by Frankie Love
"Always working for the man."
I scoff. "Leo, get your head out of your ass. You know as well as I do that I'm the man. I don't work for anybody. I work for myself.
"I hear what you're saying, but I don't think it's as simple as that."
"What do you mean?" I ask taking a drink of my vodka.
"I mean everybody works for somebody, for something. For example, you're working to prove yourself to the parents you lost—"
I cut him off. "Damn, Leo. Now is really not the time to get heavy,” I say defensively, not really interested in getting into my baggage out here in public. “Not when the sun is out. Fuck, the women in the corner of the pool are taking off their bikini tops. Everyone is lit and looking to get laid. You really want to get back to the basics at a time like this?"
Leo shakes his head. "Man, you've got some chip on your shoulder tonight. I wasn't joking when I said you need to get laid."
"Like I said, I'm looking for the right woman."
Leo laughs. "Yeah right, as if she exists. You're so fucking hard to please."
I push Leo, grinning as I call bullshit. "You're such a fucking jackass, how do you know what it takes to please me?"
"Maybe because we've shared enough hotel suites over the years that I've heard you banging plenty of ass. I know it takes a lot to get you off is all."
I run my hand through my hair. "Leo, you're a fucking piece of work, you know that? Are we seriously sitting here talking about how I fuck? Right now we should be talking about who I should fuck." That’s the only way my mind will stop living in the past.
"I hear you, man, in that case. Let me help you choose."
I give him a sidelong glance. "You want to choose my woman for tonight? You think you know what I need?"
Leo shakes his head, his eyes scanning the crowd. I snort and look away. I drop my head back, looking up at the sky, wondering why I’ve spent so long looking to fill the hole in my heart with women who are just passing through.
It’s been fifteen years since my parents died—it’s time for me to become a man.
Just then, Leo juts out his chin, and I follow where his eyes have landed.
A group of bachelorettes just came to the club. They're drunk and wearing sashes reading BRIDE TRIBE.
"You want me to fuck a woman who's engaged?" I ask, looking at the woman with a tiny veil perched on top of her head. She looks just like the rest of women here in Miami. Tan, toned, plastic.
"No, not her," Leo says. His eyes run over the group of five women, and they land on the one who isn't wearing a teeny tiny bikini.
He's pointing to a woman in a polka dot one-piece, a giant straw hat atop her head and huge black-rimmed sunglasses covering half her face. Jackie O glasses. She's as pale as a full moon.
She's also fucking beautiful. If I was looking for something different, Leo found it. This woman is not like the rest.
And I mean that in a good way. She's exotic, which is saying something considering we're in Miami––a tropical paradise.
This woman, though. She looks like she doesn't belong. At least, she doesn't belong here.
In fact, I have a feeling that tonight she belongs with me.
"You picked a winner," I tell Leo, realizing that maybe he does know me as well as he thinks he does.
He laughs knowingly.
I hand him my drink, I need to know her name.
I need to know her.
Now, she is a woman I could take home to meet my mom… the kind of woman who could be more than a fling.
She is the kind of woman I could make my wife.
Chapter 2
Dottie
I love my best friend Lexi, I really do. We were college roommates, so of course, I got on a plane in New York City and came to Miami for her bachelorette party.
Even though I love her to pieces, this is so not my scene. Maybe in the three years since we graduated, I've become a spinster. But I know that's not it entirely. I've never been considered a free spirit, a free-for-all.
People use words like prim, proper, and responsible when describing me. Usually, that description works just fine—in fact it's the truth. After all, I'm a high school guidance counselor—and not exactly a living-on-the-edge kind of lady.
But right now, I either need to go home ASAP or give in to what is going on around me.
I don't want to be some uptight busybody. Not on Lexi's weekend. Everyone else seems so capable of having fun and letting loose and smiling. It's not that I'm morally opposed to any of those things, it's just that those things don't ever happen to me.
Earlier this week in the staff lounge, the music teacher, Ms. Sandeles, who is approximately eighty years old asked me about my spring break plans. When I told her about the trip to Miami she smiled, exhaling a politically incorrect statement, “Oh thank goodness, Dottie. Everyone has been talking about how badly you need to get laid.”
“Everyone who?”
Ms. Sandeles just waved me off, microwaving her left-overs. “Just the faculty.”
“Like, in general?”
She nodded as if my sex-life was a regular topic of conversation. “Someone your age should be having sex at least four times a week.”
Four times?
A week?
How about once, ever?
This had gone on long enough. My virginal status was nothing I was intentionally holding on to—but maybe I had reached a point where I needed to intentionally lose it.
I’d be lying if I said Ms. Sandeles (and the entire staff at my school) didn’t spur me into action. I had spent years hiding in my shell, but I didn’t want to die a virgin.
Heck, I didn’t even want to end spring break a virgin.
