Still Into You: A Novel (Better Than Series Book 3) (5 page)

Chapter 6-Present:  Vacation

“Shut your mouth.”

I look at Jules incredulously and reply, “I didn’t say anything.”

“I know you didn’t.  Your mouth is hanging open.”

And well it should.  Jules and I are in the back of a taxi, having just been driven through the gates to our incredibly luxurious and exclusive resort.  I realize that my mouth is, indeed, agape.  I take Jules’ words to heart, close my mouth and gulp.  This place is gorgeous, and HUGE.  From the taxi, I view an expansive pool area, with what appears to be a zero-entry, sand-bottomed infinity pool.  It looks like the pool goes on forever, as you can’t tell where the edge of it is and where the ocean begins from this perspective.  The pool area is all done in whites and soft pinks.  Towels are laid over the back of each inviting lounge chair.  The blue of the pool is like none I’ve ever seen before, the same color as the Gulf of Mexico. Yes, this will do nicely for twelve days.  If I’m this impressed with the pool, I wonder what the condo and beach will be like? 

The taxi drops us at the lobby, I pay and tip the driver after he hands our luggage out to us.  He thanks us and then gives me a card with the taxi information, “in case we want to leave the resort for dinner or dancing or something.”  Right now, I see no reason to leave at all, but I take the card, just in case.  I pull up the handle of my suitcase and roll it into the lobby.  It’s exquisite – beachy, but elegant.  It’s slightly odd to see people in swimsuits and sandals milling about in a lobby with pink marble tiling, pillars and a chandelier.  It’s a very different feel from the chilly Midwest we just left.  Tugging on my suitcase and viewing the attire of those around us, I realize I’ve brought
way
too many clothes.  I could probably survive with two or three swimsuits, a couple of sundresses, t-shirts and shorts.

Jules goes to the desk and returns with two key cards. 

“We have a Gulf view on the tenth floor.  I booked us into a condo with two master bedrooms, both with views,” Jules tells me excitedly.  She is practically bounding through the lobby as we walk to the elevators.

“If I haven’t thanked you yet – Thank. You,” I say sincerely.  Jules, the master organizer, has thought of everything.  I haven’t done anything to help with the planning of this trip, except purchase resort wear and pack (with help from Davis. Oh, boy, did I pack!).

Once in the elevator, Jules presses the number 10 and then turns and wraps me up in a giant hug. 

“No thanks are necessary.  You know I love planning stuff.  Thanks for letting me take care of it all.  I think it will be a good break for us both.”

I’m curious, so I ask, “Won’t you miss Kitten?”

“Yes, I’ll miss her every day, but I’m also looking forward to sleeping in, reading an entire magazine and not having a chaperone for all bathroom activities.”  Jules sighs happily at the prospect.

“I guess that means we have separate bathrooms?” I tease.

“Absolutely.  It will be nice to have some space to myself.  At least until Charlie gets here.”  Pointing to her belly, she adds, “This may be my last chance before the next one comes.”

Jules doesn’t look pregnant.  I can tell she’s pregnant, because, well, she’s my best friend, but to the rest of the world, she looks like a hot chick with big boobs – boobs courtesy of the pregnancy.   According to Jules, it’s Charlie’s favorite part of pregnancy.  That and the second trimester horniness.

“God, I’m so glad I’m finally past the first trimester.  I was nauseous until a week ago.  I finally feel good,” Jules tells me.  Charlie should be a very happy man when he gets here. 

Surprisingly, I’m not sad or envious when Jules talks about being pregnant.  It’s the next best thing to it happening to me, because she shares every horrible, disgusting and wonderful part of it with me – including the baby at the end.  One thing we absolutely share right now is fatigue.  We are both exhausted from the trip.

As we unpack, I yell to Jules’ bedroom, “I think we need to go to the store and stock up for the week.”

“Ugh, I’m tired,” Jules shouts back, “Can’t we go later?”

I wander into the condo’s gourmet kitchen to get a glass of water and see that it is already full of all our favorite foods.

              “Jules, I don’t think we have to go.  Come look.”

Jules, now barefoot and in a loose sundress, comes into the kitchen.  She looks around and jumps up and down, clapping her hands. “They thought of everything, didn’t they?  Coffee, soda, chocolate, yummy bread, cheese, even gummy bears.”  We examine all the cabinets and the fridge.  We are set.  Charlie and Davis took great care of us.

“You do look a little tired, Jules.  Why don’t you have a nap and when you wake up, I’ll make dinner and we can eat it out on the balcony.  We can make our plans for the week,” I suggest.

