by Tara Sivec
Sure, I was skeptical at first and it took a while for me to get into it, but I think I just might like goat yoga. I feel very centered and relaxed.
Looks like I am well on my way to getting back my self-confidence.
Chapter 10: Hashtag Poop Dance
I can’t help but smile to myself as I walk across the parking lot towards the boat dock, and it’s all because of my annoying neighbor, who is turning out to not be as annoying as I initially thought.
After our GOGA class the other day, we both got busy with work and haven’t had a chance to see each other, but he’s been texting me nonstop, sending me pictures of Derrick Alfredo. Dozens of pictures of his devil cat wearing one ridiculous sweater after another, asking me which one makes him look the manliest.
The hell beast is growing on me. And so is the cat.
When I woke up this morning, I had a moment of panic realizing that with everything that happened in the last week, I completely forgot to go back to the county courthouse to file our small-business-license paperwork. Taking a page out of Belle’s self-help, self-confidence bullshit, I checked off another item on her list: Dress nicely.
It’s not like I go out of the house looking like I’m homeless, but lately, I just haven’t cared much about how I look. I throw on a ratty pair of denim shorts and a tank top, put my hair in a messy bun, and go about my business. Since I knew how important getting this business license was for the Naughty Princess Club, and how much I fucked up by forgetting to turn it in on time, I took over an hour to get ready, so when I showed up at the courthouse, they would see that I was serious, professional, and I cared about what I was doing.
So this morning I put on an emerald green cotton wrap dress that matches my eyes, clings to my abundant curves, and dips into a V in front to show off just enough cleavage, but not enough to make me look like a porn star. I paired the dress with some open-toed, nude heels, and took the time to add big, gentle curls to my long red hair, letting it hang halfway down my back and over my shoulders. Before I walked off the boat, I forced myself to stand in front of the mirror and give myself a pep talk, saying that I looked amazing, fierce, and ready to take on the world. Or at least the board of directors that will be looking over our paperwork and deciding the fate of our business.
Now, returning to the boat, I glance down at my phone as I step onto the wooden dock. My smile grows wider as I scroll through the text messages between Eric and me from when I was at the courthouse.
Me: Emergency! What’s the address of my boat? I need to put down my address for some Naughty Princess Paperwork.
Eric: New phone. Who dis?
Me: Very funny. Just tell me the fucking address.
Eric: Well, when you ask me so nicely like that . . .
Me: OMG. Eric, could you PLEASE give me the address of my boat? Fucker.
Eric: I no longer go by the name Eric. Call me by my new name or you get nothing.
Me: I am NOT calling you Prince Hot Stuff. COME ON. I’m standing here in front of a really bitchy woman who is waiting for me to finish filling out this paperwork.
Eric: Say it. Out loud (aka text it).
Me: Did you just Edward Cullen me?
Eric: Who the fuck is Edward Cullen? Are you dating someone?????
Me: OMFG . . . Just give me the address.
Eric: Not until you admit I should always and forever be called Prince Hot Stuff.
Me: The only name you will always and forever be called is your royal name: Prince Eric, from the country of Goat Who Shits on Back. Population: You.
Eric: We agreed to never speak of that again. NEVER AGAIN, ARIEL.
Me: GIVE ME THE FUCKING ADDRESS OR I WILL PUT GOAT POOP IN EVERY SINGLE NOOK AND CRANNY OF YOUR BOAT. IT WILL BE IN YOUR SHOES, IN YOUR SHEETS, ON YOUR DISHES AND IN THE POCKETS OF ALL YOUR PANTS. YOU WON’T KNOW WHEN, YOU WON’T KNOW HOW, YOU WILL JUST STICK YOUR HANDS IN YOUR POCKETS AND FIND POOP!
Eric: 725 Mariners Way, in care of Eric Sailor/Ariel Waters.
Me: Your cooperation will be noted and put on file.
Eric: [Photo attachment] Does this orange sweater make Derrick’s butt look big?
I’m giggling to myself as I stare at the picture of Derrick looking like a miserable pumpkin, and I start typing a response when a voice interrupts my thoughts.
“Bonjour, chéri. . . .”
