Cinq A’ Sept

by Mj Fields

  I flail and laugh harder because I must look like a complete and total idiot. I’m scared and laughing, and I can’t stop. But he has our ankles hooked, still trying to keep me steady, and then he grabs one of my flailing hands and guides it to the strap very calmly.

  “What’s so damn funny?” he asks, clearly amused.

  “I helped my daughter do a report on her favorite marine life, the dolphin, and it was shocking. She was twelve and, well …” I stop when I realize I’m talking about something I shouldn’t be.

  “Go on, please.” He squeezes my hand.

  “Let’s just say humans aren’t the only ones who have sex for pleasure. Dolphins spend more than half their time trying to get …” My eyes open wide, and I stop before saying laid.

  “Laid,” he fills in the blank.

  I nod, biting back a giggle. Then I shake my head. “Never mind. It’s ridiculous.”

  “Oh, hell no, tell me what it is you think is going on down there.” He nods toward the dolphins.

  I take a deep breath then try to explain it like I remember from inadvertently coming across the information more than six years ago. “Male dolphins build friendships.” I can’t help smirking. “They form … like a gang, and when the alpha finds the female he is taken with, the rest of them stay around her, waiting for her to become receptive. They’re terrible flirts, spending thirty to eighty percent of their time trying to get …” I stop again.

  “Laid.” He winks.

  I nod. “They flirt, swim, rub up against each other—that kind of thing. They also guard her from other gangs of dolphins who may try to take her. Sometimes, there’s violence. Basically, they’re very much like humans when it comes to sex.”

  “Interesting. So, do they mate for life?” The way he asks seems so serious and catches me off guard.

  I shake my head.

  “Seems like a waste to go through all that if you’re not interested in more than a few hours of fun.” His eyes hold an intensity that holds my eyes like an invisible magnetic force.

  North to south.

  I look down at the dolphins and ramble off facts, “They last ten seconds. They can … go twelve times in an hour.”

  “Jesus H.” He laughs.

  With the serious tone squashed, I look back at him and smile. “Apparently, they change positions, too. Sometimes trying to hook in midair.”

  “Well, fuck, we’re in midair now.” He winks.

  Laughing, I continue, “The majority of male dolphins end up having sex with their male friends.”

  “You just ruined it for me.”

  “It gets worse,” I deadpan.

  “Not possible.”

  “They are sometimes strongly attracted to humans, and there have been books and articles, case studies, written about humans falling in love and having sexual relations with dolphins.”

  “You gotta stop. I may never get hard again, Bridge.”

  I swing our legs now and look down. “Well, I hope that’s not true.” I look up at him from the corner of my eye and see him smiling.

  “So, you learned all this while helping your girl?”

  I shrug. “That’s what …” I pause and smile. “That’s what kind of mom I’ll be. You know, when the time is right.”

  “Then I hope you have a baseball team. Kids deserve moms who will go way, way, way the fuck out of their way to help them with their homework.”

  God, it feels good to laugh, smile, enjoy a man’s company for the first time in … forever.

  He leans over and says, “Give me those lips.”

  Without thinking, I lean in and kiss him.

  I’m far more relaxed than I thought possible while being five hundred feet in the air as he nods toward homes and tells me which stars or political figures own them. We see whales, boats, passing tour groups, and we kiss. We kiss, smile, and laugh … a lot.

  After spending hours with my head floating on cloud nine and flying with him, I didn’t even want to come down. I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to come down. It was my favorite ever non-mom moment. I wish I could tell him that, but it all seemed like too much too soon.

  Now, sitting on the back of the boat, snuggled against him, with his arm around my shoulders, we enjoy the ride back to his place, his oasis. I am just as excited about returning to it as I was when I heard him tell the captain to come back at seven.

  Walking hand in hand up the dock, I still feel like I’m floating, flying, as if it’s the first time in my life I have ever been free of responsibility, worry, or wondering what will happen next.

