All I Want is You_A Second Chance Romance

by Carter Blake

  She’s so damn hot. I feel my cock stir with a desire already flickering deep within me.

  “Is breakfast ready?”

  I laugh.

  “I’m afraid, my dear, we’re fresh out of everything.”

  Macy’s eyes grow big.

  “Everything? Are you sure?”

  She lets her eyes tour my body as most of her concern deflates.

  “Well,” I say and lean a little closer toward her, “maybe not everything.” I kiss her, at first soft and gentle…and then harder, my tongue forcing entry and finding hers to dance and duel.

  She melts into me.

  “Okay, so I guess that’ll keep me going for,” she says as she looks skyward, “a few minutes.”

  We both laugh.

  And then we just lie there and look at each other. I don’t want this to end, but I know it must as the breeze picks up and I feel her start to move.

  She pulls away from me, quickly retrieving and rummaging through her bag. When she reemerges, she’s holding her mobile.

  “It’s dead,” she says and holds the device toward me.

  If getting off the island’s the primary concern right now—as it technically should be—Macy’s on the right track by checking her phone.

  We were both on the wrong track by never turning them off, but I’d like to think that was because we were both so immediately distracted by each other.

  Or it was just a fucking oversight on both our parts. But I dig mine out from its pouch, knowing full well what I’ll find.

  “Mine’s dead, too, Mace,” I state matter-of-factly, staring at the lifeless black screen.

  “So, we’ve got no food, no phones, no two-way radio, and no way to communicate with anyone from civilization,” Macy recaps. She’s almost as calm as I am, but not quite.

  “Sounds like you’ve got a good understanding of your situation and the world around you. So many people lack that these days.”

  Macy nods. My eyes are fixed on her, the way her head tilts slightly to the left as she’s thinking.

  I study the way her eyes take on a slightly dreamy look. And I take note of the way her hands play with the sand.

  She picks up a handful, lets it run through her fingers, and then repeats the process. Around her, where she’s been working like this, is a deepening hole and rising pile.

  I could stay here for a good long while, with no clock and no contact with the world, forgetting about time while watching Macy play with sand.

  If she wanted, I could join in—we’d have plenty of time to build sandcastles and whatever activities would come after that.

  “Well, that’s where things are at.”

  She’s looking at me. I’m not sure if she’s seeking reassurance or if she’s merely agreeing with what I’m saying.

  But I don’t think her patient tone’s going to last much longer.

  “I guess I could take a look at that motor,” I say and push myself into a sitting position.

  “Are you sure that’s what you want to do right now?” Macy comes up next to me.

  “If I can’t get it running, there might be other options. But I’m starting there.”

  She’s hugging her knees. “Couldn’t you hold off on that a little longer? I mean, you know, till…” Not finishing her sentence, she looks straight at me, almost challenging me with her stare.

  I can’t tell if this woman’s joking. But either way, I’m going along with it.

  “And what do you suggest we do?” I take one step forward in the sand, leaning slightly and waiting patiently for her answer.

  She shrugs. Her hands are still picking up sand and letting it run through the fingers.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Between the two of us, I’m sure we could figure something out.”

  In pretend shock, I throw my arms up.

  “Macy, I can’t believe what you’re suggesting.”

  With wide, innocent eyes, she returns my gaze.

  “What? All I’m saying is, we should think of a couple more possible ways to get out of here first...but you’re right, actually. Try fixing the boat first.”

  Macy doesn’t break her stare. But I’m now very familiar with the way she looks when she’s holding back a laugh.

  Macy keeps fucking surprising me. Even if she’s not up for more fun times on the island—like the times we had last night—I do want to see what she’ll throw at me next.

  As much as I hate to interrupt the moment, I need to start making things happen so I can get us back to St. Maarten, and we can enjoy the rest of our vacation fling.

  I quickly push myself from the sand; Macy gets up beside me. As soon as she’s on her feet, she starts contorting her body into what I think is a yoga position.

  “You okay?”

  She nods, head between her legs, one arm up in the air, and the other pointing at the ground.

  “A little stiff, that’s all,” she replies without changing position.

  “Okay, I’ll look at the engine and see if I can get it going.”

  I trot to the speedboat. It looks like it’s in good shape, with hull intact.

  First thing’s first, I try starting the motor.

  As I do, I think about what would’ve happened if I did this yesterday, before we decided we were stranded, and the motor started.

  We would’ve left the island, and last night wouldn’t have happened.

  I honestly didn’t think to, but maybe we were both eager to stay here for a reason.

  And it’s a moot point, because the motor doesn’t start.

  It seems fucking dead.

  My eyes search the area.

  There’s not much around, but I can think of a few potentially useful objects I already have at hand.

  For starters, I’ve got an empty plastic bottle.

  And the one credit card I took with me.

  “Let me guess,” Macy says, walking up behind me. “It’s fatal, and we’re stuck here forever.”

  I turn to look at her. She’s grinning from ear to ear.

  “Never fear.” I hold up a rock I’ve picked up.

  She furrows her brow.

  “A rock? What’re you planning to do with it? Crack open a coconut?”