My feet stutter to a stop and my phone slips from my grasp, dropping with a clunk down onto the dock. My smile, my happiness, my confidence about how I looked this morning, it all withers and dies when I slowly lift my head and come face-to-face with my past.
Sebastian stands right in front of my boat with his hands shoved into the front pockets of a pair of black skinny jeans. Wearing a white T-shirt under an unbuttoned blue-and-black flannel shirt, with a slouchy black beanie covering up most of his blonde hair and a pair of black Doc Martens on his feet, he looks like a fucking hipster who’s trying too hard. In the back of my mind I can hear my inner bitch yelling at me to point and laugh at him and tell him he looks like a joke, but I can’t open my mouth and make the words come out.
“You look . . . healthy,” Sebastian says with a smile as he looks me up and down.
My posture immediately goes to shit and my shoulders curl in on themselves as I wrap my arms around my waist self-consciously. When Sebastian says healthy, he doesn’t mean it in a “You’re glowing and looking quite well” way. He means it in a “Looks like you’ve gained a few pounds” way.
“What do you want, Sebastian?” I whisper, my voice cracking with emotion.
Why can’t I scream and rage at him? Why can’t I tell him to go fuck himself? I’ve thought about this moment for two years. I’ve planned every scathing comment I would throw in his stupid smug face until he curled up in the fetal position begging me to stop. When he called me out of the blue a few weeks ago, he caught me off guard. At least that’s what I told myself to make me feel better about why I didn’t give him hell on the phone and instead just hung up on him midsentence. I’m prepared now. I’ve been working on building my confidence back up, but with just one backhanded compliment from him, I’ve turned right back into the woman I was when we were married. A weak, pathetic fool who can’t speak her own mind or stand up for herself.
“I told you on the phone we needed to talk, but you hung up on me. I got tired of waiting for you to call me back, so I phoned Alana and asked her where I could find you,” he explains.
Alana. OF COURSE.
Out of my six older sisters, she’s the only one who ever liked Sebastian. Yes, you heard that correctly. I have six sisters, each one more aggravating than the next. After our mother popped out one daughter after the other, all within ten years, she decided being a wife and a mom wasn’t as much fun as she thought it would be and left my father with all of us. She sends us each a birthday card every year, and honestly, we don’t even miss her. My father made sure we never felt like we were lacking in the parent department, and having so many older sisters felt like I had six meddling mothers anyway, always sticking their nose in my business and telling me what to do.
I always wondered if Alana had a crush on Sebastian, and now I feel like it’s been confirmed. It’s no secret in my family the way he treated me and the reason for our divorce, and her telling him where he could find me feels like a huge betrayal and smack in the face. When I lost my home, I sent them all a group text telling them I’d moved and where they could find me, stressing that it was for emergency purposes only. I didn’t tell them I lost my house, I just told them I needed a change. I didn’t need six overbearing women, along with my father, charging down here trying to fix my problems.
“Mon amour, are you listening to me?” Sebastian asks in frustration, pulling me out of my thoughts as I continue standing in front of him, my arms still wrapped around my waist, trying to hold myself together.
“Don’t call me that,” I say through clenched teeth, the nervous butterflies in my stomach calming slightly when I find a tiny
bit of strength buried deep down inside.
He lets out a heavy sigh like I’m the most annoying person in the world, but I can’t seem to dig any deeper inside of myself to come up with any further response. I’m suddenly so exhausted and sad that I don’t even know how my legs are holding me up at this point.
“Sweetheart! There you are! I’ve been wondering what was taking you so long!”
My head jerks up from staring in a daze at a piece of lint on Sebastian’s jeans to see Eric jump down off of his boat and jog towards me, not even looking in Sebastian’s direction as he passes him. He’s wearing black dress pants, a grey button-down with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and a shiny black pair of dress shoes, and I don’t know why I ever thought I could compare him to Sebastian. He’s more mature. More distinguished. Full of class when he isn’t being annoying. A business professional with a brilliant head on his shoulders, and a sweet, thoughtful, down-to-earth man who makes me laugh and pushes my buttons, never once making me feel like I’m less than what I am. He’s so handsome as he stalks towards me, his eyes staring right into mine, that it takes my breath away.