  When I hear a yipping sound, I’m forced to look away from him, as a … dog?—dear Lord, that poor dog—comes limping down the dock toward us.

  “Syphilluffagus, who let you loose?” Joe releases my hand and hurries to get to the … dog before he falls off the dock and into the ocean. He scoops him up and holds him at arm’s length. “You get uglier every time I see you.”

  When I get to them, Joe still doesn’t pull him any closer.

  “Oh, you poor …” I pause, not knowing what to make of the thing. He has small patches of hair sporadically missing from all over his boney body and an underbite showing two teeth. I suddenly feel sorry for him. “Thing.”

  I take him and hold him close to my body. “It’s cold.”

  “He’s eight hundred years old, Bridge. And that’s not even in dog years. He doesn’t even know if he’s cold.”

  “What’s its name?”

  Joe laughs. “His name is Snuffleupagus.”

  I hold him closer, not sure if I’m making him warmer or hurting him by the way he’s shaking. “I could have sworn you called him—”

  “Syphilluffagus? I did. Look at him. Looks like a bad case of syphilis to me.”

  I gasp then whisper, “Be nice.”

  “He can’t hear me. Can you, Syphilluffagus?” He snaps his fingers, and when the dog looks up, he looks in the opposite direction, and I notice his eyes are crossed.

  “Oh my.” I try not to laugh. “You poor thing.”

  He laughs as I start walking toward his place to find a towel to wrap him in. Joe’s hands are on my shoulders and his lips are on my neck as he shakes in a silent chuckle.

  “You certainly are something special, Bridge.”

  “So is he,” I tell him, snuggling the dog closer to me.

  “Maisie would agree with you.”

  “It’s her dog?”

  “Well, it sure as fuck isn’t mine.” He laughs.

  “I’m telling you, this poor thing could be a chick magnet. Walk down the beach holding him, and every woman from eighteen to eighty would fall in love.”

  “Oh yeah?” He chuckles.

  “Without a doubt.”

  “Well, give me the thing and let’s test the theory.”

  He takes the dog and forces a smile. “So, is this doing it for you?”

  “Oh yes, so sexy.” I grin.

  Chapter Seven

  This afternoon, after Joe returned Snuffleupagus safely to the house next door, we lay in a double chaise lounge by the pool, where he gave me my first three of thirteen orgasms in an hour. All orally-induced. Orgasms three through eight were in the hot tub, manually, as he kissed me senseless through them all. The next, he was finally inside me, with my legs wrapped around him as he carried me to the pool. The next three were in the pool, and lucky thirteen was in the outdoor shower, followed by his own powerful release.

  He wanted to prove to me that men—him in particular—were much more sexual than a fucking dolphin.

  Wearing one of his black tee-shirts, I rummaged through his refrigerator and managed to make us a lunch of turkey sandwiches while he watched me, sitting on top of the kitchen island, smiling as he popped grapes into his mouth. He looked like one of those NFL players after winning the Super Bowl, except he wasn’t cheering, “I’m going to Disneyland.” He was smiling like he was already trying to figure out how to do it … again.

  Now, walking from the dock
to the oceanside restaurant, I’m the most relaxed I have ever been in my life.

  “You’re glowing.” He nods.

  “And you’re giddy,” I joke.

  He looks far from giddy. He looks exhausted, but sexy exhausted. The lazy way he ran his fingers through my hair all the way here. The way he walks slower with a swagger you only see in music videos. The way his eyes most certainly slow at certain parts of my body when he looks me over. Incredibly sexy.

  He opens the door and waves his hand before me. “After you, beauty.”

  “Thank you, kind sir.” I hold my dress out and curtsy.

  When his eyes bulge, I realize this dress, the one he requested I wear, is actually nothing more than a cover up that crosses over, leaving a slit that exposes almost everything underneath.

  Normally, this would have embarrassed me; however, the way he looks at me, the way I feel when he looks at me, causes me to gain a slight bit of satisfaction from my public flashing.

  “I need to use the restroom,” he whispers as he softly kisses the side of my head. “Meet me at the bar.”

