West Coast Love

by Tif Marcelo

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I . . .” She gasps but doesn’t fall back on her heels. Compelled by the rush of blood through my veins, I place my hands on her waist. Do I push her away or pull her toward me? Pick up where we left off in Vegas? Or do I keep her at arm’s length? Not only did she take my job, but she took my words. I work with this woman. This is fraternization.

  But we have six more days in close quarters. Six. After that, I may never see her again.

  Fuck it.

  My need for her rises above my conscience. I pull her toward me and lower my face, lips catching hers hungrily. She claws the back of my shirt as I ravage her with my mouth. I sweep my tongue into her mouth as if her lips only belong to me, and she sucks on mine with a ferocity that turns my volume from high to maximum.

  She wants this, too, as much as I do.

  Victoria tastes so good, like chocolate and cinnamon. So rich and divine that I want to lick all of her, everywhere.

  “You were saying?” I ask into her mouth, as I push her against the RV. My hand reaches for the door handle, but I can’t find the damn thing, lost in the lust that has overcome me. When she hitches her leg up, I give up on the task altogether and instead grab her by the underside of her thigh and grind against her.

  Vic moans. “I . . . nothing. Don’t stop.”

  “Oh, I won’t.” I slam one last kiss into her, and then finally tear myself away. “Let’s go inside.” With a concerted effort I find the handle and open the door. Light spills down from the rig, a beam that makes me shut my eyes briefly. It’s enough to wake me from my trance. I glance back at Vic, and she’s giving me a sly smile. “Okay?”

  “Yes.”

  I breathe a quiet sigh of relief when I make way for her to enter the RV ahead of me. She takes the first step up. I’m ready to close in behind her when the crunch of quick footsteps sound behind me. “Hey, thanks for putting out the fire.”

  Tara.

  Shit. Where’s my fucking brain? That’s right, all the blood has rushed out of it.

  I hang back, taking a breath to slow down my galloping heart rate. “Yeah, no worries.”

  “Line went quicker than I thought. You headed back to your tent?”

  Stealing a glance at Victoria, I see she’s wiping down the counters of the kitchen and washing her hands. “Yup, finishing the cleanup, and then I’ll be on my way.”

  Tara climbs into the RV, obviously intending to stay. I start to sweat while Victoria flashes a sheepish smile. With her bun skewed out of place and the neckline of her shirt wrinkled, she looks properly disheveled.

  And utterly fuckable.

  Tara’s eyeballs dart between me and Vic. “Okay, what’s going on here? You guys can quit it now.”

  Shock flashes in Vic’s eyes, but she recovers and an innocent face replaces it. Which is good, because my voice is suddenly stuck in my throat. Did Tara see us?

  “You.” Tara waggles a finger at me. “And you, come here.” She gestures for Victoria to sit on one of the dinette benches. I take the bench across from her. “We can’t do this, you know.”

  I find my voice. “We weren’t—I mean, excuse me?”

  Tara gestures to me and then to Vic. “You two. What you’re doing. You don’t think I can see it? The vibe is so thick we can cut it with a knife.”

  The color drains from Vic’s face. “Look, Tara, whatever you think—”

  “Quiet. There’s a reason why they send me out for these projects, right? Because I don’t take any crap. One iota of it.”

  Fuck. I look at my hands. I’m going to get fired. When I glance back up, Vic’s giving me a similar look of panic.

  “He and I didn’t—”

  I shake my head at Vic. Don’t give anything away is what I convey through mental telepathy. Luckily, she shuts up.

  “You are both in an awkward situation. Joel, you’re upset she got the job, especially since you already knew each other. On top of that, Victoria isn’t a barbecue expert. And Victoria, you took advantage of your friendship with Joel today. The material you came up with wasn’t your own. But you can both recover from this, and we can still make this experience pretty awesome and end up with a great product for people to watch. But for the sake of this project, both of you can’t keep avoiding one another. We are a team. This vibe you guys have? We feel it, too. And while your segment today was pretty dang good for your first one, Vic, if you both can’t fix this thing between you, it will show on the screen. Got it?”

