Wish Come True (The Blogger Diaries Trilogy Book 3) (18 page)

Dat ass.

Since he’s pulled out clothes to get dressed for the day, I lean over the side of the bed to find where he might have tossed mine when he undressed me before he woke me with his mouth. It was just the pair of comfy pants and T-shirt I had been wearing last night while watching TV with Mom and Granny, figuring I could just bring Jason to the house to see them and I could get dressed there, wasting no time packing anything.
 

As we head out the door, Jason hangs the Do Not Disturb sign on the handle, I assume since he’s left his handgun in the room, and I call my mom on our walk to the car and tell her our plans, confirming she’s all right with keeping Josalyn for the day. I decided to drive, since he was on the road for so long yesterday. I asked him one more time if he was sure he wanted to make the trek down to the beach, and he swore it was fine by him.
 

Soon, we pull into my driveway.
 

We walk across the yard and in through the side door, and when we enter the living room, I can only stare in wide-eyed surprise as Riley prances up to Jason wagging his tail, not a single bark escaping his normally over-yappy mouth. Riley hates everyone.
 

Jason reaches down to pet him, and I quickly warn, “He bites! He’ll act like he’s being sweet, just gonna sniff you, but then he’ll attack.” But even as the words leave me, it’s like Riley wants to make a liar out of me, because as sweet as a well-trained puppy, the little asshole lets Jason pet him, and then Jason picks him up in his massive arms. Riley lets
no one
but me pick him up. He’ll let my mom and Granny pet and snuggle him, but he gets a little snippy if they try to pick him up.
 

And so, in awe, I watch as the Chihuahua having an identity crisis licks Jason all over his face then turns to look at me like, ‘You were saying?’

Hurriedly, I pull my digital camera out of my purse and snap a picture. That’s definitely going on the blog.
 

“Granny, this is Jason,” I say with a cheek-aching grin as he walks over to her where she’s sitting at the kitchen counter, shaking her hand gently with Riley still nestled to his chest.
 

“Well, I’ll be damned, KD. Would you look at that? They say dogs are a good judge’a character, and Riley doesn’t like nobody,” Granny says, her southern accent thick as she finishes the bite of Bojangle’s biscuit she’d been eating when we walked in.
 

“Nice to meet you, ma’am. Kayla talks about you all the time. She sure loves her granny,” he tells her, giving her his charming smile.

“You’re damn right she does. That’s my baby girl. And don’t go breaking her heart again or I’ll give you a ride on my foot,” she threatens, narrowing her blue eyes on him and waggling a naturally long-nailed finger at him.
 

“No, ma’am. I wouldn’t dream of it,” he replies, taking the old woman’s intimidation in stride, making me smile over at Mom, who’s holding Josalyn in her lap on one of the barstools.
 

“Hey, Jason. Glad to see you made it safe, sweetie,” Mom says.

“That was one hell of a drive. Think I’ll be flying next time,” he remarks, and it causes butterflies to set off in flight inside me, thinking about him coming to see me again. It’s still surreal to me he’s even here. It’s hard to imagine him returning.

As Jason makes his way over to my mom, I tell them I’m gonna run upstairs and change, and I catch a glimpse of Josalyn reaching up to him and him taking her in his other arm not holding Riley before I get too high up the stairs to see anymore.
 

It’s still a little chilly, and I’m sure it’ll be even cooler down at the beach, so I put on some jeans, a cami, and a hoodie. I freshen up in the bathroom, brushing my teeth and squirting some perfume on, and after using a washcloth on my face, I put on some moisturizer and my makeup before heading back downstairs.
 

We hang out for a few minutes with the ladies in my life, but knowing it’s just going to be a day trip to Myrtle Beach, we escape quickly so we can go on our adventure.
 

The drive is fun, us play fighting over who gets control over the radio. I win when I tell him the line from one of my favorite shows,
Supernatural
, “Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole.” Our first stop is the box office of Medieval Times. We get the tickets to the 2:00 p.m. dinner show, which gives us a couple hours to kill, so we head to the beach.
 