  When he steps away, I watch as he adjusts himself, and that slight satisfaction blossoms into an idea.

  I make my way to the bar to order a glass of liquid courage.

  “A glass of Chardonnay please.”

  The red-headed bartender gives me a nod and moves away to fill my order.

  “Twelve dollars please,” she says, setting a coaster down on the oak bar, and then my glass of wine.

  I reach into my clutch and pull out a twenty. “Keep the change.”

  I turn and lean against the bar to see him walking out of the men’s room, looking for me. I also watch as the women in the establishment look at him, causing a tinge of jealousy to hit. I take a drink, nearly finishing the glass, as his eyes set on mine.

  I turn around, putting my back to him, not wanting him to see that I feel jealous. I have no right to.

  When he stands next to me, the redheaded bartender greets him with a smile. “What can I get for you?”

  He looks at me. “You ready for another?”

  “I’m fine, thank you.”

  “I’ll take—”

  “Can I see your ID?” she interrupts.

  I nearly choke on my wine but manage not to.

  I look up and see her eyeing me.

  I feel ridiculous. Who am I kidding? Not only is he out of my league, but the age difference is clearly obvious.

  “I’ll take a glass of water.” He pulls a card from his pocket and slides it across the bar.

  It’s a black card.

  She looks at it in confusion, her voice squeaking when she says, “Water’s free.”

  He glares at her. “Well, ring me up for two cents and—”

  “Please don’t,” I whisper, placing my hand over his.

  He narrows his eyes as he looks at me. “Finish the wine. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  I feel my face flush with embarrassment.

  He takes my hand and kisses it. “No, Bridge, you don’t get to feel like that, because you aren’t that. We aren’t that.”

  I can’t even finish my glass of wine. I look down as I set it on the bar. “Wine as shitty as the atmosphere?” I glance up to see his lips turn up at the corners.

  I try to share in his ease of letting it go, but insecurity is a bitch. We parted ways long ago and made a deal: you don’t come near me, and I won’t come near you, but here it is again.

  As I take a few steps away from the bar, he reaches out and wraps his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his side then kissing the side of my head.

  In every direction I glance, there are eyes on us. I know they are all thinking the same thing as the bartender—he’s too young and too damn good-looking for me. I’m sure they are all also wondering what I’m giving him for his time.

  My stomach flips and, for the first time, I wonder if anyone in the restaurant knows me. How embarrassing would that be? How awful would that be to go back to work on Tuesday and be the center of this years Hampton’s scandal? The person everyone is gossiping about. A conversation I never take part of but always end up hearing regardless.

  Thankfully, there is no one I recognize, and if I allow myself to be honest, very few would recognize me.

  Before Natasha left two weeks ago, she wanted to go heavy on her blonde highlights and asked that I do the same. The hairdresser went a little overboard. Since the New York division of de la Porte has been without a leader, and with talks of his named replacement being announced next week, the board members have kept me busy, pushing me to make sure everything stayed the same. Not that I haven’t always been busy. I’m the assistant to the owner and CEO, who hasn’t been to the US in nearly a year and passed away unexpectedly six months ago. Therefore, the blonde in my hair would disguise me a bit. Thank God.

  Walking down the dock, neither of us have said a word.

  When we get to the boat, he grips my shoulders and turns me to face him. “You haven’t said a word.”

  I shrug. “Neither have you.”

  He searches my eyes, and when I close them, he places his lips on my forehead and whispers, “Come back to me, Bridge.”

  I sigh as I wrap my hands around his wrists. “I’m still here, but so is the reality of the outside world.”

  “And here I thought we’d just graduated college.”

  I step back and look up at him. “The reality is I’m a forty-year-old, divorced woman with an eighteen-year-old daughter. I work sixty, sometimes eighty hours a week, and I clearly look my age. And you … well, you—”

  “I’m gonna need you to shut up for a moment.”

  I would normally not allow any man to speak to me that way, but the way he said it was without intent to hurt or control.

