All I Want is You: A Second Chance Romance by Carter Blake, Aiden Forbes (162)

Ethan

In general, I’d say things work out pretty fucking great for me.

I mean, I’m not immune to the occasional random gut-punch, courtesy of the universe’s tendency to dole out punches to the fucking gut every once in a while. But in general? Yeah, life is pretty fucking great.

Most people who have lives like mine are under the impression that their shit doesn’t stink. Most people who live on the 52nd floor of the Barclay Tower, or who enjoy a high-powered career in the merciless world of NYC finance, think of themselves as brilliant and unique―as if they see the world differently than all those dim, unenlightened proles who eke out a living waiting tables, driving Ubers, walking dogs or working cash registers.

I’m under no such delusion.

True, my achievements in hedge fund management have won me minor industry fame and an astronomical net worth. But that’s not because I’m some sort of exceptionally rare super-genius—it’s because I work really fucking hard.

I also don’t believe that the best fortification for a day’s work are the wheatgrass smoothies and flax breakfasts that many of my colleagues swear by. I call bullshit on that.

No, most days, during my five-minute walk to work, I stop at a deli in the Woolworth Building for a simple coffee and an egg sandwich.

My office is in the building as well, but the deli has its own separate, unpretentious entrance. There, I have to flavor the coffee all by my fucking self, emptying turbinado sugar packets into the cup and pouring skim milk from an open carton they keep in a small fridge. It’s one of my favorite daily activities, primarily for the thirty seconds of Zen nothingness it provides.

Despite being detached from the building’s palatial, marble furnished lobby, the deli is usually the most relaxing part of my commute—if not my entire day.

Today, stirring the swirls of milk into the formerly pitch-black coffee depths, I’m feeling at peace, and I fucking revel in it.

This space at Broadway street level must cost tens of thousands a month. The awkward layout doesn’t really reflect that, with tables half-heartedly set up along the under-lit back wall leading to the restrooms.

But it works for me. If I drank my coffee in the office, or even at the nearby Starbucks, there’s no guarantee that everyone would leave me the fuck alone.

In this part of town, a few blocks from Wall Street, someone with developed instincts for investment, reward, and minimizing risks is unlikely to be left the fuck alone very often.

I’m lucky to have found a spot in my office building where no one thinks to look. I’ve come to regard it as a necessity—these quiet moments before the chaos of my day begins—right up there next to a good fuck on the scale of things that make life beautiful.

I get childlike satisfaction from getting the stupid plastic lid securely fastened to the top of my 20-ounce cup. I also enjoy the tactile warmth of the coffee as I carry it to the register and greet Rodrigo.

Rodrigo runs this business, I’m pretty sure. I’ve never exactly asked him about it, because business of any kind is the last thing I want to talk about this early.

I do know that he moved here from Cuba almost sixty years ago; he’s a New Yorker in the hard-earned sense that most of the spoiled transplants who live and work around here could never understand.

Rodrigo’s smiling as I approach him with the coffee.

“No sandwich today, Mr. B?”

“Some days I don’t need it or want it.”

Rodrigo just smiles and nods. He knows he’ll get plenty of my money in the future. He deserves it, too. Rodrigo is one person who I’m sure has never judged me.

Maybe that’s part of the reason this strange little deli that overcharges tourists is like a fucking spa or something for me. I would never even bring anyone else here; it’s like my own little secret retreat. Rodrigo may be the only person who knows me―

The bell on the door jars me from my thoughts just as Rodrigo rings me up. I turn to look…and my whole fucking world screeches to a halt.

Remember that gut-punch I mentioned? Yeah. I’m most definitely not fucking immune.

What.

The.

Fuck.

This place is supposed to be mine, like a spa or some sort of fucking monastic retreat. And it was, up until a second ago, when it instead became one of the most stressful and confusing places on the entire fucking Earth.

All I can do is stand and stare.

She’s over by the entrance—not close to me, thank fuck. She just walked in, and it looks like she still hasn’t figured out exactly why she’s here. She doesn’t even notice me—again, thank fuck.

But what the fuck is she doing here?

In New York?

Downtown?

Before eight in the morning when I just happen to be getting coffee?

Right outside my fucking office?

She still doesn’t see me. She’s too busy looking at all the prepackaged salads on display by the entrance. She leaves after looking at a couple of the prices.

It’s not actually her. There’s no way. It can’t be. And it doesn’t matter now because whoever she is, she’s walked out the door now anyway.

Out of sight, out of mind, time to go to fucking work.

I keep forgetting that I’m holding the coffee cup as I drop money on the counter and leave, nod to the security guy, navigate the hordes of office drones, and stand in the usual unhappy elevator crowd.

I don’t even notice the stupid, full cup still in my grasp as I’m wandering down the final corridor to my office at the corner, nodding automatically at several of the people I pass.

Finally, it’s the view of City Hall Park, the two bridges, Brooklyn, that all somehow remind me that I’ve been clutching a completely full paper cup for the past twenty minutes.

I lay my coffee to rest on my oversized desk and look at my personal phone for a second.

My phone’s silent as usual, but I did miss a call from Laura and a couple texts from Sansa. I realized I haven’t really looked at the damn thing since yesterday.

Whatever. That wasn’t her anyway, right?

And if it wasn’t, am I seriously getting to the point where if I’m not thinking about her constantly, I’m actually fucking seeing her in different places?

Seeing her—or just thinking that I saw her—I don’t know which one is fucking worse.

I look at the paper cup sitting on my massive oak desk. It doesn’t belong there, but it seems like a lot of things aren’t where they belong today.

Goddammit, Ethan. Fucking stop it.

I’m giving it too much power. I need to stop giving it mental real estate now.

Lucky me, the desk phone chooses that exact moment to ring. Fucking finally, I can get to work already.

It’s the intra-office ring, almost certainly from someone who should be bringing themselves to talk to me in person.

I take my sweet time to drift around the desk and settle in my chair before picking up the receiver.

“What is it, Greg?” I let out with an underlying sigh.

“How did you know it was me?”

The voice on the other end sounds genuinely surprised. Is this really the first time we’ve been through this?

“Everyone else knows they can just walk through my door. I think you know that, too.”

I can almost feel the apologetic lament coming through the line.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Greg expresses gravely, “I just never like bothering you.”

I give myself a moment to cool down and remind myself not everyone has the confidence I do, and Greg is still new enough to worry about his job.

“What’s up, Greg?”

“Nothing big, just some updates with investor cultivation. There are some real big names we’re hearing about, big money.”

Fuck. That’s nothing, so I immediately know it’s just the warm-up, the lead-in to something else. Something I don’t want to hear, most likely.

“Yeah, and what else?”

“That was it…oh, and there’s somebody, uh, around. Hanging out.”

“What? Hanging out? What the fuck are you talking about? Please be more specific.”

Greg’s anxious swallow is audible.

“It’s someone—not big production or anything—I mean, it’s probably nothing. But she says she’s from the SEC...”

Okay, that’s my fucking cue to hang up and go into crisis mode. Those are initials you don’t want to hear as a hedge fund manager, at least in his context—even when you’re doing the smart and moral thing of being squeaky fucking clean.

Think for a second about what you’d do if you received a notice of an IRS audit, with a claim they found proof of fraud over multiple years. Whether there’s some truth to it or not, it’s still scary as shit.

When I swing open my office door, I see what I expect: interns, administrative assistants, Greg, all milling nervously around the Gothic corridor with no fucking clue how to proceed.

I’m the only higher-up outside an office door right now, since the others have no desire for SEC face-time at the moment.

Whoever it is must be out in the hall.

And fuuuck…she sure as hell is. For the second time in under an hour, my world came to a halt, my ears ringing as everything but her fades into the muted background.

No hallucinations this time, no mistaken identity. There’s no way in hell I’m imagining this now.

It’s her alright.

How did I not notice she was wearing such a sharply flattering Ann Taylor business suit in the deli?

She’s wearing a lanyard, as well.

God, she looks good. So fucking good. Even better than my memories of her.

Hearing the fabled initials of the Securities Exchange Commission inspired a little burst of adrenaline, but seeing Madeline in the flesh, at my place of work, where I spend so many goddamn hours each week…

Cinematically, everyone seems to clear the hall at once, leaving me facing my…fear? Who the fuck knows?

Well, either way, it feels like one because my stomach’s dropping dozens of floors, straight down to the sidewalk. No, to the fucking subway. It feels like more than that, too. And holy hell, she really does look good.

“Ethan,” she projects easily down the corridor. She’s not surprised to see me. Her gorgeous face is carefully schooled into a detached expression. I have no clue what might be going through her head.

“Or Mr. Barrett, I should say. I’m here to inform you that that your firm is under active investigation for selling and buying securities with knowledge of substantial nonpublic information.”

Damn, she looks good. It’s the only thing my brain seems capable of processing. I should be flabbergasted, annoyed, unsure.

The words coming out of her gorgeous mouth should have me feeling a million things besides what I’m feeling right now.

Because all I’m feeling is excitement.

Anticipation.

Lust.

It’s the same mix of emotions Madeline’s always evoked.

I shouldn’t be surprised, not really. Five years may have passed since I last saw her, but I’ve relived those days in my head every fucking day since.

And now here we are.

Ethan

Five years earlier…

For most of this week, waking up has meant facing a fresh hangover, a new pocket of sleep deprivation. That probably doesn’t sound great, but it was all tempered with an exhilaration and happiness that grew with each new morning―or in some cases, afternoon.

As the wedding drew closer, my friends tried to make those dumb, typical “bachelor party” sort of plans.

I have a longstanding reputation in my larger social circle as a true player, never even coming close to a long-term, or even a medium-term, relationship. Hell, no relationships whatsoever. I’m the last motherfucker anybody expected to settle down.

I took control of the plans as usual, spending the last couple days hitting clubs, everyone astounded at my disinterest in finding the hottest women wherever I was. I mean, of course I’m fucking disinterested. I’m not getting married for the hell of it; when I say it’s the biggest fucking day of my life, it almost seems like an understatement.

I’ve gotten the equivalent of maybe one good night’s sleep over the past week, and everything is like a beautiful haze in the hallway outside the hotel ballroom. The whole day has been bathed in the most magnificent, exhausting, surreally amazing mist of a life-transforming ceremony.

The faces swiveling in and out of view all day, extended groups of friends in the same room, all my family members who came out in what was the biggest gathering my family’s had in years...all of these were overshadowed by that first moment I caught a glimpse of my wife.