  I wait for more, an admonishment, a punishment for fraternizing, but when I look up at Tara, she’s smiling, almost placating.

  “So shake hands now. Let’s be friends. Let’s be here for one another. Say it, Vic.”

  “Oh . . . okay.” Vic’s voice is hoarse, and she stretches her hand out for me to shake it. “I’m here for you, Joel.”

  I take her hand in mine, stifling a grin. “I’m here for you, too.”

  “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Tara smiles.

  “Nope,” I say.

  “Good, let’s head back to the tents. Night, Vic.”

  “Night to you, too.” Victoria stands to see us out.

  And as we walk away from the RV, Tara’s chatty and seemingly satisfied with my supposed truce with Victoria.

  I turn for a final look at the RV.

  Victoria’s leaning against the doorjamb, arms across her chest, with what I can only imagine is a sexy smile on her face.

  Third Destination:

  Berkeley

  MIA: That’s when you know you’ve found somebody special. When you can just shut the fuck up for a minute and comfortably enjoy the silence.

  —Pulp Fiction

  September 3

  From: Jocelyn Silva

  To: Joel Silva

  Subject: Here’s my note

  * * *

  Hi Uncle Joel,

  My mom told me I should write you, so I am. (I am talking and she is typing.)

  I’m still mad. But I’m also feeling better. Mom reminded me you’re doing something you really want to do. And I want you to do it. Maybe we can go to Yosemite another time, but only if you don’t break your promise again. I really want to hug a big sequoia tree. And take a picture of Half Dome. No, I don’t want to climb it. Maybe when I’m ten.

  Okay. Talk to you later.

  I love you.

  From,

  Seth

  17

  VICTORIA

  September 3

  Joel nibbles on my lower lip, sending pleasure to all my limbs, though it’s supposed to be in warning. “Shhh. You are so loud.”

  And instead of growing quieter, I giggle. We are in the rig, parked at a rest stop on the way to Richmond, to our next campground. The Suburban is parked next to us. About five minutes ago, Joel and I watched Tara and Adrian walk into the rest area for some snacks, and as soon as they were out of sight, we were in each other’s arms, making our way to the back. He has me pushed against the kitchenette countertop; he’s standing in between my legs. Clear of the windows, but so we can see when the rest of the crew is on their way back, we haven’t stopped kissing, our bodies a flow of groping hands and moans and gasps. Our pants are undone and his hand is up my shirt. He’s pushed the cups of my bra down, bringing my nipples to peaks with his fingers.

  And I am helpless, elbows propped behind me, enjoying the trail of his lips across my chin, down my neck. Then down he goes to his knees, hands falling to the waistband of my pants.

  For the last couple of hours, I’ve looked forward to this. But with him driving we didn’t have the opportunity to do anything but hold hands and have random conversations, when all I wanted to do was jump into his arms.

  He nudges my pants below my hips. He presses his face against my abdomen, as if breathing me in. “You are fucking beautiful.”

  “Oh, dang.” I breathe out the words in anticipation. Seeing him below me, with his eyes glazed over, is dizzying, and my knees buckle
. I love when Joel is so open like this. Not exactly in words, but in his expressions, in the depth of his tone. As if his walls are down.

  It’s not that Joel’s cold. He’s just . . . closed off, except for when he’s seemingly drinking me—us—in. Like he’s forever capturing the moment.

  When he circles my naval with his tongue, I want to lie down before I pass out from anticipation, from lust. I want the bed, something, to support me.

  It’s such a silly thought that I start to giggle. We’re acting like teenagers sneaking around.

  “What’s so funny?” He kisses me everywhere on my belly, reaching my tickle spot, and I go from giggling to full-on laughter. I wiggle and try to get away.

  “How am I supposed to kiss you when you won’t keep still?” Joel’s grin is sly. He stands, lifts my shirt up over my head, exposing my nipples spilling out of my bra. He growls like a bear on the prowl.

