Flash Drive

by Jacqueline DeGroot

  “Sorry. We’re sensitive to the event that put us on

  the map.”

  “No problem. Who’s Wallace?”

  He gave a delighted, full-throated laugh and his hand covered hers on the seat between them. They both looked down. He wrapped the small hand with his large one and gave it a squeeze before releasing it. It was way too soon for the boyfriend/girlfriend stuff, so he had to pretend it meant nothing.

  “He was the governor of Alabama—macho, racist type who kept blacks from going to school and getting a coveted white education. Maybe you heard of two black students, Vivian Malone Jones, James Hood, and the University of Alabama?”

  “Oh, that Wallace.”

  He grinned at her. “Yeah, that Wallace. There was a little shopping center incident that involved a gun. George Wallace was shot and ended up in a wheelchair because of it.”

  “Not a good legacy.”

  “No. His stance was popular to some at the time. But our generation sure wouldn’t have pegged him as a hero.”

  “The south certainly has evolved, look at us now.” Her arms lifted and spread wide as if encompassing the churning ocean appearing in front of them. “This is where blockade runners once ran the blockade. Also over white and black issues,” she added with a meaningful nod.

  “Yeah. Blacks weren’t even allowed to learn how to read, much less go to college. Thankfully, the days of the southern plantation are over.”

  “That’s funny, I live on a plantation. I never took the time to absorb the meaning of the word with regard to the community I live in.”

  “Where do you live?” He could have bitten his tongue. So this is how it’s going to be? You’re not only going to lie to her by omission, you’re going to act the fool so you can never get out of this and be honest with her?

  “I live in Ocean Ridge Plantation, it’s considered Ocean Isle Beach, but it’s on 17, at 904 near Grissettown. Have you heard of it?”

  Ah, a chance to get back to a semblance of honesty. “Yeah, I have. In fact, I play golf there whenever I get a chance.”

  “That’s interesting. Were you playing there last week? I saw someone who looked like you on the course.”

  He dodged that one with a wry smile, “Oh, what did he look like? Handsome, athletic, an accomplished golfer the likes of a young Greg Norman?”

  She smiled back. “Hardly. You’re not blonde, and when this man was in the rough looking for his golf ball, he swiped some of my rosemary.”

  He remembered the moment vividly but didn’t know if he should cop to it. He needed to steer this conversation to safer shores. “So you’re a gardener?” Again, he was painting himself in a corner for the time when he needed to come clean.

  “Avid. My friends say I’m obsessive. I’ve even taken the Master Gardener classes in Bolivia. Working in my garden is therapy for me.”

  “Therapy?”

  “My parents died in a car accident a few years ago. I lost my focus. Kinda thought my mind, too . . . for a while. But I’m better now.”

  “Wow. I’m sorry. Were you an only child?”

  “Yeah. Still kind of feel like an orphan.” There was silence between them for a few seconds before she asked, “How about you? You have family?”

  “Yeah, on the eastern shore. Dad’s gone but Mom’s doing well. She still teaches, almost forty years now and still going strong. She has a boyfriend who takes her to church and to the movies on Sundays. She insists it’s only for companionship, but I know better. I found a box of condoms in her medicine cabinet last time I was there. Stood and stared at those suckers as if I’d never seen one before. Must’ve been five minutes before I could put ‘em back. What a shock that was. I went back into the kitchen without the band-aid I’d gone in there to get. Some things you’re ready for. That sure wasn’t one of them.”

  “I know what you mean. Well at least you know she’s having safe sex.”

  He threw back his head and laughed, “Yeah, too bad. I always wanted a brother.”

  She laughed along with him and he delighted in it. God she was lovely. He was having a helluva time reconciling her to the woman who wrote those incredibly erotic stories. She looked so young, so innocent . . . waifish, but in a very classy way. A woman who would gasp if a man even suggested she suck on his penis, not one who could give a play-by-play as if she’d done it a hundred times. Not for the first time he wondered if he could have mistaken her identity. Maybe it wasn’t Laurel who had lost the flash drive.

  The wind whipped their hair around their heads, and although it had been warm back on the dock in the sun, it was a bit chilly out on the water, and she reached for the Bhakti hoodie she had in her backpack. He helped her put it on, reveling in the feel of her hair cascading over his fingers. Purposefully he brushed his fingers across her neck as he settled the collar in place and flipped the hood forward. He watched as she shivered from the innocent caress and he felt his loins throb and his cock jump. Before it grew hard and drove him to distraction, he jumped up to get his camera.

  He would need a picture of her to keep him company on the days he had to force himself to stay away. If this wasn’t love, he didn’t know what else it could be. He wanted her deep in his core, more than he’d ever wanted anything. It actually hurt not being able to secure her, to bind her to him . . . to make her his. For all time. Whoa! Where had that come from?

  Now all the stories and poems he’d ever read about love and devotion made sense. Overnight, he had moved into the realm of a need that eclipsed lust. It eclipsed everything.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  After retrieving their bikes from the holding pen, the group donned their helmets and set off, following the leaders onto the island streets. For two and a half hours they rode around the island sightseeing and stopping to gather for mini-tours at places of interest. Bald Head was the perfect place to nature watch, everywhere you looked, the environment came into play, minimally developed with conservation foremost, the residents were proud of having a low human footprint.

