Low Country Daddy

by Lexi Whitlow

  I let go too, exploding with force, my load coming down in waves, sending electric charges from my fingers and toes, centering on my cock, releasing molten pleasure inside Maddie’s depths.

  She collapses on top of me, heaving for air, her skin glistening and hot. My head spins, dizzy. My ears ring. I’m spent.

  Something unexpected catches my attention; a shuffling sound sifts up the stairs from the floor below us.

  “Jeb! Are you up there? Jeb!”

  Oh shit! It’s Mama.

  Maddie stiffens, sitting up, grabbing clothes. I shush her, shaking my head.

  “I’m showing Maddie around!” I call out. “We’ll be down in a few minutes.”

  Silence, then the shuffling of footsteps moving off.

  I huff a breath, suppressing a laugh, pulling Maddie close. She giggles into my chest, snuggling under my arm.

  “Jesus,” I whisper. “That was close. Mama almost got an eyeful.”

  Maddie looks up at me, her eyes smiling. “We’re so busted. She knows.”

  I know she knows, but I need my mother to manage her expectations. It’s early days yet, and Maddie could change her mind about all this. Me? I’m pretty damn sure I’m permanently smitten.

  I roll over, facing her, taking in her glistening, naked beauty, soaking it up.

  “You’re so freaking beautiful,” I say, reaching up, pushing errant strays of blond hair from her forehead. “And so freaking hot.”

  She grins adorably, wrinkling her nose at me. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

  Chapter 13

  Maddie

  Jeb insisted on taking me to work this afternoon, promising he’d pick me up at the end of the night. He’s as good as his word. He’s outside in the parking lot, patiently waiting for us to finish closing and lock up.

  “Your boy’s getting clingy,” Ally observes, teasing. “Next thing you’ll be picking out wedding rings and silverware patterns.”

  “Not likely,” I respond, polishing tabletops, sweeping crumbs to the floor as Ally comes behind me with the carpet sweeper. “He’s got something up his sleeve. He wouldn’t tell. He says it’s a surprise.”

  I have no idea what kind of warped surprise he’s going to spring on me at 2:30 in the morning, after I’ve been on my feet for ten hours straight. It better not involve hiking, walking, talking, or doing anything except sleeping soundly.

  So far Jeb and I have been able to keep our romance on the down-low. We agreed that we could tell Alley and Stuart, but no one else. It’s working out okay because they’re dating, and our big secret is a secret they don’t have to keep from one another. Jeb laughed that they may be bonding over it.

  “Something up his sleeve?” she laughs. “Don’t you mean something in his pants?”

  “Shut up!” I howl. “You’re so bad! You wouldn’t give me such shit if you knew him like I do. He’s nice.”

  “He’s got a nice ass,” Ally replies, grinning.

  He certainly does.

  Once Flo’s is clean and ready for tomorrow’s lunch shift, I clock out, telling Ronny ‘bye’, heading out. I’m off for the next two nights and looking forward to not having to face cranky, sunburned tourists who don’t tip as much as they should.

  It’s a moonless night and the parking lot is dim when I crawl into Jeb’s Land Cruiser, self-conscious because I smell of fried seafood and booze.

  He leans over and kisses me anyway, lifting my chin up with a strong, calloused hand to meet his lips. “I missed you,” he says. “I always miss you. What’s that about?”

  I shrug, shaking my head. “Hopeless,” I say. “I’ve ruined you for anybody else.”

  He grins at me; that stunning, boyish grin that melts me. “You really have.”

  He turns the ignition, then flips on the headlights. “We’ll run home really quick, so you can change clothes,” Jeb says. “I’m taking you somewhere special.”

  I ask him where, but he’s circumspect. “It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you,” he says. “The thing is, we’re gonna be out all night.”

  “Jeb, I can’t…”

  “You can,” he says. “Justin’s asleep at our house. Mama’s watching him. We’ll be back before they wake up. He’s fine.”

  “Jeb…”

  “Hear me out,” he insists. “You work all the time and so do I. We don’t get much time alone. You don’t get to go out much, and this is special. Let’s do this; just take a few hours for us. Please?”

