Waves of Desire: Pleasure Point Series Book Three

by Jennifer Evans

  “Please?” Her voice was so pathetic that I almost took her into my arms right then and there to make all the pain of the past thirteen years disappear.

  My thoughts were jumbled. “This is a nightmare. I think you need to go home now,” I said. “Where do you live? I’ll drive you.”

  “I can walk.” She looked down at her hands again.

  I reached over her and opened the door for her. “Nice seeing you again, Rosalyn.”

  After she got out, I slammed the truck into gear and peeled out, my tires chirping their protest. As I drove away, Rosalyn’s form in my rear view mirror grew smaller and smaller in the setting sun.

  A son? Six months to live? Rosalyn better not be messing with me.

  I needed to surf. But it was almost dark, so instead I made the left turn and headed back to Half Moon Bay.

  Rosalyn

  I wasn’t sure what kind of reception I expected from Jax, but the anger that flew off him in waves was not the Little House on the Prairie homecoming I hoped for.

  After our meeting, I trudged back home. Eugene was at band practice and wouldn’t be home for about a half hour. I fell into my easy chair and called Carissa.

  She picked up the phone before it even rang, her voice breathless. “How’d it go?”

  Tears pricked my eyes. “I don’t think it’s going to work out. He’s pretty mad at me.”

  “Oh honey, tell me what happened.”

  “He acted like he didn’t believe me about Eugene being his son. Like I’d make that up? He’s different, Carissa.” Remembering Jax’s anger made me flinch. I’m not your sweetheart anymore. I told Carissa all about the meeting.

  “Sounds like he really let you have it. Let him be angry. He’ll cool off. Give him a few days. You’re doing the right thing, and you can’t have regrets.”

  Did I have regrets? Hell yes. “But I do.” I gritted my teeth. “I regret the day I put my hand on Jax’s cock when he was lying in bed with a hard-on all those years ago. The guy was only eighteen. I could’ve stopped this whole thing back then, but did I? Jax is right,” I said. “I’ve been selfish.” I hauled myself out of my chair and into my bedroom. I sat cross-legged on my bed, reached for my bong, and lit up, taking a deep toke. Leaning back against the pillow, a small tear slid down my cheek.

  Carissa tried to make me feel better. “But would you trade Eugene for anything?”

  “Of course not. Eugene changed my life. He’s the only good thing I’ve got.”

  After I found out about the breast cancer, I’d done everything I could; I meditated, I went on juice fasts, I put a teaspoon of baking soda in spring water every morning because that was supposed to create an alkaline environment in which cancer cells couldn’t survive. I performed yoga, I stood on my head, I arranged all my crystals for maximum healing potential around my bed. I even moved my bed so that my feet were facing south and my head north because that was supposed to assure that the earth’s electromagnetic waves moved through my body in the proper direction while I slept.

  Finally, I’d relented to having my precious body invaded by doctor’s scalpels and chemotherapy. I’d had a double mastectomy, followed by a pretty darn good reconstruction done by one of the best plastic surgeons in the area. All this for what? A “six months left to live” prognosis.

  It really is just like in the movies. At my last doctor appointment, a team of specialists met with me, grim faced men and women wearing white coats, holding clipboards, iPads, and a mountain of paperwork for me to sign. There were advanced directives, do not resuscitate orders, and they had pretty much told me to get my affairs in order because the tumors were spreading throughout my system.

  Carissa interrupted my thoughts. “I’ve heard really good things about the Trinity program.” Her voice became hushed. “Honey, you’re going to get through this. You’re going to fight. You can’t give up.”

  I could try the Trinity Therapy, which was performed in Mexico because the FDA wouldn’t approve it in the United States. It was a complete detoxification program consisting of organic juices, coffee enemas, supplements, organic soups and teas, castor oil, and clay packs. The Trinity program boasted a high success rate in curing the incurables. But it wasn’t cheap. A two-week stay at the clinic was twenty thousand dollars. Cash.

  I took another toke off my bong. “But what if I don’t survive?” A sob escaped my throat.