  They learned that turtles were a special interest here, and had been since the early 80s. Nationally known for high numbers when it came to tracking sea turtle nesting, it was one of North Carolina Marine Fisheries Service’s index beaches. At Turtle Central, they were all about educating and displaying coastal life. Garrett was all about watching her interact with the group and watching her coo over the tiny creatures in the touch tank.

  As a group, they did a beachcombing walk and listened to a man talk about what it was like to go crabbing, kayaking, birding, and cast netting. Eventually, Garrett found himself staring down one particularly solicitous man from their group. He looked like he was old enough to be her father; did he really think he had a chance with her? It was to her credit that she was nice to everyone, but surely she could see past the old geezer’s intentions and see his motive. He didn’t like this jealous demon that kept lifting its head at the oddest times. He’d never been tempted to lay a man low for a woman, but he sure was now. He forced himself back on his bike and focused on the ocean glistening in the distance.

  Gas powered vehicles were not allowed on the island so everyone had a golf cart or a bike. Cyclists had to keep their eyes on the narrow roads because the locals with golf carts weren’t always fond of sharing. You could ride but you had to be diligent.

  The main road wound around the island with many streets intersecting it, so traffic was heavy at times, especially around the lighthouse and the marina. There were a few opportunities to ride side-by-side, but for the most part Garrett followed Laurel’s lead and enjoyed the view.

  When an elderly man coming from the opposite direction fell off his bike, Laurel was the first one off hers and racing to him. After checking him over and asking him if he was all right, she insisted he rest for a few minutes with his head in her
lap. That was the moment Garrett fell headlong and completely in love with her. He came to the realization that this was no longer about anticipating the great sex or the wonderful chemistry they had going on, but something deeper, stronger—something that made him feel as if living the next thirty-odd years was going to be so much more rewarding than his first thirty. And up to now, he’d had a pretty awesome life, so that was saying something.

  In the tower of Old Baldy, the lighthouse that was the main attraction, Garrett was able to touch her as he guided her up the unevenly spaced wooden steps, and then again as she practically fell down from a section of the step staircase. Fortunately he had preceded her down and turned at her gasp just in time to catch her as she tumbled into his arms.

  Once the shock of her plunge and subsequent safe harbor registered, she settled comfortably against his more than capable chest, and looking up, their eyes met. For a moment he was sorely tempted to kiss her soft, parted lips. Open, in a perfect circle from surprise, they were the most tempting sight, and the scent from the Werther’s caramel candy she had been sucking on earlier made her breath all that more enticing. He loved caramel.

  But reason returned and he remembered his directive to go slowly, just as the group turned as one at the bottom to look up at them.

  “Laurel, you okay?” Charlene asked.

  “Yeah, Garrett broke my fall. I’m fine.” She looked back at Garrett, “Thank you,” she whispered. Sex personified. He felt his penis jerk.

  “You’re welcome, anytime,” he breathed into her ear as he righted her on the stair above him.

  He forced himself to turn back around and descend the remaining steps. The others were waiting at the bottom, all faces focused in concern. He could only hope they weren’t looking any lower. He had a raging hard on, but thankfully his tight biking shorts were helping to rein him in.

  “She’s fine,” he reiterated. “Just misstepped on the oddly spaced steps.”

  The old geezer stared at him with hard eyes, for quite a bit longer than Garret thought he should have, and he fought against meeting the challenge in his eyes. Who the hell was he to be warning me off, he thought. What was he to her?

  Then he took a good look at the man, and reasoned that if he lost Laurel to the likes of him, he wasn’t worth his salt. Older, with thinning silver hair circling a bald pate that was shiny from his exertions, and gray stubble accentuating the daredevil scars on his chin, he no doubt thought he looked rakish, as he was fit for his age. And if his mannerisms were anything to go by, he was still pumping out testosterone just fine. Clearly he wasn’t endeared to the woman he had been paired with though. Widowed, and riding in a sixties-style knit pantsuit, she seemed asthmatic and somewhat of a novice to riding, but she made up for it by being cheerful and eager for the experience of joining the group on this trip.

  Maybe it was due to the fact that he and his partner seemed so mismatched that Testosterone Man was developing a proprietary air toward Laurel. He guessed—based on their skill level—that they had ridden together before. But clearly, he was overstepping his bounds. With animosity coming off him in waves, the man appeared to be stopping just short of calling him out.

  The man waited until both he and Laurel had descended the steps, then he used his body to separate them. He was obviously concerned for more than just Laurel’s safety. Garrett thought he had done an admirable job coming to her rescue, but no way was this man going to acknowledge that.

  “Laurel, you could have been hurt! You have to take your time on these old steps, and for god’s sake hold onto the rail. You could have broken something.”

  “Thankfully I didn’t. Luckily Garrett was there to break my fall.”