Fuck. Audra’s my wife now. My life is beginning. Fucking finally.

Today’s not the first time I ever saw her, but seeing her in that traditional wedding dress she insisted on, peering into the ballroom to ask her bridesmaids about something or other a couple hours before the official start of the ceremony...

I don’t know whether she noticed me or not, and I’m sure she wouldn’t give much of a damn either way, but that was my favorite moment of the wedding―of the biggest fucking day of my life―by a long shot.

Audra has the kind of beauty that’s kind of alarming, almost a little uncomfortable, like hearing some random piece of classical music on the radio that makes you start crying out of fucking nowhere. It’s not sad, it’s just arresting.

Seeing that metal door across the ballroom open just a little, her face peeking through, made me feel like I was about to pass out onto the fucking tablecloth. That’s my wife, I thought. That beautiful woman is my wife.

The ceremony seemed like a blur, but looking back now, it replays in my head like a series of French impressionist paintings: shifting colors and transient forms, Audra’s face occasionally coming into vibrant focus.

By now, the haze is lifting. The guests are all well on their way home, fueled by espresso and red-velvet wedding cake, and the staff is cleaning and repacking the ballroom―where the ceremony, cocktail hour and reception all took place―like the pros that they are, thrilled at the prospect of finally going home soon.

As for me, I’m feeling anything but tired or cloudy. I’m about to spend a night with my wife.

With all the hookups I’ve had in my life, all the meaningless fucking, what I have with Audra continues to transcend into that territory of “making love.” I open the door to a small corridor with the fob attached to my room key, on my way to the private elevator up to our suite, the approaching night of making love leaving me in a state best described as ‘horny as shit.’

All those hacky old jokes about sexless marriages, it’s all a bunch of bullshit hype. As the elevator lifts me slowly to my heavenly fate, I’m looking forward to a marriage that’s fulfilling in every fucking way.

The door is opening, and I see hints of the soft lighting and cream-colored walls of the suite’s living room. Things are starting to become hazy again.

The doors open more to reveal Audra’s hard-shell suitcase open on the couch, and Audra, still in her wedding dress.

I don’t understand what’s going on at first. It looks like she’s repacking for some reason I can’t understand, throwing piles of garments into her luggage.

“What’s wrong?” I greet my wife for the first time. “Is the suite too amazing for you? I hope that’s not gonna be a problem, because Hawaii’s way better.”

I seriously have no idea what’s wrong with the suite, but I’ll take Audra to a shitty motel if that’s what she fucking wants. I’m already planning to call the desk and ask what else is available.

“Nah, nah,” Audra responds.

What? I’m officially fucking bewildered.

“Nah, Hawaii won’t be amazing? Au contraire. You’re in for quite a surprise if you think that.”

“What, you mean on our honeymoon?” Audra angrily swings the suitcase shut with that word. There must be something really fucking wrong if she’s worried about the entire honeymoon being ruined.

“Whatever it is, Audra, it doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, it doesn’t?” Audra asks with caustic sarcasm while sliding the suitcase off the couch with both hands.

Whatever’s happening, the chances of it fading quickly are shrinking rapidly.

“I just want to know what’s going on, that’s all. We can start from there.”

Audra drops the suitcase, and it feels like the whole room shakes.

“We’re not starting shit! Like, ever!”

All I can think about is how out of character this is for Audra to just throw her clothes into a suitcase like that.

“Okay. Can we just back up a bit? What’s got you so upset?”

“The thought of being fucking married to you.” She doesn’t miss a beat before hissing that out.

Maybe I did pass out at the table after all, and I’m dreaming this shit. It sure feels like a nightmare.

“Whoa, Audra, what happened?”

“You happened, somehow.” Again, not missing a beat. “In what fucking world do you think you’re good enough for me? How do you think my family feels coming to this scuzzy fucking shithole?”

“It looked like they were all having a good time.” It’s literally all I can think to say.

“Like you would know. My family has real wealth, a prestigious history going back generations. You...you’re just rat shit. You’re not fucking fit to look at me. It’s sickening.”

This could be a prank, there could be hidden cameras and some washed-up comedian waiting to jump out of the bathroom to announce how badly I just got punked.

But it’s not. Even through this haze, it’s real fucking clear how serious Audra is. I feel her anger—and something else I’ve never felt before: her disdain.

“Hmm.” I place two fingers on my lips, very professorial, very contemplative. “So, why now?” I inquire calmly. But inside I’m raging. Why the fuck now?

“These are the last words I ever want to say to you.” Audra’s snarling every syllable at this point. It’s fucking intense. “Get the fuck out of my way and out of my life.”

I get the fuck out of her way.

And then she’s gone.

I don’t know how much time passes before I move from where I’ve stood stock-still and drop onto the bed I blew a fat stack of cash for. It could be minutes. It could be fucking days. I don’t sleep. And for none of the reasons one would anticipate on their fucking wedding night.

When the sun starts to peek through the window, I get back up, still in my tux.

I check out and drive home.

I’m completely fucking numb the entire time.

But one thing is clear. However painful this ends up being, now is the time for action. If Audra wants to be out of my life, I need to do my part. I’m on the phone with my friend’s moving company before I’m even in my front door.

I wander around the kitchen for a while, ostensibly to eat something, but I’m not even sure what I’m doing on any level.

I’m staring vacantly into my freezer for some reason when Jeff rings the doorbell. He weirdly gives me a knowing nod when I answer, and he somehow has a truck and crew ready.

Jeff, wearing the silly baseball cap he only wears at work, instructs his crew that this is a “full job” as they walk in. They’re responsible for everything, including packing. I point vaguely to a few items of furniture in the living room in an attempt at instructions.

“I’ll take care of it,” Jeff reassures me, looking at me with a concern that I’m sure is necessary. I don’t feel much of anything right now, but when the feelings do come, it’s likely going to get real fucking bad.

“We’ll hopefully figure out where everything’s going, exactly, by the time you’re done.”

“Don’t worry about it. My girlfriend’s in touch with Audra.”

It’s like the whole world’s undergoing some crazy fucking shift that I’m not in on. I don’t know what Audra’s talking about with my friends, and I don’t really want to know, either.

When I hear the front door peel open, I somehow know it’s not one of the movers.

I guess if I’m going to see Audra these days, she’ll be moving swiftly and angrily, giving off the vibe of some new person, someone I don’t know―certainly not my wife.

“You motherfucker.” She actually says this on her way to the stairway. It’s ridiculous, but I’m seriously concerned about what she’s going to do in her state.

Andrew, also known as Amazing Andrew, the short, awkwardly friendly guy who was the first in my group of friends to get married, comes half-running in after Audra.

“I came to help,” Andrew broadcasts as he walks to the stairs. “She came peeling in ahead of me at like a hundred miles an hour. Parked half on the curb.”

Jeff, Andrew and I follow Audra up the stairs to the bedroom.

Audra makes it into the room well before us and slams the door. I pick up the pace when I hear the sliding glass door to the balcony open, Jeff and Andrew following closely behind.

I nearly leap into door to open it, but it’s fucking locked.

“Come on,” I grouse to myself as I fumble for a credit card to pick the lock.

After fumbling, feeling Jeff and Andrew breathing nervously behind me, I find a card and pop open the door.

My nightstand is gone, and Audra’s in midst of spiking the glass desk lamp, which used to be on top of it, down to the street below.

“Audra.” I just say her name, calmly. I doubt she hears me. There’s no stopping her, anyway. She’s on some kind of fucking rampage.

The lamp shatters surprisingly loudly, which seems to satisfy Audra since she turns around.

“So much time you took from me!” Audra points at me furiously. It feels like I’m back in that fucking nightmare again.

“Audra,” I just say. Whatever this is, I know I need to let it play out.

“You’re the worst thing that’s ever happened to me! How dare you! How dare you ruin my life!”

I almost roll my eyes before letting out another “Audra.” It’s becoming almost comical.

Audra stomps towards me. I think my friends behind me are backing away. As they fucking should because this woman looks unhinged.

“Fuck you,” Audra says, quiet, but full of penetrating rage.

There’s tangible relief in the room as we listen to her stomping down the stairs and out the front door.

“I don’t fucking know,” I lament to the open balcony door before turning around.

“This is...crazy, right?” I plead to Jeff and Andrew. “I mean, do you guys know what’s going on?”

“No fucking clue,” Andrew answers while Jeff shakes his head.

Jeff is looking down, troubled by this insanity.

“I’ll throw in extra for the moving being last-minute,” I assure Jeff, “but what the fuck do I now?”

“Go to Hawaii.”

Jeff and Andrew say this in unison, then look at each other with minor surprise.

“If you can’t get a refund…” Jeff lets his sentence fragment speak for itself.

“No, the trip is fucking paid for. But still...”

“Still what?” Andrew is getting annoyed, which I appreciate right now. We’re on the same fucking wavelength, that much is certain. “It’s still Hawaii, is what it is. Why wouldn’t you go?”

I can’t argue with that.

Ethan

There’s a small wooden sign hanging on a post leading to the fenced-off area. The white hand-painted letters read Sunset Beach Spot.

Holy shit, I couldn’t think of a lamer fucking name if I tried. This is supposed to be part of a luxury resort.

There’s a small bar on the sand with tiki décor, a couple uncomfortable-looking, retro space-age stools.

The only person here right now is the bartender, wearing a suit vest and pants on the beach, checking his inventory of plastic cups.

I walk to the bar, looking to see if there are any out-of-focus figures in the distance making their way towards this part of the beach.

Closer to the bar I see there’s a hot buffet set up under a canopy. It looks like expensive catering, like at a wedding or something. It looks awful.

“What can I do you for?” the bartender offers as soon as I’m close enough.

“What’s with that buffet?”

“It’s twenty-five dollars a plate.”

This place isn’t exactly all-inclusive. I tell the barkeep to charge it to my room number, and I pack a full plate from the fancy buffet. The china, the silverware, the food is all top notch. I’m pigging out on my plate at the bar when I see a figure approaching Sunset Beach.

A really fucking alluring figure.

I make out more details as she gets nearer: a toned physique with extra oomph distributed in all the right places, a wonderfully exotic look all-around, and a cerise-colored bikini leaving just enough to the imagination.

I feel a twinge of excitement when I notice she’s walking directly to the bar. Fortunately, I don’t give a shit about the half-eaten plate of ahi poke and chicken long rice in front of me.

The woman looks at me and my plate with cool, passing interest when she gets close enough. Her face is youthful, but she exudes confidence beyond her years.