  “The reality is that, if you were in your twenties or thirties, there wouldn’t be enough substance in you to hold my attention for more than an hour. That bartender was one of two things: a bitch who wanted a woman to feel less than, or a nosey little shit who wanted to know who I was. That’s not my style. Never has been. Petty, bitchy, cunty—”

  I gasp, and he groans.

  “Fuck!” He rubs his hand through his hair in frustration. “I like my women like I like my wine and cheese, Brigitte—aged to fucking perfection.”

  I open my mouth to respond, but he covers my lips with one finger. “We haven’t made, nor broken any promises. We’ve shown each other respect and given only what we want in return. We’re adults who were enjoying the hell out of each other’s company until that idiot in there.”

  “Joe …” I shake my head.

  “She treated my date poorly. She deserves it, Bridge. If you were mine, and I wasn’t trying my damnedest to be on my best behavior because I fucking like you, I would’ve called her that shit to her face. People like her—assholes—need someone unafraid of their bullshit, to call them on it once in a while, so maybe they’ll think twice about who they treat shitty the next time they decide to fucking suck as a human being.”

  He’s not wrong.

  He cups my face with his hands. “Jesus, beauty, don’t let one asshole ruin this.”

  This?

  “Hey!” I hear a man yell from down the dock, and Joe moves his hand to the back of my head and pulls my head to his chest. “You gonna skip out?”

  “Your staff sucks, Oliver.”

  Oliver?

  “She’s new, and she’ll be dealt with.”

  I step back and look up at the man standing beside Joe. He’s as tall as Joe, with dark hair but cut very short, he’s broad, and he has tattoos on his bulging biceps. His look is intimidating and makes me … nervous.

  “How?” I ask, worried for the girl, even though she was clearly as Joe said—an asshole.

  “I’ll fire her.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal for someone to lose a job.

  When my eyes widen, he gets a stern look on his face.

  “Maybe I’ll just bend her over my d
amn knee and spank her ass.”

  “Oliver, shut the hell up,” Joe says, reaching out for me to take his hand.

  I look at his hand, then at Oliver, then back at his hand.

  “I don’t think she likes you,” Oliver tells Joe.

  “I’m pretty fucking confident she does. It’s you she’s wary of. Chill out, man; you’re supposed to be working on your people skills.” He rolls his eyes at him then looks at me. “What do you say, Bridge? Dinner on the deck? Oliver will ensure no one messes with the rest of our evening, or should we stiff him?”

  “You do, and I’ll take it out on the redhead,” he warns.

  I take Joe’s hand. “Maybe we should call it a night.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see the man … Oliver, look at his hands, flexing them. Even though I shouldn’t care about what he does or doesn’t do to the redhead’s backside, but if he worries me, he would certainly terrify some college girl working a summer job to buy books … Or, at least that’s what I imagine she’s doing.

  “On second thought.” I step closer to Joe.

  He tucks me under his arm. “He’s harmless; trust me.”

  I look at Oliver who corrects him. “He’s full of shit.”

  As Joe walks us back toward the restaurant, I wonder how I will even eat.

  Walking up the deck stairs, I keep my sunglasses on, even though it’s close to sunset. Joe’s hand is on the small of my back as he guides me to a corner table.

  He pulls out a chair for me to sit, and I look up. “I’d prefer my back to the rest.”

  “Not a chance.” He guides me to sit then sits down next to me.

  He turns his chair then turns mine to face him.

  “There is something you should know.”

  There’s a very serious look in his eyes that intensifies my nerves. When he takes my hands, it doesn’t calm me at all. I close my eyes and wait for some bomb to go off.

  “I’m very …” He pauses, and I open my eyes to look into his. They are softer now, calming if it weren’t for the fact that I am still embarrassed of my naivety about letting go of … any semblance of sanity over the past not even twenty-four hours. “Drawn to you. And I know that, up until a few minutes ago, you were right there with me. If I could take what happened away, I would. But like I said, I like mature women.”