  “You will. I’m proud of you. It took guts to contact Jax. He’ll come around and if he needs to he’ll raise Eugene.” We were both silent. Then her voice became playful. “So, what’s he like? Anywhere near as good looking as his pictures?”

  I snapped up, my body rigid. “Who cares about any of that?”

  “Oh, Roz, I’m just trying to lighten things up. So, what’s he like?”

  Seeing Jax after thirteen years was a mixed bag of emotions.

  I set the bong down, leaning heavily against the pillow. “He’s a man now.”

  She chuckled. “A very good looking man.”

  Jax was so different from the last time I’d seen him at age nineteen. He was confident, strong, and brazen. There was a new dimension, maturity and self-assuredness. “Maybe.” I smiled. “At least I picked good DNA for Eugene.”

  “What did he tell you about his life?”

  I stared at the ceiling. “Nothing, really. Other than the fact that he’s got a girlfriend.”

  “I’d be surprised if he didn’t.”

  “Everything we’ve googled so far hasn’t mentioned anything about a partner,” I said.

  “That means it’s not serious. Listen, honey, we’d be pretty naive to think he didn’t get laid now and then.”

  Did he live with this girlfriend? Was he in love? What did he do for work when he wasn’t surfing?

  My voice was low when I said, “You think he’ll be willing to be a dad? I mean, if I need him to? Am I kidding myself?”

  Carissa sighed heavily. “I don’t know. Seems like his folks raised him right. And from everything you told me, he sounds like a good guy.”

  “What should I do?”

  “Nothing. Give him a couple of days.” Her voice was confident when she said, “Roz, this is all going to work out. I’ll do a special meditation when we hang up.”

  The screen door slammed. “Carissa, I have to go.” I hung up and smoothed down my clothes then took a deep breath and faced my son. Eugene and Nelson were already in the kitchen, removing dinner items from the fridge.

  “Oh hey, mom,” Eugene said as I walked into the small kitchen. “Sit down here and relax.” He pulled a chair out from the table. “We’re cooking your favorite, brown rice and broccoli, and Nelson’s even going to make the salad.”

  I smiled broadly, putting my feet up on the chair opposite me. When Eugene was old enough, I’d trained him to fend for himself in the kitchen, and he had taken a liking to it.

  Nelson handed Eugene a pot. “I’ll get the rice.” Like a professional athlete in a locker room, he slapped Eugene on the butt. “Top Chef, move over!”

  When dinner was ready, the three of us sat around the table and enjoyed small talk about our day, conversation about school and music and how big the waves had been.

  I savored the nutty aroma of brown rice then spooned it into my mouth. “How was school today?”

  Eugene wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “Same. More dumb calculations in math class. What’d you do after work?”

  I crumpled my napkin in my lap and began to methodically shred the thing. “Oh, nothing. Just replanted some of my sprout jars.”

  Both boys studied me. “Didn’t you do that yesterday?” Eugene said.

  “Yeah, well, you know, I’ve been wanting to try out some new stuff. Haven’t eaten lentil sprouts in a while.”

  Eugene’s eyes strayed to the windowsill where the vibrant sprouts grew in jars. “Lentils? I don’t see any.”

  “Oh!” I said, “I meant alfalfa.” But the alfalfa sprouts had already been sprouting for two days.


  I hurriedly finished dinner, stood up, and in a voice squeakier than I meant, said, “I’ll clean the kitchen.” My dishes clattered in the sink. I plastered a smile on my face. “Thanks for making dinner you two. You’re the best.”

  Later as I showered and readied for bed, the reality of my health situation almost overwhelmed me. As much as I tried to meditate and breathe deeply to assuage the panic, sometimes my dilemma was too much. My body filled with dizziness, and I gripped the safety rail in the shower, my knees buckling. Calm down. Take a deep breath. But, drying myself off, I glanced in the mirror. I was once again reminded of cancer by the scars on my breasts. Please don’t let me die, I prayed. Please allow Jax to open his heart.

  I pulled on my nightshirt and went into my bedroom. As I climbed into bed and reached for my book, Eugene came into my room. “Mom, are you crying?” he said.