I think about the perfect interplay between her skin tone and her slightly darker freckles as I finally put down my fork.

The woman sits at the other end of the bar, which means there’s one empty stool between us.

“Captain’s Demise,” she demands to the bartender. Probably a drink, but I’m not going to fucking open by asking her about that.

“You try the buffet?”

I point to the table with my fork, owning my gluttony.

“Many times,” she softly fires back, barely looking in my direction. But there’s still a friendly smile in her voice.

“What accent is that, may I ask?”

“I’m from Barbados, originally.” The smile in her voice is slowly making its way to her lips.

“You’ve come a long way.”

“Not really. I live in Portland. Pretty much everyone I know comes here for vacation.”

“You mean Portland, Oregon, I hope?”

She laughs. I think she’s getting me, whatever I am right now.

“Yes, of course. It’s a short flight, which is good since I have a five-year-old.”

I nod simply. “So, it’s just you and your kid?”

The bartender sets down a hurricane glass, filled with a crimson cocktail, garnished with lemon zest.

“Yeah, she’s with a resort babysitter. Just for an hour. That’s all I need.”

“I’m Ethan, by the way. Mind if I join you for one of those drinks?”

The woman in the cerise bikini shrugs while sipping through her straw.

“Dominique. Take a seat.”

I have a cocktail with Dominique, then let her get back to her kid.

I was supposed to come here to make sweet love in a hot tub, on the beach, in a luxury resort suite, and anywhere else I could find with Audra.

I walk back to my room, shower, make a couple vodka tonics from the minibar. Might as well max out at least one credit card while I’m here.

I change from my bathing suit to a casual tweed blazer and a light blue oxford shirt with formal chinos and brown derby shoes. It’s not the best-constructed outfit, and after another drink, I’m getting too sozzled for solid fashion choices, but I still look overdressed for the bizarre little resort nightclub where I’m headed so I lose the blazer and roll my sleeves up.

The club is spacious, but there’s little going on there from what I’ve seen.

It’s still damn early in the evening when I walk through the club’s double steel door entrance.

The place is deserted at this hour, as I expected. This is what I do now, I guess, haunting random spots at weird hours. Just a sad fucking ghost in Hawaii.

While checking out the haphazard collection of vending machines and arcade games along the wall, I spot one person climbing the concrete stairs to the second story at the edge of my vision. Probably someone who works here.

Bored out of my fucking mind, I follow whoever it is, although they’re long gone from the stairs by now. I power up to the well-lit second story, sort of a chill-out area, with massage chairs, a snack bar and fucking pool tables for some fucking reason.

The last few hours of booze are catching up, but I feel loose enough to shoot a pretty good game of eight-ball if I wanted. And hey, it looks like somebody’s playing already.

She’s standing by one of the tables. She’s blonde, wearing her hair up, a retro style that suits her features...holy shit, I’ve seen this woman. Wearing a tiger-print suit on the beach yesterday.

Why didn’t I try to talk to her then?

She looks fucking amazing, wearing a low-cut black top with a tiger-print trim. I’m suddenly really into this motif.

She watches me walk towards her. Her expression looks honest and open with a dose of sassiness. Her face is stunning, and it’s even clearer now than it was at the beach that her body is out of this fucking world.

“Hey, where’s your cue?”

I point to a spot between her right side and the table. I look up and see her emerald eyes, and I feel a familiar stir that suggests the type of intense horniness that I thought might have died with my marriage. Thank fucking god. All is well.

“You think I’m actually playing?”

Her voice is strident, high-pitched, with a subtle smokiness. Hearing it for the first time is turning that initial twitch into something more. Something bigger. Way bigger.

“You’re not?”

She giggles with derisiveness, but it sounds like divine fucking music to my ears.

“I thought you were serious!”

“I am. Why aren’t you playing?”

She shakes her head, rolls her eyes slightly.

“Nobody uses these tables. I don’t even think you can. I’m just checking out the dance floor, trying to see what’s going on there now.”

I know there’s a glass wall twenty feet behind me, and that the section of the nightclub which actually fucking resembles a nightclub is beyond that.

There’s a dance floor, and there’s already a DJ spinning for what’s probably an empty room.

“What’s going on there?”

“Nothing yet.”

I don’t know what she’s looking for, or what would interest her, but right now I’d fucking love to know how to be part of it.

“If you want, we could get a drink while we’re waiting for something to happen. On me, of course.”

“No,” she counters while staring past me, “that’s okay. I’m good.”

I’ll give her this: I’m suddenly not thinking about Audra or any of the other bullshit that’s been permeating my brain day and night.

Without a word, without even learning her name, I leave her by the pool table and go to check out the empty dance floor.

There’s no one dancing yet, but there are two women in what look like uncomfortably tight dresses sitting at the bar with fluorescent-colored drinks. The have matching hairstyles, sort of chin-length bobs. They’re definitely regulars.

I walk over to the woman closest to me and take the empty seat next to her.

She’s grinning before she looks at me. She knew I was coming. Her hair is bright red. She’s what most men would think of as scorching hot.

“Haven’t seen you around here,” she chirps.

“It happens.”

“Not to me, not until now.”

“It’s your lucky day, I guess.”

The red-head throws her head back in a cheesy laugh.

“Is it? I’d like to know now if it is.”

Her friend, raven-haired with chestnut streaks, turns to me abruptly.

“Hi! I’m Collette, and this is Lita, who you decided to talk to instead of me for some reason.”

Lita keeps grinning. A few minutes ago, I would have been happy to meet either one of these ladies and start my ritual of forgetting about why I’m supposed to be here.

And that’s a fucking weird thought: it’s like I can forget about Audra, but not some stranger whose name I don’t even know.

No, it’s still Audra. Has to be. I’m just processing everything in some fucked up way, most likely.

Lita and Collette order me a drink with taurine and milk thistle extract or whatever the fuck. I don’t fucking care as long as it still has plenty of alcohol.

As the dance floor populates, I have a couple more drinks with my new friends.

They are friends. We’re laughing, talking nonsense while getting drunk, and I’m totally not thinking about dating—or hot, crazy sex.

Some strange woman by a defunct pool table hasn’t just changed my life.

Nope, it’s still just Audra making me crazy. It must be.

But fuck, there she is! Not Audra, but the pool table girl, getting a drink at the other end of the bar.

“Hope to see you around.”

I leave my new friends with that as I launch myself towards the mystery woman. I have a new goal to learn her name as I try to keep my walk over to her from becoming a run.

I’m still out of breath when I reach her.

“I can still pay for that. I want to. I told you I would.”

The mystery girl sighs.

“Fine. Fuckin’…whatever. Just put it on his tab.”

She makes the demand to no one in particular.

“You’re used to people doing what you say. Am I correct?” I ask with a smirk.

“Yeah, I guess. What’s it to you?”

“Nothing.” I just think you’re fucking amazing, and I know it sounds insane coming from a guy like me—or anyone—but you’re the sexiest damn woman I’ve ever seen. “I just like it.”

The mystery woman nods slightly. “You like it, huh?”

“I think it’s neat.”

“Neat. Okay.” The mystery woman grins with a little more enthusiasm.

“How about swell?”

“A little better.”

She’s actually looking at me, listening.

Do I ask her to get a drink with me again? Usually this shit comes naturally. I mean really. Pre-Audra I was the quintessential ladies man. Yeah, I know how that sounds. I don’t give a fuck. What I’m more concerned with is what the fuck is wrong with me today?

Do I start by asking her name?

“Do you want to go out on a date with me?”

Holy fucking shit, did I really just say that? Real smooth, Ethan.

“Yeah, sure.”

Huh. Maybe this shit does still come naturally.

“Right now, I mean?”

“Yeah, I figured.”

“What’s your name?”

The mystery woman sits down on her stool at last, and the sassiness in her eyes deflates just a tiny bit.

“You’re paying, right?”

We end up getting bottle service. I’m happy to shell out hundreds for a bottle of mediocre vodka so we can sit at a secluded table, laugh hysterically and devolve into conversational nonsense.

We reach a kind of drunken telepathy as we both know it’s time to hit the dance floor and move in some weird, hilarious new ways.

“This one is called the Lava Lamp,” she screams at the ceiling as her limbs flow wildly.

“Oh, yeah? Well this is the Electric Eel!” I’m trying to move like a fucking sea creature, doing my best to keep up with the rhythm, fucking drunk off my ass by now.

We somehow manage to communicate to each other that we need to go out on the beach. And take our clothes off.

And make out on the sand, the white noise of waves crashing behind us.

It seems like a really fucking good idea to me. Nothing bad could possibly come of this, right?

Ethan

About ten years ago, I invested in something called a zen alarm clock. It’s supposed to wake you up gradually over the course of a few minutes with soft light and sound.

It turned out to be a real fucking waste of money. I’d wake up when the clanging bells reached a crescendo after ten minutes of tolling softly. It wasn’t pleasant, and the little light show didn’t do shit, either.

This sound, though, the one I’m slowly waking up to now? This is pleasant. What kind of bird is that? Not a seagull, although I hear rolling ocean waves underneath the melody of a few different birds now.

I start to open my eyes and…fuck, it’s bright in here.

Wait, where am I?

It dawns on me that I’m not just hearing the ocean, I’m also smelling it. When my eyes adjust to the light, I can see I’m outdoors.

Last night, I was either sleepwalking, drunk or—most likely—both. I don’t remember a thing.

That’s sand under me, isn’t it?

I literally slept on fucking sand, and it feels like it got fucking everywhere. What the fuck? Actually, no, I just happen to be naked. Fucking fantastic. This is getting stranger and stranger.

“Madeline.” I utter the word out of nowhere. Why am I saying that name?

That name. Who the fuck is Madeline?

Then it hits me.

That’s her name. She finally told me after things started to get really choppy.

I don’t even know what happened to my fucking clothes.

I sit up and see nothing but a few feet of sand leading into the Pacific. Nope, no clothes.

I try to recall the details of how I got into this current situation.

Okay, yeah, that’s right―I’m in Hawaii, and I was bowled over by someone named Madeline. What does her face look like? I can almost see it in the wispy cirrus clouds above the ocean.

I could sit here all day staring at the horizon, slowly recalling details, but I’m fucking naked, I don’t even have a fucking towel, the sand is burning my ass and I have no idea who’s about to show up…wherever I am, exactly.

As nice as the ocean breezes feels and the sea air smells, I also have a bout of rapidly growing nausea that may become a problem real fucking soon.

I push myself up off the sand. Easy, now.