We find a bar on The Strand, the shops and restaurants lining the road along the ocean, and we stop to have a drink, him choosing a Budweiser, and me a fruity concoction, feeling festive at the beach, though I’m cold, even with my hoodie on. Afterward, we walk hand-in-hand in the sand until I spot one of my favorite stores, a three-story beach shop with all sorts of souvenirs.
 

There’s a pressed penny machine—I have a giant collection of the flattened and engraved copper coins—and I choose the one that says ‘I love you. Myrtle Beach’ with a heart in the center, cranking the handle twice so I can make him one too. He puts it in his wallet and calls it his lucky penny after giving me a kiss.
 

Soon, it’s almost time for our show, so we drive back to Medieval Times and park. We’re the first ones to arrive, so when we walk up the drawbridge across the mote and in through the massive doorway, I’m giddy as hell seeing I have full access to all the shops without having to wait in line.
 

I buy a souvenir program to add to my collection. I get one at every event and show I go to, from the
Stars on Ice
Mom, Granny, and I went to see at the Crown Coliseum a few years ago, to the one I got from
Phantom of the Opera
when it came to Raleigh. I also get a shot glass with the Medieval Times logo, and a magnet. Jason chooses a shot glass the size of five stacked on top of each other, which has a sort of ruler printed on it, measuring just how drunk you’d be if you filled it to a certain line.

When we enter into the main area, giving them our tickets, we’re handed card-stock crowns, which are red and yellow striped, signifying which knight we’ll be rooting for during the tournament. I don’t hesitate folding mine together, adjusting it to fit my head and putting it on, but Jason just holds his in his hand.
 

“You have to put it on,” I tell him, raising an eyebrow.

“Nah, I’m good,” he replies, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

“You
have
to put it on,” I repeat. “It’s part of the fun. Don’t act like such a hard-ass. Loosen up and put on the fucking crown.” I put my hands on my hips and stare at him haughtily, giving him ‘the look’ until he finally rolls his eyes, adjusts the crown to fit him, and then places it on his head, which he shakes while trying to hide his smile.
 

“There, you happy?” he asks, looking adorable with the bright paper crown on his dark head, completely out of place on such a badass-looking man.

“Extremely.” I grin and go up on my toes to smack a kiss on his full lips before turning toward the bar lining the entire left side of the room. “Want a drink?”

“Dear God, yes,” he says dramatically, and I slap him on his arm before leading the way over to the bartender.
 

“What will ye be havin’, milady?” he prompts in a fake British accent.

My eyes land on a souvenir glass the size of a freakin’ fishbowl, and I turn with wide eyes to look up at Jason. He sees the look on my face then glances up to see what could’ve caused it, immediately spotting the glass. “Malibu and pineapple? We can share it. I know your tiny ass won’t drink that whole thing, but I know you can’t resist that glass,” he states, making me smile. He knows me so well. I nod excitedly.

“Ah, the King’s chalice. It’s the equivalent of four individual drinks. Fine choice. Fine choice, indeed,” the bartender continues to talk animatedly in character while entertaining us with some crazy tricks with two white bottles of Malibu rum. He tops off the massive glass with pineapple juice, ending with a flourish as he decorates the top with cherries and inserts two long black straws. I applaud the show as Jason hands him cash for the drink, a whopping fifty bucks.
 

We stroll along the perimeter of the room, which has everything you’d see at a Renaissance Festival, sipping our giant drink. We walk through a maze of medieval torture devices, both of us giving each other wicked grins when we come to a set of shackles, which makes us burst out laughing at our similar lascivious thoughts.
 