  “A little, honey.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Sometimes I just feel sad.” How was I going to break the news to Eugene?

  He sat on the edge of the bed and said, “Nelson and me, we’re learning some new songs, and there’s this band that we’re gonna meet with, and I was wondering if maybe you could give us a ride later this week?”

  I looked at his sweet face, so trusting. “Of course, I will. Now, get your butt in bed. You’ve got school tomorrow.”

  “Night, mom.” Leo trailed after him as he headed for his room.

  I put my face in my hands and took a deep breath. I had to keep things together for Eugene.

  As I dozed off, the sound of the waves crashed on the shore and the sea breeze gently wafted through my open window. My phone alerted me to a text. It was from Jax.

  What’s your brilliant plan? I can’t wait to hear it.

  Jax

  After I left Rosalyn, I went straight to The Old Princeton Landing. The OPL, as it’s known to the locals, is a rock and roll sports bar in the El Granada area of Half Moon Bay, only a stone’s throw from Mavericks.

  A gust of cold wind blew through the door as I entered and sat at the bar where a burly teddy bear of a bartender stood washing beer glasses.

  “Cold out there,” I said.

  “So’s the world, man, so’s the world.” He put the beer glasses on the drain board, wiped his hands on his white apron, spun a cardboard Coors Lite coaster in front of me. “What’ll it be?”

  “Whatever you got on tap. And make it a double.”

  “Got myself a comedian here. World’s finest OPL beer on tap, coming up. A double for my surfer friend,” he said with a wink. He set the chilled beer mug in front of me. “How you doin’ Jax?”

  “Seen better days.”

  “I hear ya. Fuckin’ unreal what happened to Butch. Heard he came that close.”

  “Comes with the territory, I guess.”

  He leaned forward, both beefy arms on the bar, looked me in the eye with his bloodshot gaze, and said, “If I had a son, no fuckin’ way would I let him out there in those waves.”

  “Yeah well, it’s an obsession.”

  “Not that healthy an obsession.” He stood up, wiping his hands on his apron. “I don’t mean to be a bummer. Enjoy your beer.”

  The OPL was electric with energy that night, a live band playing, a few surfers milling around. Many of them came to talk to me about what’d happened to Butch, the unspoken words being that it could’ve been any one of us and that death for a big wave surfer was always only a breath away.

  I drank my second beer and thought about Rosalyn. I was still seething with anger over the nerve of her taking over thirteen years to contact me. But now that I wasn’t in her presence, I could think. Rosalyn was still fucking beautiful. Despite the fact that she’d lost weight, despite the fact that several years had passed in which it sounded like she’d had her share of bad luck, the woman was still gorgeous. And I don’t mean just physically. Rosalyn had that same charisma I remembered, but it was tempered with a deep sadness. I looked into my beer mug, lifted it slightly, rolling it over the condensation ring on the counter. Six months to live? Was that really true, or was she exaggerating?

  I took a deep swallow of my beer and felt the alcohol flowing pleasantly into my system, my neck muscles relaxing for the first time all day.

  A son.

  I had a son named Eugene. I sat up straight, smiling slightly. If that was really true, he’d be about thirteen. What was he like? Did he look like me? What were his hobbies? Did he surf? What was his favorite color? Favorite foods? Who were his friends? In the mirror over the bar, I caught a glimpse of myself, and there was a gleam in my eye.

  I shook my head. I still wasn’t sure if I believed Rosalyn, but why would she make this up? I was going to find out, wasn’t I?

  I took another sip of my beer trying to quell the anger of Rosalyn shutting me out of her life. Did she think she could just phone me up and I’d come running to take over the mess she’d made? I had a life of my own, dammit. As soon as that thought came out of my head, I almost laughed. A life. Yeah, right. Let’s take a look at exactly what I had. I had Blue-ee and a job teaching surf lessons at the Mysto Spot Surf Shop. I had a quasi-girlfriend in Holly, a woman who I thought I cared about. And oh yeah, I had a steady following of six women who were waiting right this second, cash in hand, for me to come home and fuck their brains out. And I had surfing.