I’m pretty good adjusting to most situations, but naked on an island beach after an evening stolen by rum-flavored amnesia is a new one.

Fuck, there was a lot of rum. I remember that much. Sugary cocktails, sugary lips meeting mine in hungry, absolutely famished fucking greed.

I turn away from the ocean and see that I’m lucky enough that the beach is abandoned apart from a few aging palm trees. There’s a squat, old-looking wooden building a couple hundred feet away. I don’t have any choice but to go face the music there, even if it means an arrest for indecent exposure.

I spot a few other, larger buildings further in the distance. I’m enjoying walking on the sand, and the feel of the warm breeziness on every inch of my skin.

If I’ve got no choice but to continue in this state, I might as well enjoy it. I’m not looking forward to seeing another person.

Except maybe Madeline.

What was her deal again?

I’m still at the resort. I recognize the main building, where I’m staying, as it draws closer. I pass the little wood structure.

Oh, shit.

There’s that fucking sensation. You know the one. Where you remember all the horrible shit that’s been happening a bit more clearly.

That feeling of remembering something after waking up, something you’d prefer to forget. It could go one of two ways.

The way I prefer is the realization that it was all some fucked-up dream, and you’re free to let it fade into nothingness. I think most people are with me on that preference.

The other way it could go is remembering that, yes, it really did fucking happen, and now that you’re awake, your blissful ignorance is over.

Audra’s impromptu post-wedding transformation is most definitely a nightmare, but of the shitty waking variety.

I don’t think Madeline was a dream, either. It sort of feels like one, though.

But not a nightmare this time. Quite the opposite, in fact.

I think.

Fuck.

After the cocktails, the making out by the ocean with fucking fiery abandon, there was something else.

Not the hot, crazy, making sweet love on the beach kind of something else. Even after a day and night of drinking, I would sure as shit remember that kind of something else.

This was more like the letting-myself-drift-off-in-the-sand-despite-the-certainty-of-hot-crazy-fucking kind of something else.

Fuck.

Madeline must’ve taken my clothing as revenge for…what? Fucking passing out on her? Jesus Christ. But it’s the only fucking explanation.

Missing out on what could have been the best possible experience this pseudo-honeymoon had to offer is bad enough, but losing a half-decent clubbing outfit is making me reconsider this whole dumb trip.

Maybe Madeline is still around. The nausea’s still coming in waves, and I have a headache brewing, but I’m still in good enough condition for making up for lost time with Madeline—if she’s into that idea.

If she’s still around.

If she really fucking exists.

I mean, someone took my fucking clothes last night. I’d rather it be her than anyone else in Hawaii.

I’m getting pretty damn close to the hotel now. I haven’t seen another soul yet, but I know it’s a goddamn fucking inevitability that I will.

Maybe I can grab a towel from a supply closet before anyone notices that I’m walking around with my cock dangling in the open air.

Before I even enter the hotel, I’m going to have to leave the comfortable sand beach and step onto the sweltering pavement.

With my bare feet, that is.

This is going to be fucking fun. Shit, here we go...

I make that first step onto the asphalt. Yeah, that fucking stings, but I keep walking, swaggering, strutting even.

Even if I don’t see Madeline again, there’s gotta be someone else here, or a few other someones to meet here. Honeymoon’s not over yet. And one look at what I’ve got to offer and surely they’ll be lining the fuck up.

Not that anyone can compare to Madeline. Her face, now framed by her long hair and lit by the midday sun, is like a fucking vision, exuding an almost mythic beauty…

Oh wait. Shit, she’s right there, standing just outside the entrance to the hotel lobby. Fuck.

I notice there are several other people around as well, mostly doing their best to ignore me.

Not Madeline, though. She stopped short on her way to wherever she was going in her faded denim shorts and off-the-shoulder t-shirt.

“You made it back,” she observes, incredulous.

She looks so fucking good.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

I look down at my own body for the briefest moment, sending a hint to Madeline that I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of, since I absolutely fucking don’t.

I catch her scoping me out quickly, her eyes hastily traveling down…

Shit, I’m in public, so I’ve got to keep things under control, even if it means ignoring where Madeline is focusing her sparkling, ravishing eyes, or I will be fucking arrested.

“Of course you’d say that,” Madeline quips, her eyes wandering leisurely back up my frame. As crucial as it is for me to stay, uh, unenthused right now, she’s making it quite hard. Yeah. I know. Fucking puns.

“Am I that predictable? Did you predict this show I’m giving you right now?”

Madeline looks skyward in mock consideration.

“Sort of. I figured there’d be some kind of drama.”

“There is for me—I’m still running around one of the biggest resorts on Maui in my fucking Christmas suit.”

“Christmas suit?” Madeline tries to stifle a laugh as she asks.

“My birthday’s on Christmas.”

Not true, and my game’s been way fucking better, but...damn, Madeline looks good. She even puts the natural Hawaiian scenery to shame.

Of fucking course I’m not nervous, though. If I’m not nervous about standing by the entrance of a popular resort while completely exposed, I can handle talking to a hot woman.

“I see. Maybe when December comes around, I’ll think about returning some of your clothes.”

“So you did take them?”

“Who else?” Madeline asks calmly.

A woman with a red pixie haircut and a light chartreuse cardigan appears out of nowhere and takes a spot standing right next to Madeline.

The pair stands, looking casually at what I have on display, as if it’s some mildly interesting sight that they’ll move on from in a few seconds.

“This is Laura.” Madeline seems to be finished with the conversation. Laura’s still looking at me—or something in my general direction.

“Laura, it’s great to meet you. Maybe someday I’ll meet you with clothes on.”

“Maybe.” That one cryptic word is all Laura’s ready to say.

“Do I really need to wait until December?” I plead with Madeline jokingly, hoping for a fresh start.

“Maybe longer.”

“Is there a way I could expedite the process? Maybe a way that would be fun for both of us?”

Madeline sighs lightly. “We could start with a drink, I suppose.”

Those sound like the most beautiful words I’ve ever heard, even more so than I do.

Oh shit, is that going to be an issue? We did have the ceremony, after all. But it’s not like we signed a marriage license or anything.

Besides, I don’t owe Audra fucking anything. It’s like our marriage, or attempt at marriage, never even happened.

“Drinks it is,” I say to Madeline.

Ethan

After this morning’s initial flood-back of imperfect reality, my life as I know it continues to slowly seep back in. Seeing my honeymoon suite again really helps in bringing the ridiculous, confusing bullshit back home, but taking a nap that extends from the mid-morning through the late afternoon obliterates the extra hangover-ness of it all.

Unlike the amnesiac-like reawakening of this morning, opening my eyes to the shafts of early Hawaiian sunset seeping through the blinds feels like a lucid continuation of...whatever the hell of I’m doing here.

There’s fucking sand in my bed. I have to remember to flip that Do Not Disturb sign around so housekeeping comes―they should be fucking used to cleaning sand, but I plan to leave a big tip, anyway.

So. Date. That’s coming up.

How do I feel about that? Neutral, I guess, like it’s a working-vacation business meeting. An obligation I’m not thinking much about.

“Madeline.” I have a habit of saying that out loud, post-sleep, while still lying on my back.

That’s her name. I keep forgetting but keep remembering.

I know I don’t really feel neutral about it, but I still don’t know what the fuck I feel.

I get ready to meet Madeline like it’s a well-worn morning routine: half-conscious shower, semiconscious tooth-brushing and flossing, near-unconscious selection of a halfway acceptable outfit.

Wait, no. What the fuck, Ethan? Way more casual than that. What would I be wearing a fucking tie for?

Dark button-down, sleeves rolled up, tucked into dress slacks. Brown belt matching my shoes.

I comb my hair in the full-length bedroom mirror. I need a fucking trim.

I put on my wristwatch and look at it. No time to shave...what time are we supposed to meet again?

I’ve taken part in ribbing coworkers for growing a vacation beard on their honeymoon. A honeymoon is no fucking place for that—at least I don’t think. Some beards look okay, some look like fucking shit...

To be on the safe side, I take one more visit to the bathroom for a quick shave with my straight razor, and I break out the good aftershave lotion.

Who the fuck are you trying to impress? I can hear Audra asking me that―she was there, right at my side, close enough to touch me ever so slightly, when I picked it up at the boutique. I see her tantalizing, off-center smile for a fleeting instant before it disappears, leaving behind a moment of light physical pain, like a soft kick to my gut.

Fuck this shit, it’s time for my date.

Sunset is still in progress when I get to the asphalt path leading back to the beach. The range of scarlet hues are giving way to the bluish tint of dusk, but the colors are still brilliant, near-overwhelming over the western horizon.

Good thing there’s a narrow strip of pavement leading all the way to the beach bar. Last think I need is more sand all over the goddamn place.

This bar isn’t much more than a canopied little counter in the middle of an uncrowded beach.

There’s a scattering of cliché vacationers with shorts, sandals and daypacks surrounding the front and sides of the bar. Nobody’s swimming or surfing or sitting on the beach and watching the sunset.

And there’s no Madeline.

My first thought: there’s no date with Madeline. I’m remembering some drunken dream and fucking following it into reality.

My second thought: the remaining rays of the sunset are sparkling perfectly off her features, which are just as dazzling when laid bare by her pulled-back hairdo.

Fuck, here she is again, appearing out of the thin salty beach air.

“I hope I’m not still dreaming,” is my less than smooth greeting. Why the fuck does this girl make me unable to function normally?

I watch for Madeline’s reaction, her face now just a few inches from mine.

I feel Madeline’s fingers grabbing a fleshy section of my forearm and squeezing. She maintains her gaze into my eyes as her pinch becomes painfully tight.

The emerald of Madeline’s eyes makes her pinch feel like pure magic. I’m not sure if I want her to let go, but she finally does.

“Any doubts left?” Madeline’s eyes reflect her laughter, but she doesn’t even start to smile.

She looks so fucking hot.

“Plenty.”

I smile, but Madeline just stays cool. It drives me fucking crazy.

How do I feel like this about someone I barely know, whose name I’ve only just learned?

My go-to theory is that I’m dealing with fallout from my marriage in ways that I may never understand.

But it doesn’t feel like that. Not at fucking all. It feels so, well…real.

“Pinch me again,” I request, fighting a grin.

Seriousness reenters Madeline’s eyes as she grazes her thumb and forefinger against my arm for the briefest moment. Then the sparkle comes back into her stare.

I have to try not to laugh, not to smile. I can’t tell you the last time I was in that position. Maybe never.