  But when his hands find my belly again, I cackle.

  “I don’t remember you being this ticklish.” He says into my ear, eyes alight, enjoying my gasps and heaving breaths. But he doesn’t let up, bringing me to a fit of laughter. I can only attempt to deflect his curious fingers.

  My hand lands on his thigh, and when I squeeze it, he squeals. My eyes grow wide at the realization. “Oh my God, you’re ticklish, too!”

  He eases off me. “Oh no. Don’t you try it.”

  “How is that fair?” I slither out from under him and back up, deeper into the rig.

  The wrestling match begins as he tries to grab my belly and I try to pinch him on his thighs. The RV rocks as we chase each other around the tiny space. Finding no place to run, I crawl onto the bed, but he pulls me by the legs and flips me to my back in one fluid, adrenaline-filled motion. He lies on top of me, between my legs, breathing heavy, and with a sheen to his skin. He shaved this morning so his beard is neatly trimmed, and I can’t help it: I touch my finger to the point where his facial hair ends and skin begins.

  The pause takes the wind out of my body and vacuums out the air between us. It’s as if the world ceases its rotation, and the only thing that matters is me and him. I couldn’t sleep last night after he left with Tara, buzzing as if I’d eaten too much chocolate. I tossed and turned and wondered where this was all going. It’s against all of the work rules, against my own judgment, for us to get involved. I’d told myself that Vegas would be a one-night thing. Now that we’ve given each other permission to kiss, to touch, I’m not sure how I can stop. It feels right with Joel—organic—and the urge to follow my instincts and not to think too much is fierce.

  “Still ticklish?” Joel brings his lips to mine, gently, as he’s done during every stolen moment since last night. Behind the closed RV door, against a Redwood next to the camp office, at every rest stop.

  “Nope.” Reveling in the feeling of him above me, I spread my legs wider and relax as he wedges himself even closer, but it’s not enough. I palm his face and slide my fingers into his hair. As if the more I can touch him with my bare skin, the more I can get to know his stunning features. To know him.

  “I have a question.” He presses a kiss on my chin. “Why did it take you forever to text me back?”

  “I wasn’t sure if I wanted more.”

  “And now?” His lips trail up to my earlobe. “Do you want more?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. There won’t be any games with me. I promise you that.”

  Not like the last guy is what I hear in the silence after his words. I’d withheld the details about Luke from Joel, and now I have the feeling he wants to make sure I don’t put him in the same category. And whether or not it’s an erroneous assumption, I pull him down to me, grateful, yearning for another taste of his mouth.

  Again, when he kisses me, that thing happens: an electricity that starts in my core and shoots out to my limbs. It brings me to a high, and I forget about being tickled, I forget about the next stop, and like in Vegas, I forget about the before, with that guy who’s face I can now barely conjure in my head.

  Joel moans against my mouth, and this makes me smile. Despite what’s happened between us, despite my insecurities about this job and how different we are, we have this one thing that we can do together, and do well.

  But as our bodies fall into a groove and my temperature reaches fever pitch, he pulls away. My need to have his pressure on me is so great I want to cry out when he lets up and settles on his elbows.

  He pulls the phone from his back pocket. He blinks at the screen, his appearance mirroring my disheveled thoughts.

  “I asked Adrian to text me.” He swallows a breath.

  “Why?”

  He grins. “So I know their status. I told him I wanted nachos. He just texted, ‘Hell ya, they have them, and I’m grabbing you some.’ ”

  “Which means they’re on their way back soon.”

  “Yep.”

  He flops on his back, and we look up at the ceiling. “I guess that means we should get up.” My voice comes out like a whine. I want to pull him back over me, to feel his hands explore my body.

  His face turns to me. “We okay?”

  I meet his eyes. “Yes. Except . . . this seems more complicated now.”

  “Yeah, I know. I’ve never done this before.” His cheeks turn pink. “Mixing work and play.”

  “We have to keep it a secret.”

