy dumps. Was this place for real?
Doug sighed again. “Marina, look. I’d love to spend more time with you, but you’ll be back in town in the future for depositions and other legalities. It wouldn’t be a good idea for us to…”
He turned to me. Finally! Those faded denim eyes. Yum.
“Spend too much alone time together. Dusky’s a small town. And I’ve gotta work in it.”
So much for the slushy daiquiris and the long bath. Never mind the wild sex with cute cop.
“Well, if you’re going to be a pussy about it, that’s your loss.”
But right after I said that, I leaned over and kissed him. His taste was rich, dark, and bitter. Like old coffee and aged tobacco. He didn’t pause this time. He kissed me back.
It wasn’t the longest kiss I’d ever experienced nor the sexiest. But it made me wet. And that made me angry. Why couldn’t I have him the way I wanted? Why wasn’t my life under my control?
When he pulled away, I clung to his neck. I turned his face and waited until he looked in my eyes. I could see the lust there. So I knew he felt the same way I did.
“At least have a drink with me? One drink?”
I was begging, but I didn’t care. He’d book my room and book out of there, and next time I flew to Dusky Beach to talk to the cops and the lawyers, he’d ignore me. Like we were strangers. Again.
“You’re not legal, Marina. I can’t do that. Much as I’d like to—”
I tried to kiss him again, but he reached up and took my hands in his. “Let me get the room set up for you. Then I’ll need to get back to the station. I have paperwork to do tonight.”
That was a lie and we both knew it. I sank back in my seat and stared out the windshield until he got out of the car.
He came around to the passenger side and leaned in. “Once this crap is all over and you have it behind you, you may think differently about me. And be glad we were adult about the situation.”
I snorted. And I didn’t look at him. Not until he walked away, crossing the sun-baked asphalt lot to the dumpy row of motel rooms. Such a hunk of man meat. Yet I’d be all alone tonight, starving.
He disappeared through a dilapidated door under a neon sign—Office: Vacancy.
How fitting.
I opened the car door and got out. The sun was setting, but it was still hot. My yellow silk dress was ruined. Wrinkled and soaked with sweat. I had a pair of running shoes in my suitcase. I knew what I could do, and I decided to just fucking do it.
By the time Officer Handsome But Pussy came back to his car, me and my suitcase were on the sand. I walked away quickly, heading north toward the tallest pastel building in the distance. Hoping it wasn’t as far away as it looked. Figuring it was the Beach Club, where I could drown my sorrows like a depraved adult.
So much for my short-term destiny in Dusky Beach.
Chapter Eight
By the time I got to the Beach Club, the sun had set and a chill breeze dried my sweat. I wasn’t out of breath or anything because I was pretty fit. But my right shoulder throbbed from lugging my suitcase for like a mile, and I was thirsty as hell. The final half mile, I’d chanted in my head, rum, rum, rum-de-rum-dum. Silly, but a surprisingly encouraging mantra.
The lobby was further encouragement. Lofty atrium, potted palms, a tropical atmosphere. The girl behind the desk wore a Hawaiian shirt with bright green palm trees and orange iguanas on it. Maybe it was a Florida shirt? Okay, whatever.
I gave her my name, and she pecked at her computer. I must have looked half-baked because she said, “Miss Winston, Curtis will take your bag up to your suite for you. If you’d like to chill out and have a complimentary drink in the Coconut Lounge first?” She pointed down the hall past the bank of elevators, where a dark room emitted the faint but unmistakable sounds of drunken revelry.
I preferred a minibar, but it was good to have options.
Smiling, I said, “So where’s my room? I hope it faces the ocean.”
She laughed. Her teeth were so white they looked airbrushed. Maybe because her skin was so bronzed. I felt wan in comparison.
“Of course. All our luxury suites are oceanfront. You’re in the Dragonfly Suite tonight. On the top floor. There’s a private guest bar up there, right outside your room. Drinks are complementary after seven. Or you can check out the lobby bar. We have live entertainment every night in the Coconut Lounge.”
Live entertainment. I’d had enough of that for the day. I’d go for the privacy at the top. I didn’t feel like sitting in a room full of happy people on vacation. Plus, I needed a bath first. Even if it was one I’d be taking alone.
Curtis looked about sixteen. He had yet to fill out his width to match his height. As he carried my bag to the elevators, I flirted with him to make him smile. Such a sweet face, pink and smooth with a tiny bit of peach fuzz. I made sure to touch his arm while we were in the elevator. Just to see him blush. He didn’t dare look me in the eye. Poor kid.