  “Do I have to talk to anybody?” I ask. “Or stand up? My feet are killing me.”

  He smiles, putting the Toyota in drive, headed toward town and home. “You don’t have to talk to anyone but me, and standing is pretty much prohibited unless you want to wind up swimming.”

  There are boats involved. I should have known. Anytime Jeb plans anything on his own, there are always boats.

  “I want to check in on Justin before we go,” I insist. “I worry about him, with me working these late nights.”

  “You don’t need to worry about Justin,” Jeb says. “My mom’s taken to him, and he’s taken to Emma. He’s doing fine. You can look at the boy and tell he’s happy. He’s got Marco and Philip to play with. He’s excited about starting school in a few months.”

  Jeb’s right. Justin has adapted, and in a good way. It’s hard for me sometimes, because he no longer clings to me. He’s got a wide world of people around him, and they’re all good people. No one here is angry or mean; everyone loves him. He no longer needs me as much.

  “If it’s okay with you, I promised Justin he could go out with my crew tomorrow and help,” Jeb says. “We’re setting oyster grows out on the new leases. Justin said he wants to see how we do it. I think the kid may be looking for a job.”

  “If it’s okay with me?” I ask, rolling my eyes. “As if I could say ‘no’.”

  If I say ‘no’, he’ll feel over-protected and left out. Manny’s son’s have been working on the water since they could hold their breath and dive for wild oysters in the shallows. Justin was wearing water wings at the beach a few months ago. Now he’s swimming like a dolphin, tanned almost as brown as Jeb.

  When we get to Jeb’s place, I poke my head into the spare room, finding Justin tucked in, wearing his Star Wars pajamas, sleeping soundly. In Indy, he slept light, waking every few hours, tossing. Since we got here, the crickets and bull frogs lull him to sleep before I can finish reading him a bedtime story. He sleeps hard, waking at sunrise, bursting with little boy energy.

  “When I’m working,” I ask, leaning into Jeb who’s paused behind me at Justin’s door. “Does he go to sleep easy? Does he ask for a bed time story?”

  “Mama used to read to him,” Jeb says. “But he started asking for me a few weeks ago. Sometimes I read to him, and sometimes I just tell him a real story I know. Either way, he falls asleep in about ten minutes. He crashes as soon as the lights get dim.”

  I turn, looking up at Jeb. “You read to him?”

  He nods. “Is that okay?”

  Yeah. It’s okay.

  Once I’ve had a quick shower and changed clothes, I resign myself to Jeb’s sleepover adventure. I’m tired, a little brain dead, and this seems frivolous and perhaps even slightly reckless, but Justin is fine, and what the hell? I’m young. I can still sleep when I’m dead.

  The docks are dark and eerily quiet this time of night. Aside from the Land Cruiser’s headlights, the only lights are at the hatchery, seventy yards away. I hear the pumps running, even from this distance, sucking seawater from the Coosaw River, nourishing the tanks inside, feeding oyster larvae and spat, and feeding the carefully selected adult oysters who function as Jeb’s breeding stock.

  “You see that?” Jeb asks.

  “What?”

  He nods straight ahead. There’s a boat tied at the dock. It’s flooded in the illumination of the truck’s headlights. It occurs to me that this boat is a little larger than the rest. It’s sleeker too.

  This is some kind o
f test and I’m about to fail it.

  “Did you get a new boat?” I ask, hesitating, question crowding my tone.

  Jeb grins. “I got a new boat,” he says, pride nearly bursting him at his seams. “A really nice, boat. The New Orleans contract came through.”

  He got a new boat and I’m losing sleep. I’m so glad he didn’t get a new chainsaw or tractor. I could be spending my night cutting trees or mowing the lawn.

  “Congratulations,” I say. “That’s great! But this couldn’t wait for a beautiful day? Like sometime tomorrow?”

  He shakes his head. “Nope. It really couldn’t. I have something to show you, and it’s not the boat. The boat only makes it possible.”

  Alright. I’m committed. “Let’s go then.”

  The boat is pretty; its decks lined with polished teak and its big outboard motors gleaming in the starlight. It has the feel of a pleasure craft, with comfortable seats and a wide floor with plenty of open space.