Jules sighs and nods her head, “That sounds like heaven.  I’m going to open the sliding door in my bedroom so I can hear the ocean.”

I walk the few steps toward her and give her a squeeze, “Excellent idea. I’ll wake you for dinner.”

I go to my bedroom and open my own sliding door leading to the balcony.  I step out and look out over the ocean.  The sound, the smell, it all relaxes.  I close my eyes and enjoy the warm breeze blowing across my skin.  I have an idea, walk back into my room, retrieve my phone and return to the balcony.  I take a picture of the view and text it to Davis along with a message:

We are here.  It’s beautiful.  Thanks for doing the grocery shopping.  Tell Charlie Thanks too.  This is the view.  I can’t wait to share it with you.  <3 Biz

I wait a few minutes.  Davis doesn’t text back.  I look at the time on the phone.  I realize he is probably still on the plane or just getting off in Atlanta.  Their flight left a few hours after ours.

I’m feeling a little wiped out myself, so I set the alarm on my phone for an hour, lie down on top of the king-sized bed and look out at the blue, blue ocean sky.  Just a little nap, that’s all I need.

***

“Biz?”

Davis turns to me and shakes my arm.  I wake up and see we’re in the waiting room of an airport.  I’m confused.  What am I doing in a waiting room?  In an airport?  How did I get here?  I’m on vacation with Jules.

“Don’t worry.  We’ll catch the next one.  We’ll get home to the kids.  Don’t worry,” Davis rubs my arm some more.

The kids? 

I look down at Davis’ hand on my arm, it changes to a woman’s hand and then I hear, “Biz?” again.  It’s a woman’s voice.  It’s Jules’.  I look up from the hand and see my best friend cuddled up next to me.

I blink repeatedly and then stare up at her.  The light in the room has dimmed.  It’s a diffuse pinky-orange.  I look all around and come to the conclusion that the airport waiting room was just a dream.  I think it was a good dream.  I was waiting for something. A plane.  I was going to “take off,” to my – kids.  I smile up at Jules.  “I just had the nicest, weirdest dream.  It was short, but it made me feel happy.”

Jules pushes a bit of hair out of my face, just like a mom would do and asks, “What was it about?”

I tell her about my brief dream.  Davis, me, waiting to get on a plane to go to our kids.

“Have you ever had a dream come true, Biz?”

I think back to when I first met Davis.  I had a dream he came to me, began to make love to me.  He was wearing a black shirt and had cut his hair.  Months later, when we did get together, he was wearing the exact shirt and had cut his hair.  I smile to myself before I answer, “Yes, I have. I married him.”

“Maybe this one will come true, too.” 

That would be nice, I think to myself.  I wonder if it means we’ll be flying somewhere to get our children.  Adoption?

Jules pulls back the covers and changes the subject, “Now, get up!  It’s time for dinner.”  Jules moves off the bed and goes to stand in the doorway of the balcony.

I sit up and stretch.  “
I
was going to make dinner.”

“You were sound asleep and I woke up early from my nap.  You slept right through your alarm.  Guess which one of us was more tired?”  Jules winks at me.  “I made shrimp risotto.  The guys thought of
eve-ry-thing.
They even had whoever brought the food in write down a few meal suggestions.”

Still in my t-shirt and boxers, I join Jules in the doorway.  The sun setting over the Gulf of Mexico, stretched out in front of us, is glorious.  Now I know where the light in my room came from.  I inhale.  The clean, salty, slightly water-heavy air refreshes me.  Looking out over the balcony, I see families launching kites into the wind.  Little children squealing with laughter as they catch the sea breeze.  Fathers’ deep chuckles.  I can smell steaks grilling in the pavilion below.  Mothers setting tables with picnic ware.  I didn’t realize I was so tense, until just this moment, when I consciously feel my shoulders relax.

“Let’s have dinner out here.  On the balcony,” I suggest, not looking at Jules, but continuing to take in the sights and smells of my temporary resort home.

“My thoughts, exactly,” Jules agrees.

We set the table with the nautical-themed dishware and light a few candles in metal lanterns and bring them out to the table on the balcony.  Jules and I eat a leisurely dinner of risotto, salad and for dessert, key lime gelato.  I thought briefly about having a glass of wine or beer.  Being pregnant, Jules can’t drink and I’m not super interested in drinking alone.  Instead, we both succumb to that delicious southern drink – Sweet Tea.  We discuss our plans for the week and agree that nothing should feel like work.  So, lying on the beach, reading, swimming, lying by the pool, shopping, going to the spa, eating, drinking more sweet tea (we clink our wine glasses full of it together), watching movies and lying around the condo – that’s the agreed-upon plan.  Lots of lying around.  We begin to discuss the next day when both our phones alert in chorus.  Jules and I look at each other and shrug.