“What’s there to do in Dusky Beach on a weekday night?” I asked him. As if he would know.
He kept looking down at his size thirteen feet. “Coconut Lounge sucks. It’s all old retirees and boring tourists. You’d probably like west Dusky better. Kettle of Fish’s a good bar. That’s where the college students go to party.”
When I patted his sunken chest lightly and said, “Where do you go to party?” His pink face turned crimson. I didn’t say gotcha, but I could have. Sometimes, I can be mean.
He stuttered, finally managing to sputter, “Here we are, top floor.”
Saved by the elevator ding.
He led me down a long white hall, hurrying to stay a few feet ahead of me. I laughed under my breath. I knew he’d regret his pussy behavior once he recovered from his fear of older women. Men always feel like shit if they don’t take advantage of every perceived opportunity.
I wondered how Officer Handsome was feeling at the moment.
The bar was empty except for a guy around my age shining a mahogany table with a damp cloth while staring out the window at the neon-lit beach road. I called out, “Hey, I’ll be back in twenty minutes for a strawberry daiquiri. If you’ve got one.”
He turned to me and smiled. Not bad. Tall, trim, and had all his teeth. “One strawberry daiquiri, coming up. It’ll be waiting for you whenever you’re ready.”
“Better make that two. I’m parched.” I grinned and rushed ahead to catch up to Lightning Bolt Curtis.
The double door to the suite was open so I stepped inside. Oh. My. God. What a fucking room! Huge sunken living area, several sets of comfy looking couches, a black wet bar, and a gigantic window overlooking the endless white beach. Nice.
Too bad Hot Cop wasn’t around to enjoy the insane luxury with me.
I tipped Curtis five bucks and, taking pity on him, told him I didn’t need anything else. He slid out the door with an audible sigh of relief. Kid needed to take a chill pill or he was never gonna get laid.
I should talk.
I stripped off my clothes and dropped them on the white tile floor as I made my way to the master bath. The master itself was glorious. King-size bed with lemon yellow Egyptian cotton sheets and a flouncy floral canopy. French doors to a wide balcony with red striped lounge chairs. Champagne chilling in a silver ice bucket on the blonde wood bureau.
So romantic.
So depressing.
I retraced my steps and rummaged through the fridge behind the wet bar until I found a miniature bottle of coconut-flavored rum and a Diet Coke. I popped the tops, took a long hit of the soda, then poured the rum into the can of ice cold cola. Just for starters.
I was going to drown the good girl tonight in rum. Let the bad girl come out to party.
The bath was unreal, with a Jacuzzi shape
d like a Roman tub that would easily fit two horny adults. My head filled with what could have been with Hot Cop and me.
I slugged my cocktail and took a quick shower instead. I had drinking to do, and I didn’t want to do it alone. Not tonight.
My wardrobe choices were limited. Either the short aqua sundress I’d brought to wear on the flight home. Or a tight wife beater tee and a pair of ripped skinny jeans. I saved the dress for travel. Might as well slut up.
What was I thinking? I wasn’t. I was just reacting to the day’s trauma and the cop’s rejection. And not in that order.
I brushed my teeth, ran a travel comb through my wet hair, and headed for the private bar and my daiquiris.
Jeremy introduced himself before he turned away to finish blenderizing my drinks. He poured the frothy pink concoction into two cute little glasses and slipped in a couple of paper umbrellas. One red, one blue.
I drank the red one first. Cold, sweet, with a hidden tartness. Like me.
“What do you do for excitement, Jeremy?” I asked him when he wandered back my way.
He certainly didn’t find it at work. A couple of older gents sat huddled over their bottle of red wine at the far end of the short bar, and a man with white hair stood at the complementary buffet, loading up a ceramic plate with raw veggies and pâté. A white-haired lady, probably the buffet man’s wife, sat by the window sipping a draft beer and staring out at the quiet night. Everyone around me seemed relaxed and content.
Not at all my kind of bar, not normally. But it would do for tonight. All I wanted now was to get smashed, then roll back down the hall to the room and crash out on the big soft bed.
“I’m from Delray Beach,” Jeremy said. “Place is crawling with clubs full of hot women. I do all right on my nights off. But this place is livelier than it looks.” His brown eyes sparkled. “We had a murder here not too long ago. Double homicide. You read about it online?”
I wouldn’t have noticed if I had. “Where I’m from, murder is like Starbucks. There’s one on every corner.”
RealLife Rum Page 5