A few minutes before it’s time to go into the main arena to find our seats, the building is now busy, full of families excited to see the show. I spot a young woman in costume holding a huge, lethal-looking bird, and realize she must be a falconer, just like at the Renfest I went to in Raleigh on a high school field trip. I grab Jason’s arm and pull him toward her, him holding back and making me work to haul him over.
 

“What’s wrong?” I ask him with a giggle.

“Oh, nothing, just that that thing looks like it wouldn’t hesitate to eat your face off,” he gripes.

“Quit being a pansy. This is a family establishment. I’m sure it’s well trained. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have it here,” I assure him. “Now go stand beside it. I want to take a picture.”

Being silly, he makes an awkward face and takes hesitant, stiff steps sideways until he’s beside the woman and the falcon, and I snap a photo of him staring at the bird as if waiting for it to attack. He visibly relaxes, letting me know he was just playing the drama queen the whole time, and I give him another
thwap
, this one on his chest. He makes me violent, apparently. He only grins and takes a big swig of our drink. As a small circle forms around the falconer, we listen as she gives us fun facts about what they used to use the bird for in history, and she lets us know that he will be playing an important role during the show. And with that, the big stone-looking doors open to the arena, and everyone starts filing inside.

Since we were so close to the doors when they opened, once we get to the red and yellow section matching our crowns, we got a front row seat in the stadium-style rows. Not that there would’ve been a bad seat in the entire house. In the center of the arena is a dirt floor, and at the other end are thrones, where the king and queen will sit. I remember this from when we came in middle school. At 71st Classical Middle School, our mascot was The Knights, so we had a field trip down here, I believe in the 7th grade. I also remember the food being absolutely delicious, so I hope that’s still the case.

When we’re all seated, a woman dressed in a barmaid costume stands in front of us and yells up to us in the first two rows, “Hello, everyone. I’m Franci, and I’ll be your wench today! Anytime you need anything, a refill, a napkin, you name it, all you have to do is holler, “Wench!” and I will be at your beck and call.” She does a curtsy as she says the last part. “Now, let’s practice, shall we? Ready? One… two…”
 

She raises her arms in the air, prompting us to do as she said, and we all yell, “Wench!” causing a round of laughter through the crowd. All around the arena, we hear the echo of other groups giving their practice cry of summoning their waitress as Franci makes her way down our row, taking our drink order. When she’s done, she stands back in front of us.

“Now, for those of you who have never been here before, and for those who don’t know this, there were no eating utensils back in Medieval Times. Therefore, what we serve here can all be eaten with your hands. We’ve tried to keep the experience as authentic as possible… and yet… as someone of you just realized… we serve Pepsi products,” she snarks, making us chuckle. It reminds me of the part in
Cable Guy,
when Jim Carey takes Matthew Broderick to this show and he questions the same thing. They must’ve added this bit to the wenches’ scripts after that movie came out.

Franci leaves to go fill everyone’s drink orders, and soon, all sorts of stuff is brought out and placed in front of us until our plates and bowls are filled. Tomato bisque soup, garlic bread, an herb-roasted potato, corn on the cob, and what looks like half a damn oven-roasted chicken! And it all smells heavenly.
 

Soon, the lights around the perimeter dim, highlighting the center of the arena as the knights in different colored costumes ride out on their horses. Each knight goes to their section, and our red and yellow one stops right in front of us, making his horse bow. We all clap and cheer, getting into the show as the king comes out and revs us up with his dramatic speech.
 

We eat our feast between screams, rooting for our knight as he battles the others in different events, from sword fighting to jousting, and we watch in awe during the intermission as the falconer puts on a show, the majestic bird ending the display by taking flight and making a full circle around the top of the whole arena.
 

By the end, we’re in full-on nerd mode, feeling like we’re truly back in time, rooting for our knight as it comes down to him and the blue one, yelling, stomping, clanging our plates and cups together, trying to distract the enemy so our hero can one-up him and win. And even though in the back of our minds we know it’s all staged, our group freaks the hell out when our knight gets the upper hand and ends up winning the tournament.