“I need a drink,” Madeline exclaims, just a bit awkwardly. It’s charming as shit.

“Good news: there’s a bar not twenty feet from where we’re standing.”

Shit, I can do better than that.

But right now, I fucking can’t. I’m almost fucking stuttering.

This is more than just fallout. I really hope it is.

Either ignoring what I said or taking action on it, Madeline is already walking to the bar.

She’s walking across the sand, her stylishly lopsided, tropical-print skirt swaying with her determined steps.

I follow directly behind. The sand is crunching under my shoes, but I’ve never cared less about it.

The bartender, an older guy who looks like he founded and built this entire resort himself, immediately gives Madeline his full attention when she squares up to the bar.

I’m still behind her, and with her back to me, Madeline looks unapproachable somehow.

I feel fucking sheepish, which is new territory―like everything else these past few days. It’s like I don’t even know who I am anymore.

“Lava Lava,” Madeline dictates to the bartender. He turns around and gets to work.

“Another drink I’ve never heard of. Is that like kava kava? I guess it does relax you.”

That’s my speech while I slink onto the seat next to Madeline’s. I immediately start going through everything that’s wrong with it in my head. Madeline just kind of nods as the bartender starts running the blender.

“A blender drink,” I add, staying simpler this time.

“Yeah, my blender at home is screwed. Just another thing I’m indulging in here: blended drinks, fresh fruit.”

“Where’s home?” For all I know, she lives a mile away.

The bartender is quick with Madeline’s plastic cup full of red and white swirled, icy whatever the fuck it is.

“It’s mostly fruit, but they didn’t give me the big pineapple wedge this time. What gives, Ethan?”

Yeah, it’s a bit outright fucking startling to hear Madeline say my name. I can’t explain why exactly.

“If you want a pineapple, I can get that for you. I can make that my personal mission right now.”

Madeline sips through her straw.

“Oh, that’s fucking good, though.”

“Should I get one?”

Madeline takes another sip.

“I don’t know, if you like things that are fucking good.”

“Good enough for me.”

I order the fruit-blasted icy drink. We sip our Lava Lavas as night overtakes the islands.

“I appreciate someone who likes a lot of fruit in their poison,” she tells me.

“I like whatever you like,” I return.

Madeline chuckles into her drink. I don’t know if it’s my goddamn fucking cheesiness, or if she actually enjoyed that.

And I don’t care. I’m fixed on her, and she seems fine with my gaze as she drinks casually.

“You can’t be here by yourself,” she informs me.

“That’s news to me.”

I’m torn between the urge to tell her everything and the need to hold back about my pitiful circumstances.

No. She doesn’t need to know that, and no one wants to hear about that crap.

“Do you live here?” I semi-ask, knowing that it’s the second time I’ve asked basically the same damn question, and she’s probably getting bored as fuck.

“Do you?”

“Touché.”

I hope she gets what’s implied—that I don’t want to answer, either.

Madeline seems to get something, because her eyes are meeting mine again.

“You’re gonna be finished with that drink soon,” is what I say for some fucking reason.

“I’m only halfway through.”

I don’t dare look away to check her cup. “I’ll take your word for it, but order whatever you want next.”

“You own this place! I knew it!”

I point to the bartender, who’s serving someone else, with a mock sigh.

“No, you’re thinking of that guy. I just stay here on what’s supposed to be my honeymoon.”

I let it slip out, and Madeline just picks up her drink and takes the straw gently between her fingers for another sip.

“I’m supposed to be here for something like that.” I feel Madeline’s tone change for the first time.

“I think I’m witnessing a rare iteration of serious Madeline. Do tell.”

Madeline shrugs, of fucking course. “Two-week vacation, my first one in fucking years...anyway, I was getting tired of going with my friends to bars and clubs and all that crap.”

“Tired of drinking?”

Madeline kills the last of her drink before answering. “Oh, fuck no! Just wanted to drink somewhere else...with the same friends, but different people, or something.”

Madeline absentmindedly picks up her empty cup and puts it back down.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Don’t believe what?” Madeline glares at me, legitimately annoyed.

“Serious Madeline, indeed. I mean I don’t believe you have trouble meeting people.”

For the second time at the bar, Madeline makes earnest eye contact. “Are you really trying to give me the same compliment I gave you earlier?”

“If I enjoy something, I like to show my appreciation in kind.”

“Good to know you’re the mutual kinda guy. Come up with your own lines, though.”

We order another round, Madeline demanding pineapple wedges. What the bartender ends up serving is an entire chopped pineapple on a plate.

“I’ll just say it: people who’ve never had pineapple in Hawaii haven’t really had pineapple,” I declare while taking a big bite of fruit―the first food I’ve had in over a day.

“The mass market ones are from here, I don’t think they’re anything special. Fresher, though. They don’t ripen after picking.”

It looks like Madeline enjoys her pineapple more than she lets on after taking a bite.

“Fresher. Exactly. It can’t not make a difference.”

Madeline proceeds to take in about a third of her fresh drink through the straw.

“What-fucking-ever.”

“There’s no reason not to appreciate some tropical goddamn fruit.”

I sip my own drink, and Madeline actually fucking laughs for real.

“I hope we can do better than that tonight,” she fires back.

I put down the fruit wedge and see Madeline smiling meekly at her drink.

“Your call. Everything’s better in Hawaii.”

Madeline does her famous shrug.

“Eh, we’ll see about that.”

With only part of a slice of pineapple in my stomach over 24-plus hours, it doesn’t take many rounds to get me back to the same unsteadiness.

And then Madeline’s leading me onto the beach, towards the ocean.

“You think you’re gonna get me with this again? I’m down one set of clothes already.”

“You’re complaining about losing clothes, Pineapple Man? What the fuck did you come to Hawaii for?”

It’s like she didn’t take my flippant honeymoon comment seriously.

“Maybe a few romantic walks on the beach…but not too many nights sleeping under the stars.”

I look up at the night sky, and holy shit, there are a lot of fucking stars visible.

I look back at Madeline, but she’s staring up at the sky herself.

“There’s the Milky Way. Can’t see that shit from the city.”

I want to ask what city, but I don’t.

“It’s nice to look at, but I prefer sleeping indoors.”

“Even tonight?”

We’ve both stopped now. Madeline moves in closer.

“Sleeping or not, I’d like to end up back in my suite at one point.”

Madeline’s eyes widen. “A room’s not good enough for you? I want to see what a suite looks like here.”

“That can be arranged,” I respond calmly. “That can be so very fucking arranged.”

Ethan

Madeline and I are falling into sync more and more as we trot back to the main hotel, through the lobby, into the elevator―we already have a quiet connection, which is a good fucking sign for things to come.

“You better be telling the truth about this suite, mister.”

Madeline’s wearing a farcically pouty face, her plump lips jutting out, her ruby-red lipstick like an unquenchable fire in the midst of the pale, milky heaven of her face.

Is she really trying to be funny with that? Her face is turning angry now, with the same jokiness.

“Or what?”

Madeline slowly closes the distance between us as the elevator slowly clambers up to the penthouse floor.

“Or this kiss will be the end of it.”

I have what I’m led to believe is the largest, most expensive, and generally just the best fucking suite in the resort, and possibly the state, but just in case Madeline’s threat of leaving things with a single kiss comes to pass, I throw myself into it.

My lips meet the pillowy paradise of hers softly at first, and I pull away at a slow pace, lingering on her lower lips as I feel her breath softly.

Now I’m close enough to Madeline to look down and see her eyes, that glowing emerald color which fills me with blistering desire every fucking time.

Madeline’s left hand is on my back, and she’s starting to grip me hard, grabbing my shirt and a bit of muscle.

“Not a kiss like that, a kiss like this.”

Madeline grabs my head with both hands, and I receive the message as quickly as I can by meeting her in a frenzied flood of freshly unfettered yearning. Her tongue shoots up past my lips, and a marvelous weakness overtakes me for a second―I don’t know if it’s the continued intoxication from fruity drinks or a new kind of extreme pseudo-honeymoon passion I’m feeling, but I’m happy to take it either way.

After we let the kiss evolve and fade naturally, I relish the sensation of Madeline’s hands traveling over my backside, working their way lower and lower as her verdant eyes pierce through me. I slowly caress the small of her back, getting a sense of the very top of the curvature of her ass.

Since I’ve mostly been focused on her eyes during our drinking sessions/dates, another wave of inebriated, lust-drunk elation passes through me as I squeeze her superbly well-rounded ass.

I sense the strong turn from passion-drunk to passion-driven as the elevator door opens.

The thrill of Madeline holding my arm softly and leading me across the warm sands of the beach was like a small but unflagging flame.

Madeline digging into my forearm with vicelike intensity and dragging me down the hall is like the unstoppable, explosive advent of a brand-fucking-new universe.

I don’t see an end in sight, not one within human comprehension. This is all I know, and all I want to know, really.

“Do you know where the door is?” I ask to keep myself grounded in the moment.

“I can tell!”

Her voice rings through like a snarky, angelic siren-song, one that could lull me to shipwreck any goddamn time it wanted. In this unexpected moment, as time is in turn slowing down with anticipated ecstasy and speeding up along with my pulse, it’s leading a stumbling path, along with me, down the carpeted hotel hallway.

We’re reeling along in tandem by the time we reach the main door.

“I hope you have a card or something.”

I take in Madeline’s eyes, sparkling with laughter at her own half-formed joke, for another tiny moment as I fumble for the keycard in my wallet.

“I wouldn’t lose the key to my happiness.”

With that I find the magnetic card and hold it up in triumph.

“My happiness, too, I hope.”

“I am a mutual kind of guy,” I say with a smirk.

Madeline’s expression is suddenly oozing enough smoky sultriness to ignite the whole damn hallway. It’s enough to nearly turn me into a useless pile of jelly, and I turn away to at least finish the task at hand of opening the door.

Madeline lightly leans up against my arm while I insert the card into the top of the lock. The sensation of the outline of her perfectly-formed tits, just the front of them, radiates from my arm throughout my being as I watch the light on the door turn green.

I don’t want to waste another fucking second, so I turn to Madeline while opening the door. She keeps leaning into me, even after I move my arm to wrap it around her, so her tits are pressing hard against me as we dissolve into another zealous kiss.

Our innocently tipsy stumbling down the hall has transformed into a dance of ravenous passion into the suite. Our lips stay decisively locked, our arms remain tightly folded around each other as we spin in jagged circles across the floor.

Say what you will about instinct because even in our blind staggering, we end up right outside the door from the living room to the bedroom when we finally pull away from each other for a breath.

