Robin took his hand, and for a moment the two of them were joined awkwardly right in front of me. “Robin,” she said softly.
Then, as an afterthought, after a moment-too long of a “look” between them. “This is Tony. My husband,” she added.
Heath offered me his hand, and enclosed mine in a too-firm grip. He shook it once, vigorously, enough to make my wrist feel like it was going to crack. “Good to meet you. Now, I gotta get these clowns a pitcher of beer, so if you’ll excuse me.”
He ordered the beer while we sat in awkward silence. After he walked away, I swiveled to Robin. “So, Heath, huh?”
Robin had her straw between her lips and she left it in her mouth as she turned sideways and put her head against her hand. She batted her eyelashes. “Who? What?”
I groaned.
“Oh come on,” she whispered, and leaned out to look over at the ice hockey table. “He’s like twenty or something. I could totally technically be his mother.”
She leaned back in and gave a flip of her hair. “He is good-looking though.”
I swiveled back to face the bar and indicated my displeasure by chugging my beer wordlessly.
In my peripheral vision, however, I picked up on the way the group of guys were huddling together a little, talking in low voices, and casting furtive glances at us.
More specifically, I thought with a sinking heart, Robin.
And yet, even as my heart sank, my cock rose.
“I’ll have another Cracked Canoe,” I practically shouted at the bartender. I looked over at Robin, who set her empty glass on the bar.
“When in Rome,” she said, with a shrug.
*
Things were pretty low-key for the next hour or so. The group of guys played their air hockey game and split up to play darts, the camp drunk came in and started telling everyone what was what in politics and art before the bartender kicked him out. Robin and I got pretty tipsy, and started up a conversation with another couple who were slightly older than us, who reported that they had heard about this place from some friends.
For a while, everything seemed to be pretty normal again. I started to shake off (or anesthetize) some of my dark clouds of worry.
But then Heath came back. “Hey,” he said again.
“Oh, hi,” Robin said cheerfully. She nudged me with her foot, and then leaned flirtatiously on the counter. “How’s your air-hockey going?”
Heath shrugged. “So listen, we’re about to head back there now, but usually we have a little Friday get-together at Freddy’s place. Pretty much everyone in the Camp stops by. It’s pretty chill, don’t worry. But, uh... come by, if you want to. It’s a good time.”
Robin gave him a warm smile. “Thanks,” she said. “Maybe we’ll check it out.”
And another drawn-out look simmered between them.
Or was that my imagination? My gut felt cold. I lifted my glass and took a sip of my beer.
Heath paid his tab and headed back to the group, who I could swear seemed to be waiting excitedly for news of our answer.
“So...?” I said, after waiting a while, giving Robin an arched eyebrow.
I’ll admit, I sort of wanted to check out the party. But mostly I was tired, and the place had gone from being interesting to making me really uneasy.
After all, when I’d told Robin I would have to head back to work for a few weeks and she’d be here all alone, I had pictured her in an entirely different situation. Not some paradise for baby-boomers' kids, surrounded by a bunch of fit, flirtatious men like Heath.
I didn’t mind going home, either.
Robin brought the beer to her lips. “I don’t know. I’m kind of curious,” she said. “Let’s go check it out.”
“Oh really?” I said.
Robin shrugged. “It’s something to do. The house is a mess...”
Heath passed our table on the way out.“You comin’?” he said, looking at Robin when he began the sentence and then at me with a steely gaze. His eyes dropped back to Robin’s breasts, and the swatch of fabric that let just the tiniest sliver of her crack peek out.
“Yeah,” I said.
Heath shifted his gaze back to me. “Okay man,” he said. “We’re 17 on the Lake Drive.”
And then another sweeping gaze at Robin’s breasts, and he was off.
Robin brought her beer to her lips with a smile on her face. When she looked at me, as she was sipping her beer, she rolled her eyes.
“What’s that for?” I said. I was actually feeling almost as sour as I sounded.
“You know what,” she said.