So, I went out after school that day and got a bikini wax. Then I ordered this super cute swimsuit—and even paid for overnight shipping. Which considering my teacher salary—means something.
It means I have one real plan for this week, even if Lexi knows nothing about it.
I plan on finding a nice looking man who wants to sleep with me. I don’t need anything hot and heavy—I just need good old fashioned, vaginal penetration so I can finally get over this hurdle that is getting bigger and bigger every year.
But standing here at the cabana of this premier Miami beach club, I'm realizing that I'm overdressed. Which is saying something considering everyone else is in bikinis.
Why, oh why, did I order a one-piece? And why didn't I get a spray tan like all the other ladies with me? I thought I was being so on point.
"Oh, my God," Lexi says, squealing. She's wearing high heels, a string bikini, and a sash that says, bride-to-be. She looks freaking hot. I look like I stepped out of my grandma’s high school photographs.
"Oh my God, did you see the ladies in the pool? They’re stripping! I can't even!” Lexi screams. “This is the best bachelorette weekend ever!"
The other ladies start squealing, all women I've known for a long time.
And I squeal too.
Because heck, I'm on spring break in Miami. If there was ever a time to just have fun and let go, this is it.
"I'm so glad you're here, Dottie," Lexi says, squeezing my hand. "I know this isn't your scene but it means so much to have you by my side."
I pull her in for a quick hug, then kiss her cheek. "I'm so happy to be here too." When I step away, I know what I need to do. I can be fun Dottie today. Why shouldn't I be crazy Dottie for once in my life? It's time to just go for it. "I think we should get wasted tonight," I tell Lexi. "Like, right now."
Lexi drops her jaw and so do the other ladies. "Did you just suggest body shots?" Lexi asks.
I laugh, rolling my eyes. "I did not say body shots. I said wasted. As in several drinks. Like, we could start with margaritas. Let's work our way up to body shots."
I know my offer means a lot to Lexi because she smiles broadly, telling me again that she's so glad I'm here. The waitress comes over and we order a round of margaritas on the rocks. Then we set
down our bags, take off our shoes and cover ups, and slip into the pool.
We're only in the water for a moment before I look over and see a man staring at me. He's smiling with his arms crossed, a smirk on his face. A look that says he has plans I don't understand yet. He is tall, ripped, and the kind of man that could make a woman forget herself. Forget everything.
One look at him gets me hot in a way I've never experienced.
My nipples are hard and I feel myself clenching my pussy, longing for things I don't exactly understand.
But want to know.
I may have said I was going to get wasted today... but maybe I’ll start with throwing caution to the wind.
It's time.
"Here you go, Dottie," Lexi says, handing me a cup rimmed in salt.
"Thanks, babe," I tell her, lifting my glass for a group toast, "To Lexi and Andy!”
There are tons of flotation devices in the pool: donuts and pizza slices and flamingos. Lexi and some of the other girls jump on them and float to the center of the pool, trying to keep their drinks from sloshing.
I stay behind, liking this corner of the pool. From this vantage point, I'm in the shade and since I have a thing about getting sunburned, this feels like a better spot than front and center. Lexi and her caramel skin soak up the sun like there's no tomorrow. But for me and my fair complexion? I go from alabaster to lobster in about twelve minutes flat. Doesn't matter what kind of SPF I'm using, my skin is allergic to the sun.
So, I'm going to sit here on this step and enjoy the breeze from the ocean. It's a gorgeous view, bright turquoise water, miles of white sand, dozens of boats and jet skis crisscrossing the waves. Everything about this place screams sexy and fun. And money. I can’t believe Lexi found herself a husband with so much disposable income. I don’t need this kind of luxury every day—but occasionally, it’s fun to enjoy this decadence.
I need more of this my life—not the decadence—the uninhibited fun. Looking around this cabana I see so many people laughing and drinking and kissing. The couple to my right is more than kissing, actually, in fact, I swear that they are...
I swallow. Is that his... hmmm. Okay, yes, certainly more than kissing. She's rubbing him up and down. Not wanting to awkwardly watch them, I leisurely move through the water, under a bridge, to a more private location of the pool—a location that that couple probably should have headed but chose not to.
This pool is massive, it's like eight pools put together, and if you want something more discreet you could easily find it. No judgment though; hell, it's their spring break as much as it is mine.
I sit down on a step at the edge of the pool, thinking about that woman who was stroking the man she was with. Her hands were under the water, with me right there next to her. She didn't so much as blink in my direction. She was so caught up in the moment, so caught up in the man she was with—the man who was holding her at the waist and pulling her to his lap.
I exhale slowly, and then, realizing it's getting pretty damn hot out here, I start drinking my margarita as if it's water.
Okay, that's better, at least it’s better for a moment.
Because before I've had a chance to really cool down, the man who was looking at me earlier has walked over to this end of the pool. He's standing only a few feet away and my body is so piqued at his proximity that I fear I'll combust if he gets any closer.