When Eric reaches me, in one fluid motion he slides an arm around my waist and the other hand across the side of neck until he’s gripping the back of it underneath my hair. With a jerk of his arm locked tightly around me, he pulls my body flush against his. My hands fly up between us and I press my palms against his chest as I look up at him in shock, wondering what the hell he’s doing, part of me not even caring as long as he doesn’t let go.
My legs don’t feel as weak as they did a minute ago, and the need to break down in tears has been forgotten as I stare up into his bright blue eyes, which are focused on nothing but me. He still has a smile on his face, but it’s tight, and his face is filled with concern as he looks at me, his thumb gently rubbing against the back of my neck and the hand at my lower back gripping the material of my dress in a fist.
“Excuse me, who are you? Ariel and I were in the middle of a discussion,” Sebastian says haughtily.
Eric sighs and turns away from me to glare at my ex, his hand dropping from around my neck but his arm still securely around my waist as he pulls me tightly against his side and I cross my arms in front of me.
“I’m Eric, Ariel’s boyfriend. The better question is, who the fuck are you and why are you on my boat dock?”
I’m sorry, what?! Did he just say boyfriend?
“I’m her husband,” Sebastian mutters angrily, lifting his chin with a pathetic air of authority that he has no business attempting.
“EX-husband,” I remind him, narrowing my eyes at him.
“Chéri, honestly. We need to talk. In private,” he says, throwing an annoyed glare in Eric’s direction.
“Call her by that little pet name again and I will chop off your dick and shove it down your throat,” Eric informs him with a bright smile on his face but plenty of underlying fury in his words.
Sebastian has the good sense to look a little afraid as he glances back and forth between me and Eric.
“Jesus, you look fucking hot in that dress.”
I look away from Sebastian to find Eric staring down at me again. When his gaze travels up and down my body, it feels nothing like it did when Sebastian did the same thing a little bit ago. He doesn’t look at me like he knows exactly where on my body the donut I had for breakfast this morning took up residence. He looks at me like he’s picturing me naked in his head and enjoying every second of that visual. The butterflies in my stomach start flapping around again, but this time with excitement instead of the need to throw up.
“Doesn’t she look amazing?” Eric mutters, aiming his question at Sebastian but never taking his eyes off of me.
“Green is very . . . slimming on her,” Sebastian replies uncomfortably.
Eric chuckles and shakes his head.
“Fuck slimming. I love a woman with curves. I’m not afraid I’m going to break her. We can go hard and rough and worry about breaking other things. Like the kitchen table. The shower door. The desk in my office. The chair in my office . . . am I forgetting anything else we’ve broken recently, love?”
He smiles down at me, and I drop my arms down to my sides when he turns his body to face me again. His hand against my lower back flattens and he adds pressure to it, pulling me into the front of him again. I feel him everywhere from my thighs to my chest, and it’s impossible for me to look away from him.
“What are you doing?” I whisper softly.
I know Eric is just saying this shit right now for Sebastian’s benefit, but I can’t help but feel the words he’s said everywhere. The back of my neck prickles, my skin flushes, and the tingling between my legs is so strong I feel like I could have an orgasm just standing here against him, right now, without even touching myself. Eric calling me love is just the icing on this desire-filled cake.
“Jesus, you’re stunning,” Eric whispers back, his eyes moving down from my eyes to stare at my lips as I lick them nervously.
When he says that so quietly and for my ears only, I know he means it. I can see it in his eyes and know he that he absolutely believes it deep down in his soul. It’s cheesy and so fucking cliché, but there it is.
“I’m sorry. I can’t put this off any longer. Please don’t kick me in the balls.”
My mouth opens to ask Eric what the hell he’s talking about when all of a sudden, he dips his head and crashes his lips to mine. I gasp in shock and he takes advantage, deepening the kiss to slide his tongue past my lips and swirl it against my own.
The world around me completely fades away. I forget that I’m standing on the dock. I forget that my ex-husband showed up and made me feel like I’m not good enough for anyone. I forget that he’s standing a few feet away watching us. I forget my own name and I forget what day it is as I wrap my arms around Eric’s shoulders and hold him tightly to me.