  I stroke my chin in consideration.

  “Not a bad idea. Have you ever tasted coconut water? It’s supposed to be pretty fucking good for you.”

  “Trouble is, I don’t think the one and only tree on the island actually has a coconut left on it.”

  “Well,” I reply and lean back over the motor, “that explains why we’re still alive.”

  Macy snorts then laughs, not holding back as she remembers my stated opinion on the fuzzy tropical hazards.

  “You shouldn’t share your vulnerabilities so freely. Now I know the deepest fear of a powerful Hollywood producer. Who knows how I’ll decide to use it?”

  With my head stuck in the tiny outboard motor and a credit card pressed between my lips, I can’t really respond. But if her imagination’s running wild with the power she could have over me, I don’t want to interrupt.

  And I might be able to make some progress with some different tools. I emerge and start searching around the boat intensely under the dim predawn light.

  “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

  Her tone of voice lets me know she’s got little to no confidence in my abilities.

  She of little faith.

  Macy’s skepticism will soon be gone, as I’m pretty sure I’ve located the problem. Now if only I could get my hand in this tiny gap…there, nearly got it.

  “Aaron?”

  I turn to look at her.

  “Sorry, a bit busy, darling,” I mumble and focus back on the engine.

  Just a bit more adjusting and then a little whack with the rock, and we should be back in business.

  Without explanation, I walk back around the boat and turn the engine on.

  It coughs, it splutters, then comes to life.

  Macy looks at me
with an incredulous expression.

  “How? Why? I don’t understand.”

  “Resourcefulness. Thank my grandfather. He taught me all about this stuff. A rock, a bottle, something paper-thin like a credit card—that’s enough of a toolkit to do almost anything.”

  Macy smiles pleasantly. She’s just happy the boat’s running.

  “Thanks, Gramps,” she adds.

  For a moment, I stare wistfully out to sea. Unlike my parents, I love talking about the old man, often at the drop of a hat. It reminds me of the good which may still be in the world.

  He’s been gone for a few years, but he was the real fucking deal. People like that are few and far between.

  “Of course, watching thousands of hours of MacGyver helped, as has having an imagination and being able to stand on your own two feet.”

  Macy says nothing.

  She’s simply staring at the boat, and me.

  “Ready to head back to our luxury resort?”

  She nods, and I help her in. After giving the boat a healthy push from the shore, I climb aboard and start captaining.

  With the sun about to rise, navigating’s not too hard. I recall where it was in the sky when we left yesterday and where it set yesterday.

  Luckily, it seems like St. Maarten’s an easterly direction. I keep the bow pointed at sun’s golden rays. In no time, the familiar western coast of St. Maarten’s comes into view.

  As we glide effortlessly over the water, I think back to the perfection of last night.

  I can picture her perfect body, her eyes—so brilliant even in the depths of nighttime—and her blazing smile as she let herself give in to wild abandon.

  The memory lingers in my mind, clearer than any camera could hope to capture it, as we travel back to civilization.

  Macy

  This almost feels like part of the tour.

  You know, if the tour lasted twenty hours and included an overnight stopover on a tiny uninhabited island with barely any provisions—except just the right amount of pocket rum.

  Aaron stoically steers the boat toward the coast of St. Maarten, and it looks like he not only easily found the island, but we’re also headed toward the departure point of the tour—which, even more than before, makes this all feel like a regular, planned part of the tour.

  Don’t get me wrong—I’m positive this was all unplanned.

  Neither of us thought to try and fix the boat yesterday. Both of us felt compelled to bring snacks and rum with us beforehand.

  Maybe, somehow, we both knew that last night’s island excursion was supposed to happen. But we were definitely both just along for the ride, so to speak.

  Was Aaron wearing those aviator shades yesterday? My mind’s a goddamn blank about that, but they’re perfect right now, framing his cool, expressionless face as he motors the boat toward the pier.

  I almost want to comment on them—we’re at the point where I might feel comfortable just paying him a simple fucking compliment—but the engine’s too loud for conversation, and I’m staring at him, which should be flattering enough.

  Even for his conceited ass.

  Seriously, though, there’s more going on with Aaron than I realized. I can’t define all of it yet, but there are some depths there, as I discovered last night.

  Of course, I ended up discovering some depths to myself as well.

  The boat travels smoothly to the pier, decelerating steadily until we dock in between two of the other speedboats. I think it’s the exact spot the boat was in yesterday.

  I can’t dwell on this too much, mostly because I don’t want to get too impressed. But Aaron didn’t even break a fucking sweat getting us from being marooned to back on the resort grounds in what couldn’t have been longer than twenty minutes.

  Aaron looks off into the distance for a moment and just slightly skywards, amusedly smiling.

  “I need to ask, Aaron…is there something up there I should know about?”

  Now fully on the dock, Aaron smiles while offering his arm to help me off.

  “Just the sun, Mace. That thing comes in handy a lot—and there are times when I really appreciate it.”

  I don’t know if that clarified anything.

  “That thing?” I ask as I grab Aaron’s arm and climb back into civilization. “You mean the sun?”