Madeline looks up and contemplates me for a hot moment, but the calm interlude ends as her hands begin drifting up and down my ass, migrating slowly around to the front of my pants.

I’ve got both cheeks of her ass resolutely in my grip, luxuriating in the feel of them in my palms.

Then we stop entirely to look at each other in silent bliss once more, to take a breath before diving head first into the deep end.

“I hope the suite is everything you were hoping for,” I quip.

Madeline takes a quick glance around.

“It’s not bad so far. Lots of promise. Let’s see how things go.”

Staying in sync, we entwine ourselves into an even hungrier kiss, our tongues getting down to business as we teeter through the bedroom.

Standing by the bed, we stop for another breath. My cock is bulging, throbbing, straining against the meager fabric that makes up the front of my pants. Usually, my plan at this point would be to make sure that Madeline gets off at least once, maybe several times, before we resume.

But Madeline continues to buck trends by slowly sinking to her knees, her hands softly running down the sides of my shirt until she grabs hold of my belt.

Madeline fixes her bright green stare at me as she moves both hands towards my belt buckle at a fucking glacial pace. As much as I’m looking forward to that moment―so soon yet so far―when my cock gets the chance to bust out of its cotton confinement, I’m mainly thinking about how I’m going to throw every fiber of my being into giving Madeline the best fucking night of her life.

I close my eyes, taking in the tactile rushes of pleasure from Madeline’s fingers exploring my rock-hard cock through my pants leg.

Ready to move on to the best parts of the evening, I hasten things just a touch by undoing my own belt buckle.

Still in sync, Madeline immediately yanks my pants and boxer briefs to the floor.

It takes about half a second for Madeline to register my throbbing cock, pointing straight up at the ceiling, but I hear a delighted squeak escape her inviting lips as she gets her first glimpse of the sizable underside of my shaft.

I move the process along again, only slightly, by pushing my cock down from its upstanding position so it’s facing Madeline.

The grin that grows on her face as she watches makes me feel hotter than I already am, which in turn makes me feel like I’m about to fucking spontaneously combust, but I keep things calm by focusing on Madeline, watching her let her hair down and toss it mildly―the soft, blond strands brushing up against my thighs and my dick.

It’s a fucking amazing feeling, and it’s a good thing I have such excellent self-control, because otherwise I would be coming real fucking hard right fucking now. Instead, I close my eyes again and inhale deeply while Madeline runs her tongue methodically up the entire length of my cock.

I’m used to ensuring that my partner has had a surfeit of pleasure before getting into stuff like this, but this early in the night, I’m already unable to hold back a low moan.

I try to keep my breathing slow while Madeline moves her tongue around the thickness of my hard-on. By the time I feel her taking my cock inside her mouth, deep into her throat with ease and confidence, I swear that the whole fucking world begins to shake.

I grasp two handfuls of Madeline’s golden hair as she moves her head up and down at an ever-increasing pace.

Fuck.

My eyes roll up to the ceiling, and I let out another moan, low in pitch but fucking loud.

Luckily, Madeline slows down and lets my cock pop out of her mouth entirely before I start to get too close to coming.

There’ll be time for that later. This is a night I want to savor.

And right now, it’s Madeline’s turn.

Ethan

Madeline pulls her hair back with her left hand, looking at the wall with a smile. It’s just now that I notice she’s reaching into her skirt from behind with her right hand. From the looks of it, she’s caressing her own pussy gently, maybe not fully consciously.

At this point, she’s all about maximizing the moment.

But I can make it so much better for her.

Madeline’s still on her knees as I drop to the floor, on my own knees, so we’re at something approaching eye level with each other.

I’m trying to think of some clever banter. Usually this shit comes to me so naturally, but now I’m mentally running through all the possibilities as fast as I can.

Should I go funny? Sincere? Seductive? All the above and then some?

My train of thought is derailed in the best fucking way possible: with another greedy kiss. Again, we both just seem to be in agreement that it’s time for that to happen.

This time, instead of stumbling around the room while making use of our tongues, we collapse onto the floor fully, with Madeline on top of me as we kiss, and the silky fabric of her skirt rubs in slow, exhilarating ways against my exposed, unyieldingly stiff cock.

Before ending the kiss, we roll over so Madeline’s below me.

“Your turn now,” I half whisper just after the kiss ends.

“Already? This suite is great, after all.”

“If you think it’s great now, just you wait. This suite’s about to get fucking mind-blowing.”

I don’t wait for Madeline’s reaction. I just begin sliding down the floor, moving down her body until I’m looking right at the print of her skirt.

I start moving the skirt up Madeline’s never-ending legs. This time she helps move the process along by grabbing and lowering her panties past her knees.

And then she just rips off her fucking skirt in one fluid movement and throws it across the room.

Jesus Christ. Just when I was thinking I couldn’t be any more fucking turned on.

My hand makes its way straight to Madeline’s cunt with gentle deliberateness. I move my fingers smoothly up and down her left inner thigh, getting closer to her pussy each time but not quite arriving. Teasing. Driving her wild.

I do the same with her right inner thigh, and Madeline’s already beginning to writhe softly on the carpet, her breath picking up pace.

This time I don’t just keep it a tease, I touch her pussy for the first time, although this first time it’s especially subtle and brief, creating another sort of tease.

“Don’t stop,” Madeline demands quietly between breaths. And I don’t.

I start stroking Madeline’s pussy lips with the lightest touch I can muster. I continue for a few seconds as Madeline’s breath starts to come in shallow gasps.

When I finally reach her clit, Madeline lets out a low, slow moan. I pull my hand away, but Madeline doesn’t complain this time as she must know what’s next.

Bringing my face in close, it’s confirmed that Madeline is super wet. I start things off with a slow lick up her lips, making my tongue flat so I can taste as much of her as possible.

Another moan from Madeline—this one a few octaves higher. I give her another even slower lick, and she squirms in such a way that her pussy gets even closer to me. I don’t know if it’s intentional.

But it works. I start getting more aggressive, licking around the edges of her pussy, finding my way back to the center and finding her clit with the tip of my tongue.

Madeline’s increasingly animalistic writhing is fitting nicely with the rhythm of the moment, but something about her wetness—which by now must be breaking some kind of fucking record—is sending flickers of exhilaration from my busy mouth all the way down to my fucking toes.

When I give Madeline’s clit another flick of my tongue, she thrusts into it automatically, riding my face hard as she finally lets out a yelp of pure fucking ecstasy—uncontrollable and wild as she rides the wave of her orgasm.

I can sense the time stop for Madeline, her body and mind reaching a state of almost fucking transcendence. This is the type of shit I’ve been waiting for.

I lift my head up to watch the bliss ebb and flow in Madeline’s eyes as she reclines in wordless joy. She sits up rapidly, a bit startlingly, and directs the still-needy passion in her eyes at me.

I know my expression matches hers, because I don’t know if it’s just this very moment in this room right now, but it seems like I’ve never felt anything so fucking real or as intense as the fevered yearning surging through every pore, every fucking fiber that makes up all that I am. It’s fucking inexplicable, but it’s there nonetheless.

As I stare silently back into Madeline’s sweltering gaze, I know that my eyes are saying all of that and more.

There appears to be a jump in time, like a bad yet natural-feeling edit in a movie, when we instantly go from our intense, mutual stare to one last scorching kiss to bring us into the third and best act of the evening.

We’re quickly learning to anticipate the other’s movements better and work in harmony in the blind, tongue-locked state of our kisses. This time, instead of clumsily clambering across the room, we rise to our feet deliberately, our tongues tangled in passion, holding onto each other as if we’re the only thing keeping each other tethered to the Earth.

We both fall sideways onto the bed, our kiss never breaking. Madeline pushes me lightly, and I roll onto my back. I let her climb on top of me, her face fixed in a smile that could easily set the room ablaze.

Madeline grabs the center of my shirt, between the buttons with one hand, then the other.

No, don’t do it...I’ve already lost one fucking shirt to her. Actually, okay, yeah, do it. Please.

As if she’s reading my fucking mind—in fact, I’m pretty sure she is—Madeline tears my shirt open, sending buttons soaring in every direction. I hear some of them land on the carpet with muted thuds as Madeline’s soft, delicate hands explore my pecs, roving down to my abs as she lets out a quiet, breathy squeal of delight.

I grip Madeline’s tits with my left hand as I reach into the top dresser drawer, located ever so conveniently right next to the bed, and pull out a condom from the box resting there.

No matter what this honeymoon was going to actually entail, I don’t travel unprepared.

Madeline grabs the wrapped condom from me while my arm is in midmovement. I watch intently for her next move, which is to make a gorgeously sassy sneering face and bite into the wrapper with her teeth, tearing it open. Fuck yeah.

I know what comes next, so I glide myself up the bed to grant Madeline easier access to my cock, which is pointing right at her, urging her on. She makes quick work of rolling the condom down over my cock.

She knows what she’s doing, and she’s at that same beyond fucking ready point that I am.

Madeline starts by pinning down both my arms on the pillowtop mattress, and she continues by grinding her wet pussy against the underside of my fiercely erect cock. We both make almost feral moaning noises at the pure fucking ecstasy of it.

Once she can tell that I can’t take it anymore, Madeline slackens her grip on my arms, and in another one of those jump-cut edits, I’m hovering above her as she grasps the headboard in shock and excitement.

I steadily guide my cock into the place it’s now quite literally aching to go. When I first sink inside, just partially to start, the sensation of all-enveloping pleasure almost takes me by surprise.

“Oh my god,” breathes Madeline, who apparently feels the same way.

I slowly pull out.

“No, don’t you fucking stop,” she whispers.

Usually, my teasing buildups are where I excel, but this time we’re both just too fucking horny for any of this bullshit.

I do take my time guiding my cock back in, not to try and create some spectacle which may or may not be there naturally, but instead to not rush the moment, to take my time so we both get to luxuriate in paradise for as long as fucking possible.

“Oh my GOD,” Madeline repeats as I slide back in. Her words perfectly sum up the feeling that I’m getting as well—a carnal bliss that’s centered around my cock but is traveling throughout my body, seemingly throughout everything, making the world feel like it’s fucking vibrating again.

As I sink balls deep inside her, Madeline emits another squeal, this one not quiet or breathy but brash and piercing, building in pitch until it seems like the window might fucking break.

God, this is so fucking good.

I mean, I’ve had my share of women. Some leave an impression, some don’t. But Madeline? I’m quickly coming to the conclusion that I may not ever be the same after her. And the scariest fucking part? I don’t know if I want to be.