  He rolls on top of me, making me laugh. “And simple, okay?”

  “Okay.” I answer without hesitation despite the thoughts that are rushing through my head. Simple sounds encompassing enough, especially for six days. I open my mouth to ask about what happens to us after, when this project ends, when I hear Tara’s laughter.

  Joel flies off me, and I bolt into the bathroom and shut the door.

  Though it kills me to waste water from our tanks, I flush the toilet and wash my hands while I will my heart to slow and regulate my breathing after the adrenaline rush of going from making out to freaking out. Joel and I . . . we’re together for lack of better words. That make-out session is going to happen again, and soon.

  The familiar coil starts in my belly; the lovely tingling sensation in between my legs begins.

  Crap. Not now.

  I splash my face with water. I would do better in an ice bath.

  The RV door opens and shuts, and I hear the tail end of Adrian and Tara’s conversation about what the proper consistency of nacho cheese should be. When I’ve brought myself down to a calm and collected state, I open the door to the lingering smell of exhaust and asphalt from the parking lot. And nachos. I wrinkle my nose at the clear plastic container of cheese Adrian is holding; there’s so much of it that the chips are barely visible.

  Joel climbs into the dinette seating with Adrian, eyes bugging out. “That. That is a masterpiece.”

  “Thank you. I’m so glad someone appreciates the hard work I do.” Adrian slaps the napkins on the table.

  Tara hands me a tall cup of coffee. “He literally glopped cheese on there and didn’t stop until it spilled over the side.”

  I shake my head. “God, the smell alone, ugh. That cheese is totally fake, and it’ll take years before you can digest it.”

  “Well, if you say so, killjoy.” Adrian scoops a helping of cheese onto his chip and stuffs it in his mouth. Tara follows, and as Joel sticks a chip in his mouth, he winks.

  “It’s your health.” I raise my cup to him, smirking, and plop down on the couch.

  Tara takes out her phone and presses a few buttons. “This is probably as good a time as any to talk about Berkeley. If you think Desert Willow was small, Berkeley’s festival is even smaller. There are only three vendors, and the festival coincides with their annual Labor Day event, so, Victoria, there’s a tad more pressure here to hype up the vendors.”

  My insides quiver from nerves, and I glance up to see that no one is looking at me directly. “I’ve been reading up. I’ll definitely do my best.”

  “And we’ll do some prep before we ge
t there.” Joel jumps in. “We’ll research the vendors, decide on some lines.”

  I smile at him in thanks.

  “What’s up with you and barbecue anyway?” Adrian wipes the cheese off his fingers.

  “What about it?”

  “Why don’t you like it?”

  I shrug. I don’t know how honest I should be. I don’t want to have these people lose their respect for me. Then again, I also know they can’t help me unless I tell them. “It’s hard to explain. First of all, I can’t stand the smell of smoke.”

  “But you cover all kinds of food and kitchens. All kitchens smell.”

  “Right. But there’s so much, it’s almost inescapable because the smoke is absorbed in the meat itself. Speaking of: there’s so much meat. I love veggies, you guys. I’m not a vegetarian, but I have a soft spot for creations with vegetables. Also, seafood has my heart. And traditional barbecue sauces are generally from the same base, and I can only take so much of a red or tomato-based sauce.”

  “Can I ask you a question then? Not meaning to be rude or anything. But why did you take this job?”

  “I . . .”

  “I’m sorry. That was wrong of me. I can’t judge. We all need money.”

  I smile, heart softening to Adrian. “It’s not that. I wanted to push myself. I wanted something new. I mean, it wasn’t all new. I’ve glamped most of my life.”

  “Hence the ability to park an RV.”

  I smile. “Yep. And wasn’t there ever a time when you wanted to shake things up a little? A time when you thought that if you went down another road, it would change everything? When I got this job, I thought of it like a fork in the road. The mere fact that Olivia wanted to hire me despite my inexperience with barbecue—I thought it was a sign.”

  “A sign for what?” Joel asks.