  Aaron lets his full, booming laugh out into the quiet of the early morning.

  “The very same.”

  As we walk toward the beach together, the air’s swimming with distinct aromas: saltwater, sand, subtle yet unmistakable hints of palm trees, oleander, and vetiver.

  How did I not notice any of these scents yesterday, or on the beach here before now?

  “The sun? Really?”

  We walk away from the sea and make a left turn toward the hotel.

  “Great natural light and navigation—that’s all I want in a star. And I’m sure it does other shit, too.”

  The scents of the sea and nearby plants are now mingling with the traces of Aaron’s usual fragrance. In the morning quiet, the sounds of gentle waves and birds greeting the dawn take precedence.

  “It does all kinds of things, good and bad,” I respond to Aaron. “It brings people to the tropics.”

  That’s what I decide to say, instead of quietly letting the ambiance wash over me.

  I’m not even sure what I mean by it. I thought I was saying that I’m glad I’m here, but judging by Aaron’s silence, it maybe wasn’t clear.

  So, I let nature’s soundtrack take over, and so does Aaron. I don’t look at him, but I can feel his warmth near me as we walk together.

  The sky’s turning a gorgeous vivid shade of blue, like somebody’s slowly turning up a dimmer switch or gradually adjusting the tone and contrast, fine-tuning as perfection draws nearer and nearer.

  It’s quite a show, but I know it means that the quiet of dawn’s ending, and life’s about to begin again.

  Spring breakers, honeymooners, and wealthy families from all over the world are about to take over the landscape and the soundscape.

  Obviously, it’s still nothing like Manhattan, though the early morning can be surprisingly serene there, too—especially in a spot that’s on the water, like Battery Park or the Seaport. Sometimes you can hear your own footsteps, and a few seagulls, and nothing else.

  But there, just like here, the world has to begin eventually. In New York, it’ll be the sound of a delivery truck stopping and idling nearby that’ll break the spell.

  And, speak of the devil, the sonic splendor of St. Maarten’s now being destroyed by something that sounds like a truck nearby. There’s a road running parallel to where we’re walking on the beach, and the vehicle’s getting closer, loud and irritating, and finally passes us on its way to the hotel.

  I can see that it’s not a truck but a shuttle like the one I took from the airport.

  And so the day begins.

  And Aaron’s being silent.

  I would’ve welcomed that a couple of days ago, but now I feel like we were just starting to get into it.

  Into talking to each other, learning how to enjoy each other.

  Even before I lost my virginity to him.

  A stiff breeze whips us as we walk—one that I’m not dressed for.

  And holy fuck, that was something. Actually having sex, I mean.

  Without a word, without looking at each other, we both turn toward the road at the same time.

  As another, longer, breeze blasts by us, I get a horrible inkling of suspicion.

  Fortunately, it’s gone with the breeze when I realize that earlier this morning, well after we did the deed last night, Aaron was as happy to talk to me as ever.

  I can’t even assume he’s freezing on me now, either, just because we stopped talking for a couple of minutes. Being tired is probably part of it, at least for me, and that’s probably also the reason I’m overanxious and starting to read into everything.

  I don’t think I’m in a state to figure out muc
h right now, so worrying’s not going to help.

  Another shuttle passes by, and the hotel’s visible.

  Shower first, then sleep, then I’ll figure it out from there.

  As I feel some of my nervous energy drain away, I turn my head to finally look at Aaron.

  And he’s looking at me already and smiling. There’s some wistfulness there, like his smile after docking the boat.

  Seeing him smile at me at all fills me with a sense of warmth and a sense of relief. Which is a lot of power I’ve given him, emotionally.

  And that’s something else I need to think about later.

  Aaron

  The sky’s already a deeper shade of blue than I’m used to seeing in LA, but the air feels colder, and it’s getting worse.

  It’s not the discomfort—I can handle that shit, and it’s not even that fucking cold right now. It’s the disparity between the brilliant, tropical blue sky and these random gusts of chill that’s starting to fucking get to me.

  Which I know is ridiculous. But I think there’s something about it that’s making me act all aloof and surly, which isn’t something I want to do right now.

  Also, part of me is disappointed we couldn’t stay on that island a bit longer, as if that were the real vacation, and we just cut it short.

  Which is even more fucking ridiculous, but it’s all getting to me more than it should right now.

  When I’m just about to reach for my shades to mute the sky’s brilliance, I decide it’s a better idea to look over at the fucking phenomenal woman who just happens to be walking just next to me.

  Looking away from the hotel down the road, I swivel my head to see Macy—to see how she is and how she’s holding up and if she’s pissed that I’m ignoring her…or if it seems like she’s thinking about last night.

  I know that’s something I’ll be thinking about for a while.

  After I turn my head, Macy’s focused on the road, outwardly pretending that I’m not even there. But almost instantly, she turns her head and returns my look.

  Her expression’s blank. The only thing I can read about it is that she’s lost in thought about something.

  Whatever it is, it probably has nothing to do with St. Maarten or any of the shit that’s going on this week. Why would it?