Ethan

Do you ever have one of those days where you wake up feeling supremely well rested, see the glorious sun shining through the window, and all you want to do is leap out of bed and start belting out Rodgers and Hammerstein songs about what a beautiful morning it is?

Because I certainly fucking don’t.

Ever.

Except this morning, for some fucking reason that makes me check my head for a fever.

I open my eyes bright and early, which is usually the precursor for me grudgingly starting to get ready for work, or if it’s a weekend, just going the fuck back to sleep if I’m lucky.

This is a pretty goddamn comfortable bed, which doesn’t hurt. The silk linens are agreeing with me too. I mean, this is the motherfucking honeymoon suite, after all.

Also, I’m in Hawaii—a destination which lends itself to you being in a pretty good fucking mood when you’re here on vacation.

Oh, yeah. One more thing. I also had what I’m pretty fucking sure was the best sex of my life last night.

I mean, it was un-fucking-believably great. Nothing I’ve experienced even comes close.

Goddamn.

I decide to stay in bed for a little while and put my hands behind my head to match the fully relaxed, content vibe that this morning brings with it.

“Madeline.”

Man, I can’t seem to stop saying that name out loud, especially after just waking up.

This time, there’s no hungover confusion about it.

This time I’m thinking about nothing but Madeline’s amazing pussy and how I made her come so fucking hard.

Well, I’m also thinking about us fucking on this very bed and how it felt so damn good for both of us it was like we transcended the current understanding of time and space and found new, unexplored dimensions or some shit.

It was so fucking good.

On this very bed.

Last night.

So where is she now?

So this is what it’s like. Waking up in my own room, alone, after what was arguably the most mind-blowing sexual experience of my life.

Fuck that, it in-fucking-arguably was the most mind-blowing sexual experience of my life.

It’s an experience I’m sure I’ve given others—women familiar with men who provide enough sweetness and romance but lack the prowess and dedication that I pride myself on bringing to the table.

I’m not one to boast, but rocking worlds is what I fucking do, and what I do when I’m done with that is to make myself scarce in the dead of night to go sleep in my own bed and continue with my own life.

You could say that I’ve lacked empathy, maybe more than I’ve realized. The way I typically see it, I can provide a world-rocking, enjoyable time for all parties involved. But I’m not always good for providing what someone may want beyond that.

But if the empty room coming into focus right now is what those middle-of-the-night disappearing acts feels like...let’s just say that it’s fucking time to reconsider my comfort zone for the sake of my own damn sanity.

I throw off the silk linens and the down comforter. I swing my feet down to the floor. I’m still well-rested, at least.

The sun is peeking in brilliantly, and the plush hotel-room carpeting feels fucking awesome against my bare feet.

Audra. That was one instance where I decided I could provide both the bedroom world-rocking and everything else that could come with it, anything she would ever want.

I push myself up from the quicksand-like pillowtop, letting reality flood in like it keeps fucking doing these past few days.

Obviously, I couldn’t fucking do it with Audra. I’d say I tried, but the way she made me feel, it was like I didn’t need to fucking try. I could just act on my heart.

I never used those words with her. Maybe I should’ve.

But now, this—the empty honeymoon suite bedroom that looks so small right now—it gives me some fucking perspective. Maybe my habit is leaving women alone with empty honeymoon suites, over and over, figuratively and, well, sort of literally.

Who knows how many times I did that with Audra, and she definitely fucking did it with me with no small dose of melodrama.

Now I’m pulling up the sheets and comforter, smoothing them out and tucking them under the mattress. Why the fuck am I making the bed?

Madeline’s serving up that karma quite fucking literally herself, and somehow it’s hurting more than Audra—it’s because I don’t really even know Madeline, and it’s because I’m processing that shit right now. But no worries. I’ll be over it soon enough.

Right? Right.

It must really be about Audra still. How can it not be?

But she’s not the one I’m thinking about. She could show up at the bedroom door right now and I can almost guarantee I wouldn’t feel anything. But if Madeline showed up...

Where could she be? This can’t just be projection. Granted, all this canceled marriage and false honeymoon shit is new to me, but Madeline is taking up a clear spot in my mind—my desires—that not even Sigmund fucking Freud would deny is real.

In this case, really wanting to see Madeline is just really wanting to see Madeline.

I finish making the bed so I don’t abandon what I started. I choose a casual outfit from the closet and dresser in about two seconds, and I shower the last of the sleep off and leave a tip for housekeeping on my way through the main suite room and out the door to...to wherever the fuck I’m going.

I’ve still not decided by the time I’m in the elevator heading down to the lobby.

“Just pick something, dude. No fucking wandering,” I mutter out loud to the empty elevator car. “And no fucking talking to myself anymore.”

I look down at the faux-marble floor of the elevator and at my feet.

“The beach it is.” Jesus. There I go again. I don’t know where the fuck that habit’s coming from.

As conflicted and as I am in fucking Hawaii of all places, I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of this beach. Walking that paved path toward the clear cobalt sky and the Pacific, I’m thinking that my future may just be right here. I may never fix whatever stupid lovesick wounds I’m bearing, but Hawaii is a pretty damn good salve for whatever ails you.

There are people on the beach—too distant to see clearly—but I know none of them are Madeline.

She’s probably on a plane back to wherever she’s from. She may or may not find anyone who deserves her, who can give her everything she needs. I wouldn’t mind trying, but all this shit will probably fade with time, and in this moment it’s time to visit that beach bar yet again and maybe see if the buffet is open.

I’m still a few feet away from the bar when I see it’s closed with a makeshift wooden gate. I look up at the sky over the ocean. Fuck, I can’t even picture Audra’s face.

I try to picture Madeline.

Even in the late morning sun, she’s looking damn good. She’s wearing no makeup today, her hair is just pulled back sloppily, with stray wisps going in every which direction. She’s wearing a T-shirt and distressed denim shorts, but...

Oh, okay. Yeah, she’s right here again, in the flesh.

“I love how you just show up.” I’m thinking it, and I can’t help but say it aloud.

The idea is to tell her how happy I am to see her—and already the scenery is looking so much fucking better and my day’s turning around with her here now—but she doesn’t look too pleased with that sentiment.

“Is that sarcasm?”

Her face has no humor in it. Fuck, how can I pull this one back?

“Oh no, that’s not what I meant. I was just thinking about you, and you’re here. It’s not the first time.”

Madeline’s face lights up a little, which is good since I feel like I could be on the verge of scaring her. Fuck.

“You think about me a lot, huh?”

Madeline seems mildly amused, but not thrilled, not excited. She looks bogged down by something. It may be the highlight of my day so far, but I don’t think she’s giving our interaction too much consideration.

“You okay or what, lady? I haven’t seen you since last night.”

Looking in an unfocused way at the scenery behind me, a sardonic little smile flits across her lips, and Madeline shrugs.

“Today was supposed to be the best day of this whole trip,” she murmurs, turning back to me, “but that’s gone down the fucking drain.”

“Hey, I’m no stranger to disappointment these days.” Pull it back, Ethan. Stop being so fucking self-centered. “What happened?”

“Parasailing.”

“You went parasailing? It went okay, right?”

“No, we didn’t go fucking parasailing. That’s the problem.”

Now we’re getting somewhere, but I don’t know if it’s somewhere good yet.

“Who’s we, Madeline?”

“Remember Laura? She saw your cock.”

“How could I forget,” I say dryly.

Madeline rolls her eyes at either my reaction or some annoyance regarding her friend—probably a little of both.

“Yeah, she had this whole thing planned out. We had reservations to go out this morning. We did a shitload of research, we were going to see the coastline, some mountains, volcanos, you know, great fucking views, once in a lifetime. But she couldn’t get out of bed. She said she needed sleep. Too many fucking drinks. I’m not going by myself. So...yeah. That’s all.”

Madeline’s eyes are focused down at the sand. She’s usually so in control, a confident mask in place, but she’s an open book right now.

I put my hand gently on Madeline’s shoulder, and she looks at me, her eyes resigned, full of disappointment.

“Let’s go.”

“What? Get more drinks? I guess that’s all I’m doing in fucking Hawaii.”

“No, Madeline, let’s go get those once-in-a-lifetime views.”

Ethan

Madeline’s walking alongside me along the beach, and I feel the electricity from her—even in her denim shorts and T-shirt—but she’s seemingly ignoring me, looking straight forward. I feel like a friend, like an acquaintance.

“Are you sure you can get us out there?” Her question is charged with apprehension but also mild interest.

I’m scrolling through a website on my phone, filling out forms and giving my credit card info and tapping a button that says Confirm.

“As of a split second ago, we’re officially reserved for twelve-thirty.”

I hear Madeline’s platform sandals stop short in the sand, and I stop along with her. We turn to each other. Madeline’s eyes have that same piercing emerald as always, but there’s a soft, innocent happiness to them right now.

“For real? Don’t bullshit me.”

My phone vibrates noisily. I peek at the screen then give her a cocky grin.

“There’s the confirmation text. We can get in some once-in-a-lifetime views before lunch.”

Madeline raises her arm up in the air, and the scent of roses and vanilla mingles with the salty sea air when she does. I’m not sure what’s going on, though. Madeline has her hand raised like a teacher’s pet who knows the answer and desperately needs to share it, but the look on her face—eyes wide, lips in a subtle duck-like pout—strikes a perfect balance of goofy sexiness.

That’s a phrase I never thought I’d fucking say.

I’m sure Madeline can see my confusion, but she stays with her hand up, her goofy-sexy face unrelenting, until I finally fucking figure it out. I raise my hand to give Madeline a high-five, and as our palms slap, Madeline grabs my hand and interlocks her fingers with mine, pushing my hand and my entire arm so it rotates down toward the sand, and we’re holding hands like normal.

Watching Madeline’s goofy-sexy expression transform into a sassy, frisky grin as her hand grips mine sends exhilaration racing through me. Fuck, this girl and what she does to me. I don’t even fucking get it.

“Let’s do this shit,” I say, pulling her closer to me as we walk. I shoot her a grin, but she just keeps looking forward, toward the ocean, the same smile on those lips I’m suddenly dying to kiss again.

I don’t know how long it takes us to walk to Lahaina Harbor. It could be ten minutes, or fifteen, or maybe even a half hour, but it feels like a fraction of a second, and it also feels timeless as Madeline and I take in the beach, the aroma of salty ocean air, the gorgeous coloratura-soprano melodies of indigenous birds, and the distant sound of waves and tranquil conversation, our hands locked and our comfort reaching the point where we can enjoy our surroundings and take each other in without having to fill every fucking second with needless words.