“Really?” Jules giggles.

We pick up our phones, show the names on the screen to each other and say our husband’s names out loud. 

We both shake our heads.  Jules snarks, “Checking up on us already.”

I open Davis’ text fully.

Hi, Lizard Baby.  We’re in Atlanta.  That’s a beautiful view.  Can’t wait to see it with you.  Going to bed-big day tomorrow and for the next few days.  Will fall asleep looking at a better view-a picture of you.  Love you.

Davis really likes pictures.  He’s a pretty visual person.

I text back.

Love you too.  So much. Remind me to tell you about my dream.

              My phone alerts again as I’m about to put it down.

I will.  HAVE FUN.

              I smile to myself and clutch my iPhone to my chest, as if it were a conduit to Davis’ arms.  I look across the table.  Jules is texting and mumbling and softly laughing to herself.  I go back to my dinner.

              I hear Jules set her phone back on the table. “So they’re there.  What did Davis say?”

              “Just that he was going to bed and he couldn’t wait to see the view here.  I sent him a picture earlier.  How about Charlie?” I ask.

              “About the same.  And then he sent me a few selfies that Kitten took on my mom’s phone. Look.”  Jules holds up her phone for me to see a picture of Kitten wearing a tiara and making a duck face, just like a teenager.

              I sigh and say, “I love that kid.”

              “She loves you.”

              Finishing our meal, we finalize tomorrow’s plans while cleaning up.

             
Chapter 7-Present:  The Beach

              We hit the beach early.  Rambling across the wooden bridge that leads over the dunes to the beach, I scan the horizon and then pull my view back, widening it.  I see we practically have the whole private beach to ourselves this morning. There are a few runners and the beach crew setting up the chairs and umbrellas.  There are, actually, more gulls and shore birds than people.  The tide is out and the birds are finding their breakfast in the sand.

              “Good morning, ladies!” a slightly rough-edged voice pulls my attention from the peaceful beach.  A very handsome guy, like VERY handsome, is looking up at us from the end of the wooden bridge.  Ridiculously tan, spiky, sun-bleached blonde hair and muscles visible, even through the clothes on the few parts of his body that are covered. He’s wearing colorful jams and a faded blue, worn t-shirt with the arms cut off.  The word RENTAL is stretched across the front in large white block letters.

              Jules turns her head, widens her eyes and whispers what I’m thinking, “We can rent
THAT
?” and then she whistles lightly.

              We both giggle like tweens.

              Rental boy interrupts, “I’m Crush.” 

Of course his name is Crush.  Why wouldn’t it be?  Hot beach boy wearing a RENTAL sign t-shirt named Crush.  Of course that’s who two married women would run into the minute they hit the beach.  As we move closer, I realize he’s not so much a boy as a man.  From the crinkles around his eyes as he smiles up at us, I gather that he’s actually older than we are, maybe early thirties, but with a phenomenal body.  I don’t feel so bad about ogling him now.

“I’m your rental guy.”  A million inappropriate responses enter my brain.  I just hope I don’t verbalize any of them and embarrass myself.  “What can I get for you ladies? Chairs? Umbrella?”

Crush explains to us that we can rent the lounge chairs and umbrellas by the day or the week.  One of the beach crew will set them up every morning by eight o’clock and put them away at four o’clock in the afternoon.  They are ours all day.  We’ll know how to find them in the morning, because there will be a sign with Jules’ last name on the back of the chairs.  Jules takes over and makes all the arrangements with Crush, while I stand and well, basically, gawk.  Crush directs us to a pair of lounge chairs and an umbrella that are already set up. 

“Just let me know if you need anything else, okay, ladies?  If you need the umbrella moved or you want to go kayaking or out on the catamaran.  I can hook you up,” Crush says before turning to leave and help the other guys.  I’m sure he’s being so attentive because we’re the only ones on the beach.  What a nice guy.

“Oh, my god.  Everything that came out of that guy’s mouth sounded dirty to me,” Jules says, “Am I right? Or is it just my pregnancy hormones firing out of control?”

I laugh out loud, “No, I was thinking the same thing.  He was so hot.  At first I thought he was just a kid, but once we got closer…”

Jules starts organizing our beach area, but looks up to waggle her eyebrows at me. Grabbing my elbow, she whispers loudly, “I know!”