  “Well let’s not count on luck anymore. And next time I’ll be there.” With a nod to Garrett, he took Laurel’s arm and led her down the stone stairs at the entrance.

  Laurel looked over her shoulder and shrugged at Garrett, giving him a bright smile. He raised a fine eyebrow to her as a salute to her much in demand charms.

  Lunch was next on the agenda, and much as he wanted to elbow his way into the group and steal her attentions, he opted to back off and observe her from outside her circle of adoring friends. He mounted with everyone else, then waited as they all filed by, leaving him to take up the rear. He rode at a brisk pace admiring the sights, drinking in the tang of the sea air, and peddling in one of the lower gears. He told himself that he needed to assuage his own raging hormones, and reminded himself that he didn’t want to come off as being domineering. But caveman instincts were warring inside him and although his right fist was gripping the handlebar, clenching and readying itself for battle, he admitted it was one he could not have. He’d overpower this opponent. It would not be a fair fight. Still, somewhere back in his head a voice was screaming that she was his. No one else in the world knew it yet, not even her. But dammit, she was his.

  He hopped off his bike at Ebb and Flo’s Steam Bar and propped it alongside a fence while he waited for the others to stow theirs, then purposely took the lone seat left at the end of a long picnic table. He needed distance. And she needed a chance to have some dewy-eyed wonder about him.

  He ordered a Corona and sat back to watch the traffic flowing in and out of the marina. When he heard her voice call out a greeting to the group as she and Testosterone Man settled into an adjoining table, it was everything he could do not to turn and search her out, and snatch her away from the idiot who thought he could have her.

  The cold beer soothed his parched throat, so he drank quickly, not giving it a chance to warm in the sun. He ordered another, along with a burger all the way, declining the raw onions. Just in case. A precautionary move at best.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  The iced tea went down cold and smooth and the cheeseburger Laurel ordered was cooked to perfection. Picking at her fries as she idly dipped them in a pool of ketchup, she watched Garrett’s back. He was enjoying a second beer and bantering with both the waitress and one of the more avid cycle club members, a man retired from an insurance company. They obviously had a lot in common as they were both nodding their heads and talking with their hands when they weren’t using them to eat.

  How had she gotten stuck eating lunch with the same man she always sat with? The man who had been everywhere and done everything. The last half hour had been one travelogue after another, while the man across from her tried to prove how young he still was by recalling last year’s white water rafting trip, his windsailing adventure in St. Kitts, snow skiing with a backpack in Pennsylvania, and mountain climbing in Japan. Now he was detailing why he felt it necessary to spend $6,000 on the new fiberglass kayak he’d just ordered.

  Why wasn’t Garrett looking at her? Was he purposely ignoring her? Or was he really having a good time chatting with the other members, as it seemed? She excused herself to go to the ladies room and on the way back noticed her lunch partner had vacated his spot. Ah . . . maybe she would order dessert after all.

  A few minutes after settling back onto the seat, she was gently nudged to the side as Garrett straddled the bench beside her. He hefted a plate and raised a fork toward her face. “You have to try this cheesecake, it’s amazing.”

  She smiled, clearly delighted to see him, and opened her mouth to receive the forkful of cheesecake he was offering. Her lips closed around the confection, and as he pulled the fork away from her lips, the morsel of cheesecake disappeared. He watched as she let it linger on her tongue before she slowly chewed.

  “Oh yeah . . . that’s superb.”

  He was entranced by her mouth. “More?”

  “Um hmm,” she said and closed her eyes while opening her mouth. His breath hitched. This was so intimate . . . so carnal.

  To an outsider approaching, the scene in front of them was as sensual as the feast from Tom Jones. The fork became the connection between the
two hungry mouths. Ardently moaning, they were playing it up for fun.

  Mountain Man was none too thrilled to return to their side to see the woman he thought of as his lunch date, engrossed in a food fest with his rival.

  “Oh, do you want your seat back?” Garrett asked solicitously as he stood, plate and fork in hand.

  “Yes, yes I would,” the man snapped out. Militarily, he stood aside to give Garrett room to move out of the way.

  To his dismay, Laurel stood with Garrett. “Oh no you don’t, I go where that plate goes,” she said with a devilish grin. She followed him over to a railing that overlooked the marina, where she wrapped her hand over his and practically took the fork out of his hand as a sign that he hadn’t been feeding her fast enough.

  His nostrils flared wide and his breathing hitched as he watched her over expressive eyes. Her eager tongue tantalized him. It was magical, the way she teased him and had needs tearing through him. God, she was sexy.

  “Do you think we should get another piece?” he asked, a huge grin on his face as he watched her scrape the plate with the side of the fork. He couldn’t believe the immense pleasure he felt over such a silly thing.

  “Can’t afford it,” she said as she slid the last crumbs off the fork with her fingers and fed them to herself. He watched her every movement, imagining his tongue licking the graham cracker crumbs off her bottom lip.

  “I’ll pay,” he stated, biting back a groan at the sight of her tongue licking at the corner of her mouth.

  “Oh it’s not the money. I can’t afford the calories.”