With one arm still securely around my waist, his hand comes up between us and he cups my cheek, holding my head in place while he devours me with his mouth. His kiss matches his personality. It’s bold and wild and the best thing I’ve ever felt. I moan softly into his mouth and grab a fistful of the hair on the back of his head while he plunges his tongue deeper. He kisses me with everything he has, and I never want the feeling to end. This feeling of being wanted and appreciated and beautiful.
“Excuse me? I’m standing right here!”
Sebastian’s voice cuts through the haze of lust that has taken over my body, and Eric slows the kiss, placing a few gentle pecks on my lips before pulling his mouth away from mine to glare at my ex.
“Not for much longer,” Eric tells him. “Get the fuck off my dock, douche dick. Ariel will get in touch with you when it’s convenient for her, and not a minute sooner.”
He looks away from Sebastian to smile down at me, his hand still pressed against my cheek.
“Anything else you liked to add before douche dick shows himself out?”
I laugh and shake my head at him.
“Nope. I think you covered it . . . Prince Hot Stuff.”
Neither one of us even notice when Sebastian walks around us and back towards the parking lot.
“Damn it! You were supposed to text that to me so I had it in writing and could hold it over your head. Possibly take out a billboard. Most definitely include it on my Christmas card,” Eric says with a smirk.
Moving out of his hold so I can remember how to breathe again, I turn and make my way towards my boat to put some distance between us so my heart can start beating normally again. And also so I can lock myself inside the bedroom, drink my weight in wine, and completely freak out and overanalyze what in the actual fuck just happened.
“Don’t press your luck, buddy!” I shout over my shoulder as I step up onto the gangway. “Or I’ll send out a mass email to all your friends with the picture I took of you at GOGA. Hashtag, poop dance!”
Forcing my legs to move faster even though they feel like jelly, I disappear
below deck with the sound of Eric’s laughter ringing out on the dock, pressing my fingers to my swollen lips as I replay every moment of that damn kiss.
Chapter 11: Kiss the Girl
“Just a small town girl, living in a lonely woooooooorld!”
I wince when loud, off-key singing blasts through the sound system. I quickly cover both ears when the added joy of a high-pitched screech of feedback wails from the speakers on stage, making my eardrums want to explode.
The woman on stage finally brings her voice down to a normal singing level instead of trying to contact aliens in outer space. She still has the worst singing voice I’ve ever heard, but at least my ears are no longer bleeding.
“Why in the hell did we come here again?!”
I turn back around in my seat to face away from the stage, looking across the table at Belle and Cindy. They share equal looks of horror as they stare beyond my shoulder at the poor woman doing her best to butcher a Journey classic.
“You’ve sounded a little . . . out of sorts the last few days. I told you, I thought it would be fun to have our weekly Naughty Princess Club meeting somewhere other than cooped up in my house,” Cindy explains with a shrug, lifting her hand and signaling for our waitress.
When Cindy called me this morning and said we were moving our meeting to a little hole-in-the-wall bar in town, I initially thought it sounded like a good idea. No one could use a drink (or seventy-five) more than me at that moment. I didn’t even balk when she and Belle showed up at the boat two hours ago and picked out my outfit and helped me do my hair, saying I needed to sexy myself up to get out of the funk I’d been in the last couple of days. I didn’t bitch and moan when they told me to wear a white, clingy, long-sleeved off-the-shoulder sweater dress that stopped several inches above my knee, and pair it with grey suede high-heeled boots that came all the way up above my knee. Cindy put a shit ton of curls in my hair, then braided a few pieces in the front, pulling it all together to one side so the curls hung down over my shoulder. I didn’t bitch and moan because I knew they were right. The last few days, I teetered back and forth between feeling like absolute shit remembering the way Sebastian looked at me, to feeling like a sexy goddess remembering the way Eric looked at me and the fucking kiss he gave me. And then I’d fall right back down the rabbit hole of feeling like shit ten seconds later. Lather, rinse, repeat. I felt like I had emotional ADD.