Jules and I spend the morning on the beach.  It begins to fill up with college kids and families on spring break by ten.  We get about two hours of quiet to read and lounge until the noise of the other tourists begins to penetrate our peace.  The tide has come up.  It’s the perfect time to go for a swim.

The rising tide provides us with killer waves on which to body surf.  We laugh and tumble, the motion pushing us out of control like toddlers.  Upon exiting the ocean, we are exhausted and happy, laughing at the top of our lungs.

As we pack up our beach bags to go in for lunch, our boy (we’ve decided he is “our” beach boy), Crush appears.

“You ladies going in for a while?” he asks.

I giggle, like seriously giggle and widen my eyes at Jules, keeping my face turned away from Crush. “Uhm, Yeah, Crush…we’re gonna go have lunch.  It’s getting kind of crowded out here.”

Crush replies, “Between ten and two are the busiest time.  All the college kids.  They don’t wake up early.  I prefer the early morning.” Crush looks out at the water.  “Most mornings the dolphins are out there jumping.  Maybe you’ll see it.  Morning, man.  It’s just so sweet.” 

The intonation of his last phrase instantly brings to mind Jeff Spicoli, the surfer stoner from
Fast Times at Ridgemont High
.  Looking over Crush again, I can see a resemblance – tan, sun-bleached blonde hair, crazily white teeth.  Yup, Spicoli, all grown up and with a job.

We are halfway across the wooden bridge spanning the dunes when we encounter three, obviously college age, guys.  I’m only twenty-seven, but I’m surprised by how young they seem.  Young and carefree. 

If it is, indeed, possible to be eye-fucked, Jules and I were getting eye-gang-banged.  The three cuties, (yes, it’s true, way cute), gave us both the once over as we passed them on the bridge.

“Wait! Where you going?” one of them said.

Are they talking to us?

I turn, push my sunglasses down my nose to peek over them, and with the same hand point to myself.

“Us?” I ask.

“Yeah,” another one of the guys says. “You abandoning us when we just got here?  It’s not fair.”

We laugh out loud, wave them off and keep walking toward the condo.

The first guy calls out after us, “No, really, where ya goin’?  You look so fine this morning.  Don’t deprive us.”

I think I have giggled more this morning than I have in years.  I’ve also not had this much obvious attention from any man other than my husband in a while.  It’s weird and flattering.  It feels good to be silly.

The guys don’t stop.  They have continued to yell to us. “Don’t leave.” “Come to the pool tonight.” And my favorite, just because it made Jules squeel and grab my arm in disbelief, “Shit, did you see that blonde?… Holy fuck!… she was so HOT!”

***

             
We’re going to the pool tonight.  Not because the Spring Break guys invited us there, but because tonight we’ve decided to cook out.  The resort has a large pavilion with gas grills, available for any of the guests to use.  It’s adjacent to the pool, so you can cook, drink, look at the view and take a dip in the pool if you get too warm. 

Steaks, grilled corn and sliced tomatoes are on the menu for tonight – one of my favorite summertime meals.  I’m in charge of the grilling.  Jules is sipping on a travel cup full of sweet tea and lounging in the sand at the shallow end of the pool, singing along to the music that’s playing on the speakers.  I think the song is, “Like a G6.”  Pool music.  She looks over to smile and make a face at me while I cook.  Just as I call to her that our dinner is ready and begin to take the steaks off the grill, I notice that she has been joined by two of the Spring Break guys from the bridge this morning.

              “Okay, guys, I gotta go. You heard the lady.  Dinnertime!” Jules informs them.

              One of them looks up toward me and gives me an up-nod.  Then I realize he’s responding to the guy at the grill beside me.  College guy number three.  I didn’t even know he was there.  He was so quiet and I was busy grilling and watching Jules.  He seems less rowdy than the other two.  Light brown hair that’s cut in a short, preppy style.  Behind his hipster glasses, he has some of the darkest brown eyes I’ve ever seen.  He’s about Davis’ height, but with a narrower frame.

              “Looks like it’s our dinnertime, too,” I hear the guy that looked up, say to his friend and Jules.

The larger of the guys walking over with Jules says, “Let’s all eat together.”

              Before I can open my mouth, Jules responds, “Sure.”

              It will be a table for five in the pavilion tonight.

              I introduce myself to Spring Break guy number three, the cook, “Hey, I’m Biz.  Looks like we’re having dinner together.”