  “How can you see where to go in the dark?” I ask, as Jeb tosses the ropes off, shoving us away from the dock. He brings the thing to life with a roar of engines sending a wave boiling behind us.

  “Muscle memory,” he chirps, “and well-marked channels.”

  As soon as we’re clear of the shallows, he tips the throttle forward. The front end of the boat tips up momentarily, then settles back down, gliding over the water at a breathtaking speed.

  Before I know it we’re clear of islands, in the center of open salt water, headed into the inky black of a world with no up or down, no beginning and no end. It’s so dark out here. And cool. My eyes adjust to the view gradually. Before long I can make out the line ahead of us that marks the horizon. Out there, far away, there’s the sea, which is the blackest black I’ve ever beheld. A horizontal line extends as far in either direction as my eyes can see. Above that line are stars. They flicker in the haze, twinkling pink and yellow, billions of them lifting high over our heads. I peer up and see the density of the Milky Way extending from horizon to horizon. I’ve never seen it this clearly. I’ve never been anywhere where it was so dark, and so open. The skies over us are a drama of illumination. It’s astonishing to gaze upon, and humbling. I’m here on this small, watery planet, looking up into a galaxy that’s just one of billions like it, in an infinite universe, filled with others just like this one.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Jeb asks, watching me, watch the light show above our heads.

  “Yeah,” I say, finding words inadequate.

  “And that’s not even what I want to show you.”

  We power over the water for miles, with the shores to our north and south slipping ever more distant. The smell of the water changes. The feel of the air changes. Sounds change. When Jeb finally pulls back on the throttle, killing the engines, we’re surrounded by nothing, the boat rising and falling in an ocean tide. Above us are the stars and an occasional silent aircraft. The horizon reveals a few vessels, miles away, traveling fast in what I assume are shipping lanes.

  “We’re at the edge of the St. Helena Shoals,” Jeb says, dropping an anchor. The rope its attached to rolls and rolls, taking a long time before settling. Jeb ties it off securely, then turns on some lights so approaching vessels can see us.

  This feels like the darkest, most isolated spot on Earth.

  He reaches into a cabinet beside the cockpit, producing a bottle and two glasses.

  “I still don’t know what you like to drink,” he says. “I don’t even know if you like a nip now and then, but I’m gonna risk it.”

  He pours a hefty serving of whiskey into a tumbler, handing it to me, then pours one for himself, taking a long sip.

  I watch him move to the rear of the vessel, lifting lids on concealed storage bins, finding blankets and pillows which he spreads out on the deck of the boat, under the canopy of stars.

  “We’ve got a few hours before the show,” he says. “We can catch some sleep if you want.”

  Sleep sounds good but snuggling with Jeb on soft pillows sounds better. We curl up on the blankets together, with me nestling into his chest, both of us gazing at the stars above.

  It occurs to me then, that Jeb and I haven’t ever slept together. We’ve stolen precious moments for sex. We’ve snuck around, stealing kisses, but we’ve never settled into one another’s arms, slipping into comfortable sleep. The idea of that is as appealing as anything I’ve managed to conjure in my dreams.

  The boat rises and falls in even rhythm with the gentle roll of ocean tide. Water slaps against her hull with a regularity resembling a steady heartbeat. Before I know it, I drift into a peaceful sleep, wrapped up in Jeb’s embrace, aware of nothing except the quiet of isolation and the comfort of his encircling arms.

  When I next wake, it’s still dark, but the sky has taken on a sapphire hue. The stars still twinkle above us, but they’re less numerous; the horizon line is more pronounced.

  “We’ve got an hour,” Jeb says, nuzzling my ear, his big hands pulling me close to him under the blankets.

  I feel rested, ready to start a new day.

  We make love, mouths seeking, kissing, our bodies rocking together in pace with the tide lapping against the side of the boat. Jeb makes me feel things no one has ever made me feel. He touches places inside me no one has touched. I come whining into him, begging him not to stop. He come moments later, hauling into me, crying out into my ear, his hands fisting the blankets beside my shoulders, his muscles flexed, back arched, his body shuddering with tension.