“That guy is totally macking on you,” I said.
Robin erupted in a laugh that made her bring her hand to her mouth to keep beer from coming out.
“Macking?!” she said, when she’d recovered. She tipped her glass at mine and they clinked. Then she held her hand to ear like it was a phone. “1997 is on the phone, they want their mascot back.”
I brought my beer to my lips, giving her a nod of appreciation for the jab. “He is, though.”
Robin let out a funny sound. That’s when I realized she was pretty tipsy. “Macking. He’s macking on me,” she mocked.
She was really quite drunk. She laughed at her own joke and leaned back on the chair. “One for the road?” she asked me.
I made a face. “What?”
She waved her hand at me vaguely and slid out of the chair. “It’s a long walk,” she said. She offered no further explanation, just purchased another two beers and headed for the door after slipping her purse over her shoulder as she passed our table. “Let’s go,” she said. “I want to see what this party’s about but you know me. I turn into a pumpkin after ten.”
Robin was definitely the morning person between us.
I followed her into the darkness, feeling incredibly unsettled. Between the bad vibe I’d gotten from the surrounding area, the good vibe that was so incongruent with what Robin had told me about this place, and the way she was acting, I felt like it was probably in my best interest to just go to bed. Reset the whole thing.
But I didn’t.
*
At the bar, the place had felt more like a fun vacation spot for thirty-to-forty somethings. There had been some people with kids there, some older people, and a pretty civilized atmosphere.
But the college-campus vibe I had been feeling out on the yard when we first arrived returned, in increments, as we neared 17 Lake Drive.
Loud music carried through the humid night all the way down the street, and as we neared the house we heard voices – a lot of male voices – rising and falling in waves of cheers and laughter that typically accompanied games like beer pong and keg stands.
It wasn’t that bad, but it wasn’t that far off the mark when we got there. There were no college-aged guys in sight, but there were very few women. Most of the guys, while a little pudgier than, say, an 18-year-old athlete, were pretty fit, and they were leaning on the railings of the porch or playing Foosball (the source of the racket, a very intense game was going on). From inside the house, the heady scent of weed drifted into the street.
As we neared the cottage, I noticed a red pickup truck parked in the drive, clearly belonging to someone who wasn’t a guest at this place. It jogged something in my memory, but I was too drunk to figure it out for a few moments.
I was not unaware of how many sets of eyes gravitated toward us as we walked up the steps. I kept my hands in my pockets and tried to look as cool as a lot of these guys did. But I knew they weren’t looking at me. I looked down at Robin’s shorts and felt an urge to tug them down further and cover up more of her thigh.
I didn’t act on it, of course.
And then, just as we reached the threshold, my blood went ice-cold. I looked back at the haphazardly parked truck.
Red truck.
The same truck that had passed our cottage earlier while Robin was outside naked.
Heath greeted us almost as soon as we walked in. He stood up
from a table where he appeared to be playing a card game. “Robbie!” he shouted, christening Robin with a nickname like she was an old, old friend. “And Toby!”
“Tony,” I corrected him flatly.
“Yeah, right.” Heath said. “Here!” he yelled back at his companions at the table. “Here! We have another player. I think you will find this candidate suitable.”
Heath put his hands on Robin’s shoulders and turned her toward the table, where three guys and one attractive girl, possibly even the Swedish-looking girl from the bike earlier in the day – looked at Robin appreciatively.
“I like this player. Darlin’ you can join our poker game any time,” one of them slurred.
The Swedish-looking girl smiled demurely.
Robin looked at Heath, who still had her by the shoulders. She brought her hand up to her purse strap and adjusted it nervously. I could see that all of these guys were quite drunk now, two of them had the red-rimmed eyes of the severely intoxicated. “Oh,” Robin said, and she cast a quick glance back at me as though for help. “I don’t... I’m not any good at poker.”
Heath maneuvered her into a chair, smiling. He pushed her gently into the seat, and Robin fell with a plop. “That’s just the kind of player we’re looking for, sweetie.”