              He lowers his head, smiles shyly, and steps toward me.  I notice he wipes his hand on his baggy cargo shorts before offering it to me to shake it.  He makes eye contact briefly, only once our hands touch, and says, “Nice to meet you.  My name is Quarter.”

              I’ve never heard anyone with that name before. “Quarter? Is that a family name?” I ask.

              Jules and the other boys have made their way to our table at the pavilion.  Jules is grabbing plates, cups and silverware from our basket and starting to set the table.

              One of Quarter’s friends, the one with a blonde buzz cut and matching tribal tattoos around his biceps, answers my question, “‘Quarter’ is short for Herbert Edward Dow,
the fourth
.”

              Quarter concurs, almost embarrassed, “Yeah, I’m a fourth. And Quarter is better than being called Herbie.”

              I have to agree and nod while looking at him with a smile on my face.

              Jules introduces herself to Quarter, then tells me the other two guys’ names, Jack, the one with the buzz cut, and Clay.  They both reach across the table to shake my hand.  Clay is the beefiest of the three.  He’s wearing a backward baseball cap, reflective aviators and has a full arm sleeve tattoo with images of pin-up girls and classic cars.  Oh, did I mention none of them is wearing a shirt? None of them.

              As we eat and share all of our collective food, we find out the guys are from University of Georgia.  Clay proudly turns his ball cap around to show me the logo and the mascot, UGA the bulldog, emblazoned on it.  They’re all juniors.  Quarter is majoring in engineering, Jack in education and Clay has been taking biology and chemistry in hopes of getting into vet school.  It’s funny, they look like “party boys,” but each of them is rather passionate about what they’re studying.

              “Where do you ladies go to school?” Clay asks.  It may be one of the most flattering questions I’ve been asked in a long time.  They’ve got to be messing with us, because we are both wearing our wedding and engagement rings.

              “C’mon, seriously, you guys know we’re old married ladies, don’t you?” Jules laughs and holds up her hand.

              Jack blurts out, “Nope, don’t believe it.  You can’t be more than twenty-two or twenty-three, tops.”

              The whole table is laughing now.

              “Cute, very cute.  We’ve been out of school for a while.” I assure them.

              “And married?” Clay asks.  “Wow, lucky guys.”  He looks around curiously, “Where are they?”

              Jules fills them in on Charlie and Davis’ whereabouts, “My husband is a musician and her husband…” she points to me with her pretty pink manicured pinky, while holding an ear of corn, “is the lighting designer for the group.  They’re rehearsing in Atlanta. They’ll be down at the end of the week.”

              Quarter, who has barely said a word, other than to explain his name says, “Boxwood.”

              Clay and Jack’s heads pivot to look at him, like he just said something inappropriate or crazy.  Jules and I join in staring at him.  How did he know?

              “Uh, yeah…” Jules stutters, “How did you know?”

              Quiet Quarter suddenly becomes quite animated and sputters out, “Your chairs on the beach say, BOXWOOD, and I thought to myself when I saw it, ‘Oh, like the band.’ And then you said your husband was a musician.  Is your husband Charlie Boxwood?”

              I ask, tentatively, “You guys know who Boxwood is?”

              They all nod vigorously and say, “Yeah.” “Sure.” And “Yeah, they play them on the college station in Athens all the time.  Most college kids know Boxwood.  They’re awesome.”  Clay, Jack and Quarter begin rattling off the names of Boxwood songs.  Songs we are very familiar with.  It’s surreal.

              Jules and I look at each other astounded.  Boxwood is bigger than we thought.  Jules promises to introduce them to Charlie when he arrives.  They are well and truly excited about the prospect.

              After we finish our long, fun dinner, we load our supplies into a beach bag and move to head upstairs.  The guys ask where we’re going and we tell them we’re going to watch a movie and then go to bed.  They complain that it’s too early for the night to end, but I’m able to distract them by pointing out three young ladies having cocktails in the pool. 

              “Quarter?”

              “Yes, Miss Biz,” he drawls.

              “You see those beautiful girls over there?” I ask.

              He lowers his head, but raises his eyes to look at them. “Yeah, I see’em…”

              “Well, the one with the long wavy black hair has had her eyes on you all during dinner.  I suggest you go introduce yourself.”  This boy needs a little push, I can tell.

              Quarter shakes his head back and forth, silently refuting my statement.

              I have an idea.  “Jack, Clay…Please, help this boy out and walk him over to those pretty girls and make him introduce himself.  I think it could work out well for all of you.”