Earlier, he was in a white button-down shirt with his shirtsleeves rolled up. Now his chest is bare, and he's in nothing but a pair of swim trunks.
His hair is dirty blond and a few soft curls fall into his face. The salty air is responsible for that I think, and I wonder what he looks like when he's in a suit and tie, all dressed up with somewhere to go.
The margarita must be working, because I take my time looking him over, not overthinking how much I'm staring at him. I eye his broad shoulders and his six pack, so firm and tight.
So, so tight.
I swallow, thinking about how tight I am...down there. How much I wish I weren't. How much I wish he...okay, it's time to get ahold of myself. My mind is headed to dirty places I've only ever read about.
"Do you mind if I—" he starts. Before he can finish I shake my head and tell him I don't mind.
I don't mind anything. And yet I don't even know what he wants.
"Do you need another drink?" He points to my empty glass.
I manage to reply with a yes, and with the literal snap of his fingers, a waitress arrives with another round of cocktails. I thank them both appreciatively and watch as the man hands the woman a hundred dollar bill. She returns his generosity with a light-hearted kissy face.
Must be nice. I certainly don't get those kinds of tips at parent-teacher conferences.
"Have you been to this club before?" he asks.
The idea that I've been here before is ludicrous. I couldn't fit in any worse if I tried. Which is funny, considering this guy looks like he was made for Miami Beach. He's tan and chiseled and obviously has lots of money. And I'm not just talking about the tip; he's the kind of man who has the confidence you only possess when you're loaded.
I know this how? Because it's the kind of confidence I've never actually had. I'm the kind of girl who has always worked hard: scholarships and part-time jobs during college. Now I live in a studio apartment and work as a guidance counselor at a public high school. Not exactly a lucrative career.
Still, I wouldn't trade it for the world. Helping people find themselves, working through problems, and being a shoulder to cry on is a privilege and I don't take my job lightly.
"I'll take that laugh to mean that no, you haven't been here." He steps into the pool and leans against the edge. "Though if you'd been here before, I'd certainly have seen you."
"You live in Miami?" I ask, sitting up straighter. My swimsuit may be conservative, but at least my breasts look flattering in this spandex.
"No, I live in New York. But I come here often."
I swallow because I live there too. But I can guess his borough is slightly different than the one in which I reside.
"So, you're here for vacation?" I ask. Looking around I see that no one's around us, now that the waitress has left, we are tucked away in a private oasis. Palm trees hang above us, creating a secluded little nook for this complete stranger and me.
Why does that not scare me?
I take a sip of the margarita and think again about the couple, kissing and touching one another so openly.
I eke out a small whimper, why I'm not sure.
Okay, that's a lie, I am sure.
I want what that woman had.
No inhibitions. A moment to just completely give in.
Ms. Sandeles wouldn’t even recognize me right now.
"What's your name?" he asks.
But by now I'm so uninterested in the idea of pleasantries, I shake my head. "Let's not do that. I mean, I know why people come to Miami. Why they come to this cabana."
"Oh yeah, and why is that?"
"They come here for pleasure. To lose themselves."
He steps toward me, and with the moves of a man who has done this more times than I could count. "And you want to lose yourself?"
He looks me over just as slowly as I looked at him. I wonder what he sees. He must like it because he inches closer to me. I part my knees, silently inviting him closer still.
"I do," I tell him. "I want to lose myself completely."
I swear to God he groans at that.
I can't help but smile unabashedly. For the record, I've never made a man groan. This is all new and exciting, and a total fantasy scenario.
"Are you interested?" I ask.
He snorts, it's charming actually the way he lets his head fall back, laughing as he does. His arm effortlessly slides around my shoulders, his hands resting on the bare skin of my back. His touch makes me hot, gets me excited.
"Are you propositioning a total stranger?" he asks, and his smile could get us both in lots of trouble.
But I'm not looking for trouble. Right now I'm just looking for fun.
I think his smile promises that too.
"Yes," I tell him. "I think that is exactly what I'm doing." I lick my lips, and he shakes his head ever so slightly, muttering hot damn under his breath.
"But I need you to help me," I admit.
"How so?"
"I've never done this before."
"Proposition a stranger?"
"No, yes. I mean, I've never had sex."
His eyes widen. "But, baby, we don't—"
I cut him off. "I need this. I need this, from you."
"Me?" he asks. "Why me, baby?"
"Why not?"
He laughs again, and I take off my hat and sunglasses, setting them on the patio. I begin unfurling my long brown braid, already anxious to start whatever is going to happen next.
"Women are usually more..."
I shake my head. "I don't want to know about other women. And what more they are or aren't. This moment needs to just be about us."
He looks at me more seriously now, as if considering my words. As if they are words he's never considered before.
"Okay, baby, I can do that. I can make this all about us."
"Good." I stand, his arms tightening around me as if swearing to God he won't let go. "Then show me. Show me what I need to do next."
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