  When we finally separate, the sky over our heads is periwinkle blue, with a few stars still shining brightly.

  “I don’t want you to miss it,” Jeb says, sitting up, making me sit up.

  He looks at his watch, then out to the horizon. He points at a spot. “There,” he says. “Keep your eyes focused there and don’t blink if you can help it.”

  Tedious moments pass. The sky brightens. I blink because I can’t help it. Just then, as I focus again on the distant horizon, I see a stunning, sudden shift.

  “There it is,” Jeb says.

  In a fleeting second, a crescent of the most vivid green that’s ever crossed my senses appears. It lingers only seconds, replaced by a spreading teal beam that shoots like a dagger, straight up, then sucks back into the crescent teal. The glowing teal starburst is quickly enveloped in cobalt blue, which surrenders to a shifting, bursting prism of purples and reds. A second later a blinding crimson explosion peeks above the horizon, dimming all the stars above. What happens in the seconds following is molten orange flooding the horizon like a tsunami of light. Sunrise. Orange surrenders to yellow. Behind us to the west, the deep cobalt blue of dawn fades to a dull, blue-gray.

  I had no idea. What did I just see? That was magical.

  “Now, watch what happens next,” Jeb says, his voice low, his tone heavy with intent.

  A few seconds after the ski brightens, I feel the air still. A minute ago, and all night long, there was a steady, balmy breeze coming out of the west. Now there’s nothing. I watch the ripples on the water settle down, then flatten completely. The surface of the ocean, as far as I can see, smooths to glass. The few puffy clouds overhead are perfectly reflected in its flawless, mirrored surface. The entire world becomes a calm, silent, insanely beautiful, surreal image of perfect, horizontal symmetry.

  I take it all in, pondering the wonder of it, trying to fathom it, and failing. It’s a miracle. Inexplicable by any meteorology or general science I understand.

  Beside me, Jeb heaves a heavy sigh. I watch him studying the same scene that’s blowing my uncomprehending mind. He wears a serene, contented smile.

  “The old fishermen call this ‘Calm of Day’,” he says, not shifting his gaze. “It only lasts a few minutes, and only on clear, mild days. When I see it, I understand why people believe there’s a god out there. It’s enough to make you think there might be.”

  It occurs to me that Jeb Ballentine is a lot more soulful and deep than he lets on.
It occurs to me that I want to know what other surprises lurk in his depths.

  We sit in silence together, sipping warm coffee from a thermos he brought, watching the glassy water gradually come back to life with tiny ripples lifting-up as if millions of fingers press from below the surface. The wind gradually lifts from the east, tipping tiny white caps that crest on small waves rolling in from the ocean.

  “Time to go,” Jeb says, kissing me on my cheek. “I hope you weren’t disappointed with my surprise.”

  I’m never disappointed. Every day with Jeb expands my horizons.

  Justin is sound asleep, snoring like a puppy, his fists clenched in balls like he did when he was a baby.

  “Hey, let’s get you home,” I say, trying to rouse him, stroking his hair. He still needs a haircut. I keep forgetting to do it.

  He doesn’t budge or even blink. He’s zonked.

  “Come on Justin,” I urge, gently nudging his shoulder. “You can go back to sleep when we get home.”

  “I’ll get him,” Jeb says, coming around me.

  He slips his hands under Justin’s knees and shoulders, lifting him with ease. He cradles my son on his shoulder, holding him close, leading me out of the bed room, then out and down the path to our little house at the end of the row of cottages.

  Justin doesn’t wake or even stir, even when Jeb lays him out in his own bed. I pull the sheets up, tucking him in, glad he’s going to wake up in his own house.

  “I’ll see you later on,” Jeb says, lingering briefly at the front door. “You can be late this morning. I’ll make Emma’s breakfast and tell Mama you’ll be along in a few hours.”

  He leans down to kiss me, pressing his lips to my own. It’s a chaste kiss, but warm, full of affection. I touch his chest, peering up at him afterwards. “Thank you,” I say. “For sharing your sunrise with me, for all of it.”

  His expression softens. “Any opportunity to show off my new boat,” he says, half-grinning. “The sunrise was just an excuse to get you naked on the teak.”