It was then that I noticed that the Swedish girl, who was also looking quite intoxicated, was only wearing a bra. And that two of the guys had no shirt on.
“Honey,” I began.
But Robin was already agreeing to the game. She gave a shrug and set her purse down, winding the strap carefully around it. Heath pushed a shot of vodka at her. One of the three guys at the table, a tall one who was still wearing all of his clothes and was looking at my wife hungrily, began to deal the cards.
I leaned down to whisper in Robin’s ear. “Honey, this is -”
Heath interrupted me. “Hey Toby,” he said.
“Tony, man,” I said, annoyed.
“Sorry. Tony. Man, go get you and your wife something to drink. I’m so rude I forgot to ask you all.”
I tapped Robin on the shoulder again. “Honey, this is a game of strip poker,” I said.
“What?!” Robin exclaimed. She looked around the table. “Oh! Oh my gosh.” She waved her hand around. “I... oh gosh, I’m sorry, I can’t play strip poker,” she said.
Heath looked at her, crestfallen. “Oh come on, please,” he pleaded. “We already dealt you in. That wouldn’t be fair.”
“He’s right,” the guy dealing the cards said. “It would be fair.” He grinned at Robin and then lifted his eyes to meet mine. For a second, I saw something sinister flare in them. Then he dropped them back to the table. “Just one hand. You can’t lose more than your shoe.”
To my surprise, Robin hesitated only a second. Then she picked up the cards. “Well, I guess that’s true,” she said. She leaned back against me, taking my hand in hers and squeezing it. “Honey would you go get me a drink please?”
“There’s booze on the kitchen table,” Heath suggested. “And some mixers.”
I was incredibly aggravated with Robin. What the hell was going on here? This was so far from her typical personality I almost couldn’t believe it was going on. Robin didn’t play cards, didn’t like smoking, wasn’t a huge party person, certainly didn’t like anyone acting immature, and did not do things like strip – even her shoe – in front of a bunch of ogling men.
But I didn’t want to be a prick or look like some fucking jealous husband, so I said, very cheerfully: “All right. Anything in particular you want?”
Robin waved her hand vaguely at me, arranging her cards. Jesus, I thought. She had no idea what she was doing. “Just... whatever,” she said. “Something sort of sweet.”
I went into the kitchen in a huff that I tried to keep suppressed. No sense looking like a jackass.
I was all set for the kitchen to look like a frat party, but the age of the party-goers became evident in there. People might be smoking pot and playing strip poker, but there were no red plastic cups strewn all over the floor, no spills, no keg, and no wild party-goers slamming beer bongs. Candles flickered in the window sills and a length of the counter had been given over to an array of costly alcohol and some mixers.
I settled down a bit. People were serving drinks in glassware here. No one was actually going to strip. This was just a bunch of middle-aged people, like myself, pretending to be bad-asses but also cleaning up all spills promptly from the floor.
A group of attractive women were leaning toward each other at a table, and when I paused in front of the drinks for a few moments, one of them looked up. “Need a glass?” she said, in an earthy voice.
“Uh... yeah, I need two, actually,” I said.
“I’m Kelly,” she said, her hand out as she approached me. I shook it. Shaking hands like that made me feel yet again better. Grown-ups shook hands and offered people glasses.
Kelly was clearly in her thirties, but she had a nice figure and an especially great ass. Her light brown hair was sun-streaked and her blue eyes twinkled youthfully. She took over the making of the drinks after retrieving a few glasses from the cupboard. “What’ll you have?” she said. “I make a great martini.”
I averted my eyes from her ample cleavage, pressing out from behind a low-cut shirt. For the first time in a long time, I felt a little tingle of excitement in my spine about another woman.
I looked out the window. Hanging lights illuminated patches of the porch and the lawn beyond it. The cool, back-lit blue of a pool or a hot tub shimmered in the distance. The figure of a girl moved languidly next to it.
“I’ll... sure, I’ll take a martini,” I said.