  I took another sip of beer, put my elbows on the bar, my head in my hands. I’d always wanted a family. For years I tried to convince myself that sex partners and my relationship with Tyler were all I needed. But more recently I was working on opening my mind to other possibilities. Admittedly, my relationship with Holly was mostly because she reminded me of Rosalyn, but I’d been doing my best to give a real relationship with her a try. On paper, she had everything I loved in a woman: confidence, playfulness, and she loved sex. But was I in love with her? No. If I were in love, would I have taken on my side job?

  The band finished playing an Eagles song then the lead singer counted the band down. A Rolling Stones’ song, “Satisfaction” came to life amidst whoops and hollers of the very drunk crowd.

  A particularly sexy brunette who wore a short skirt and a tight-fitting tank top with no bra hopped up from the table she shared with friends and began dancing. She slithered and gyrated and found her way to a wooden post where she danced like a professional stripper miming sex with the pole. One leg snaked up around the post, and she made eye contact with me, licking her red lips in a suggestive manner before she blew me a kiss. I smiled, gave her a wink, and thought, You can’t afford me, sweetheart.

  Later, when I was in my room at the Oceano Hotel down the street, I scrolled through text messages from Sandy, who wanted to know when we could fuck, Cassandra, who had a few days off and wanted an extended session, Olivia, who had some new nipple clamps to try out, and a message from Holly telling me she missed me.

  I texted my adoring clients, told them I was in Santa Cruz for a few days, and asked for their patience. Weirdly, it made me feel better to sink into my routine. It calmed me. Then I called Gary.

  “Dude,” he said, by way of greeting. “You okay?”

  “Hey buddy, can you feed Blue-ee a few more days?”

  He said he would, and then I called Butch to make sure he was tucked in for the night. He sounded energized, telling me all about how nice the people at the hospital were, what great care he was getting, and how attentive Dr. Bryant was. I told him I’d see him the following morning and take him out to breakfast once he was released. After that, I planned to drop him off at San Francisco International Airport for the flight back to San Diego. I knew I had to tell him what’d happened with Rosalyn. Heck, after all those years, I had to tell somebody, and Butch always had great advice. I shook my head to clear the cobwebs and the unreality of it all.

  As much as I didn’t want to admit it, seeing Rosalyn that day brought up feelings of how things used to be between us when they were good. I was worried about Rosalyn and wildly curious a
bout Eugene, but still angry about how she’d shut me out of her life. Strangely, the anger mixed with a heat of passion surging through my body. God, I missed her.

  That night, I surrendered to an exquisite sexual fantasy of Rosalyn as I lay there listening to the fog horn softly blowing from the open window. I thought of Rosalyn giving me a blow job with her warm mouth, her hands expertly working up and down the shaft of my cock. I imagined my mouth on Rosalyn’s sweet saltiness, feeling her swell and grow in my mouth as I nibbled her wet womanhood. The way she’d spread her legs wider, allowing me access to her slippery softness. I’d listen for the change in her breathing as I watched her throw her head to the side, calling my name, whimpering with delight, her breath coming in tiny pants, her body trembling. Finally, her pussy would clench around my fingers, those delicious contractions squeezing my wet fingers as she rode waves of pleasure. Giving myself over to the fantasy, I thought of Rosalyn on top of me while I stimulated her sweet spot with my thumb until she came again and feeling her strong contractions around my hard cock. I could never hold back at that point.

  When I was done, I smiled, endorphins happily surging through my body.

  Before I fell asleep, two thoughts went through my mind.

  I had a son.

  And …

  I was still in love with Rosalyn.

  I grabbed my phone and texted her before I lost the nerve.

  What’s your brilliant plan? I can’t wait to hear it.

  There was a hesitation then I saw that she was typing.

  How about you come over my house tomorrow afternoon? We can talk.

  What time?

  Around two?

  What’s your address?

  She gave me the address, and when I looked it up on my phone, it was right across the street from the Pleasure Point surf break.

  Rosalyn and I were going to talk. Whatever that meant.

  * * *

  When I arrived at Stanford Hospital the following morning, Butch was being released.