Kelly smiled. If I hadn’t known better, I would have taken her smile for slightly flirtatious.
What are you doing, my conscience growled wryly at me in the back of my head.
Fuck it, I thought. If Robin was going to play “just one hand” of strip poker (I burned again at the back of the neck with annoyance), I could flirt a little bit with an attractive woman.
“One martini coming up,” Kelly said.
I leaned against the counter, completely missing her incorrect count of the drinks. “I’ll just lean here and watch your magic,” I said. It was sort of a hokey line, but who cared?
And Kelly smiled again.
I watched her make the martinis. Her expert shaking was impressive, and it gave her ample bosom a nice jiggle as she did it. She smoothly made two martinis, and then took one for herself. She brought the drink to her sensual lips, and took a sip. “So,” she said. “What brings you to Camp Taghkana?”
I took a sip of the martini. Ice-cold, very dirty, and excellent, as promised, the drink almost reminded me of Kelly herself.
“This is good,” I said.
She nodded.
“I’m here helping... well, my wife’s family left her a cottage, and we just came up to get it ready to sell.”
Kelly took a sip of her martini with a sexy twist of the glass. “You don’t want to keep it?” she purred.
I looked around the kitchen again. It was at this particular point that a full realization of precisely how drunk I was began to wash over me. “Um...” I said.
A sense of foreboding was descending on me. Kind of like I had perhaps ended up in a horror movie of some kind. Kelly, as pretty as she was, was being a little too friendly. In fact, everything was starting to seem really weird.
“Uh,” I said. “You know, it isn’t what I expected, that’s for sure.”
Kelly gave a me a smile over the rim of her martini glass. The edge of the drink flickered with the candlelight and I had a flashback of a scene from the thriller The Firm, where all the women were actually demons.
I pretty much slammed my martini. Kelly turned the conversation to talking about the pool, and the whole scene went back to feeling normal again, but I couldn’t shake my misgivings about it.
I get like this when I’m drunk.
“Shit,” I said suddenly
. “I forgot to get a drink for my wife.”
Kelly’s smile didn’t waver. In fact, she seemed even more flirtatious after this announcement. She popped an olive between her full lips, and kissed it the way a woman would give head, and then bit down on the little sword with her ultra-white teeth and pulled it off and into her mouth.
And then she did this thing, reminiscent of porn, where she sort of showed me that the olive was in her mouth the way porn-stars will sometimes show that they have a wad of cum they’re about to swallow.
So, creeps or not, my cock twitched to life.
Kelly turned to the counter to make another martini, and I watched her breasts bounce and wondered what they looked like bare.
“Here you are,” she said, handing me the drink. “I hope she enjoys it.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled. “I...”
“Come back if you need something else,” she said, and I felt like she winked at me. Just barely, not enough to be sure of it. A little flutter of the eyelid. Just enough to make me wonder, as she sauntered away, her round bottom pretty in her jeans, what she meant by “something else.”
“What are you doing?” I said to myself, under my breath, and hustled into the other room to give the martini to Robin.
The party in the living area had picked up quite a bit without my notice as I had been talking to Kelly.
And so had the strip poker.
I stopped mid-stride, taking in the scene.
The men had lost their shirts. One guy was a bit hairy and flabby, and the other was just an average guy in his mid-thirties. The guy who had been dealing cards was, unsurprisingly I suppose, covered in tattoos. And then there was Heath, who may have been in his early thirties but had the body of a college-aged athlete. Muscled biceps, the contours of a six-pack, and lean, tan shapeliness throughout his torso.
And the Swedish-looking girl had taken off her bra.
My eyes went automatically to her full breasts. Her tanned skin was splotched by a triangle of slightly less-tan skin, evidence that she only occasionally covered her breasts while she sunbathed. Her nipples were erect like erasers, about the same color and shape, and her aureole were tidy, flawless circles that almost looked airbrushed. She looked, in a word... nubile.
Robin's Fix: A Hotwife Novel Page 3