We keep walking north, leaving the fantasy world of the beach and the resort and entering another fantasy world of actual roads, houses, businesses, and natural vegetation that hasn’t been landscaped and engineered to death for tourist consumption.

“How do you know where we’re going?” Madeline keeps looking straight ahead after asking the question, as if she knows where we’re going.

I can tell from her persistent grin and her lively tone that she doesn’t really care how I know; she knows we’ll end up there.

“I wouldn’t be showing you around if I didn’t know this island like the back of my hand.”

Madeline reaches over with her free hand, leaning over with just the right blend of recklessness and grace, and she grabs my other hand as we walk.

We’re now facing each other, walking slowly. Madeline’s face is full of mirth.

“Oh, you’re showing me around. Is that what you think is happening?”

“If you know the way to the slip, or anywhere else, by all means show me. I’ll follow you.”

Madeline’s stumbling intentionally, dragging us both toward the poorly paved ground and bouncing back up.

“I don’t know how to get places, is what you’re saying? My sense of direction sucks?”

I’m not usually the tripping, stammering type myself, making it a point to carry myself with confidence, to move with purpose and pay attention to what the fuck I’m doing. When she intentionally falters and moves in random directions like this, it puts my own sturdy, dependable swagger to shame.

“It doesn’t matter,” I respond, pulling her in closer. “If you wanna lead, I’ll follow you. I don’t care where the fuck we’re going.”

Madeline stops and takes a step closer to me, then another, and then a final step so our bodies are pressing against each other lightly, and then we meld into a starved, all-consuming kiss under the North Pacific midday sun.

 

From that point on, Madeline stays in front, pulling me in the right direction, not missing a fucking step until we get to the pier.

It’s not like parasailing’s on my usual agenda for this honeymoon, or any vacation for that matter, but when I get my first glimpse of those waiting speedboats and several rainbow-striped parachutes already soaring hundreds of feet above the ocean and traveling toward the horizon, I feel like a little kid getting his first in-person glimpse of Disneyland.

I can’t see her face as she strides in front of me, but I don’t doubt that Madeline’s electric excitement is sending a strong current back in my direction as she grips my arm.

Madeline she spins around to face me.

“Here we are, ye of little faith. I know how to get places.” Her voice rings through the mild cacophony of the pier and the boat engines starting up.

“I told you I’d follow you anywhere.”

“But you didn’t know we’d end up here.”

We fall into another kiss, shorter but just as fucking hot. Her mouth is sweet and soft, and love the way she tastes. Fuck, I could do this all day. Fuck the parasailing. Let’s just stay right here.

But then she’s pulling me toward the pier again.

I get my phone out as we walk toward the slip to double-check the confirmation and get the text message ready in case they need to see it.

“Who are you texting?” Madeline asks, no longer clutching my arm.

“Getting the confirmation ready, just in case.”

She raises her eyebrows and smirks. “Okay, if you’re that worried about it. Nerd.”

That magical mirth fills Madeline’s face again, and I’m pretty sure she’s purposefully reminding me of the countless measures of beauty surrounding me just outside my little smartphone screen.

I take that lesson fucking seriously, and the next few minutes become a haze as I focus on the surreal majesty of the Pacific in the background and the smoldering hotness of Madeline so close to me in the foreground.

Speaking with the boat dispatcher, listening to the little safety speech, getting prepped and boarded by the staff who have this down to a quick science—it’s all a blur in the background as I watch Madeline’s complete joy and anticipation.

She’s not in her own world, though; she’s giving me long, secret looks that make me feel like I’ve got my own personal Haleakala Volcano inside me that’s about to fucking erupt.

When the speedboat pilot is boarding and we’re getting ready to fly, I give Madeline a similar look, wanting her to feel that same magma-level heat. But now, she’s just fixated on the ocean and the sky, and she looks so fucking adorable in her orange lifejacket.

She turns to me, vibrantly beaming and looking genuinely fucking thrilled to be where she is at this very moment.

“Are you worried about getting wet, Ethan? With your phone and all? Wanna check your email one last time?” she teases

I didn’t think I could love Madeline’s smile any fucking more than I already do, but seeing the teasing edginess sparkle around her face makes it so much fucking better.

“What about your phone? Is the Great Madeline too much of a free spirit to care?”

“Oh,” she drops her voice to this low, reverberating pitch that goes straight to my cock, “I’m not worried about getting wet.”

I chuckle and shake my head. This woman.

When we start gliding away from the pier and zipping across the sparkling blue ocean surface, we don’t actually get wet. We’re strapped into a tandem harness, and the transition from sailing straight ahead to rising through the clear, clean air is smooth and natural.

Even the breeze whisking against us is peaceful, and the views of the Maui coastline and mountains are unreal, like some gorgeous fever dream.

The view gets even better when I turn to Madeline, especially since she’s already staring at me in delight.

“Didn’t even get wet,” I observe to her while we swing gently in the harness.

“Good, you need your phone,” she pokes back at me, her eyes full of warmth.

“You’re right. I should check it now.”

Madeline chuckles while I reach into my pocket and retrieve my ever-present smartphone. I look at it for a second, pretend to poke at the screen like I’m doing something important, and then proceed to chuck it into the fucking Pacific.

I turn slowly back to Madeline. Her eyes are wide with glee, and for the first time, I hear her abandon herself to full-on cracking up, her melodic laughter easily filling the sky around us as the pilot picks up speed and we start drifting up further.

I’m kind of pissed about this when it makes Madeline turn away from me and watch the view as we rise, but when she thrusts her hands into the air and belts out an exhilarated scream, her excitement is super fucking contagious.

It feels like only a few more seconds before we start to descend.

As much as I’d like to float above the Pacific with Madeline all day after an unexpected parasailing stint, I can’t fucking wait to see what happens next.

Letting the flow of the day take over, I don’t ask Madeline to stay with me after we get back to dry land and start walking back toward the resort. Even if this is all the time we get together, it’s taken my mind off things and made this sad honeymoon experiment much better than I could have ever imagined.

But I’m not gonna lie, I’m thrilled when Madeline doesn’t make a beeline back to her room the minute we get back to the beach and walk by the hotel. She walks with me, even though I’m doing little more than wandering.

“Are you gonna get a new phone now?” she asks as we pass the beach bar.

“Eh, I’d probably have to go to another island for that. Right now, I don’t fucking care.”

I really fucking don’t. And let me tell you, that’s pretty fucking crazy for me. I’m walking on the wild side now.

We leave the bar and the hotel behind as we continue down the sandy shoreline.

“You don’t need it for work? Or to get back home?” This is the most sincere I’ve seen Madeline yet.

“If my coworkers knew I didn’t have a phone right now, they’d be freaking the fuck out, which is a good reason that I’m in no hurry to get a new one.”

“Coworkers, eh? So we’re narrowing it down...”

“Oh, finance, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Ha! Of course. What else would you do?”

I look at Madeline’s face in profile, framed by the sand and the ocean behind it. I can see the warmth and kindness in her smile.

“You have me all figured out. I don’t doubt it. What do you do? Probably something much less predictable.”

Madeline lets the question hang for a moment, walking silently with the same contended smile.

“Grad school. That’s all for now. I’ll make those big career choices when the time comes.”

I don’t press. I just enjoy the waning afternoon and the chance to wander with Madeline.

Ethan

I’m picturing it now.

I step into the office for the first time in half a month. I look nicely tan and, maybe, well-rested. Nobody knows the full story of my life, and most of the motherfuckers I work with think I’m on my honeymoon.

I look like it, too, in this imaginary scenario. It’s the first thing in the morning, and I’m fucking smiling. One of the Wolf of Wall Street-wannabes I work with takes notice and says, “How’s married life treatin’ ya, honeymoon boy? Was Hawaii good to you?”

And I tell them that Hawaii was just great, and I spent most of my time wandering.

And they’ll be fucking astonished and perplexed, because I am not a wanderer or a meanderer, or someone who lacks decisiveness and well-constructed contingency plans. I don’t play it by ear, and I don’t fucking wander.

Yet here I am, hours after running into Madeline, on a trip that didn’t even have a goddamn plan to begin with, and I’m having such a great time wandering around the beaches of west Maui and the streets of Lahaina with no purpose or destination in mind.

Madeline and I are bullshitting like old friends. We’re not gabbing on about our feelings or our lives or any earnest shit. We’re just rattling on about island weather, banyan trees, long-haul flights, and every mildly amusing thing we pass.

Like the metal sign we’re looking at that depicts a silhouette of a family: a father, mother, and a ballcap-wearing child fleeing from a palm tree. The tree appears to be firing round, black cannonball-looking projectiles at the family’s heads.

The words BEWARE FALLING COCONUTS are printed boldly at the top of the sign, with the same warning in Japanese printed below it.

We’re both stopped now, studying the quirks of this public warning.

“Why is the dad holding a lollipop?” muses Madeline.

“Maybe that’s actually the son, who just had a growth spurt and is now two feet taller than his dad, who has to wear that baseball cap to try and compensate.”

“Maybe. Maybe they’re all children...but the lady’s an adult. She has boobs.”

I notice that we’re holding hands for the first time since we went parasailing.

“I don’t know why they had to depict those boobs. Unless that’s what they mean by ‘coconuts.’”

Madeline shrugs.

“They do fall over time, I guess. Maybe it’s all a metaphor for aging.”

“Of course. So obvious. What do you think the Japanese part says?”

I watch Madeline consider the sign with convincing sincerity.

“It says, ‘This sign is a joke. Can you believe Americans fall for this shit?’”

“So pretty much a direct translation?”

“Pretty much,” she affirms in a whisper, and after an afternoon of drifting aimlessly around Maui, we both finally lean in to share a soft kiss.

I’m having the time of my life bantering about bullshit with Madeline, but I’m keeping the heavier shit to myself today—like how our kisses always just kind of happen, and they feel like the comfortable yet meaningful kisses that come with a long-term relationship.

I definitely need to keep fucking quiet about that.

I don’t know who’s leading the way at this point, or if either of us are paying any attention, but after we start walking again, I spot the main building of the resort just a couple blocks away.

“It’s getting dark.” Madeline looks upward briefly. It means she’s going back to her room now, her world.

I’ll say it: I’m blown the fuck away by Madeline. I barely know her, but every moment with her is filled with an electric fun and excitement that I never felt with Audra—or anyone.

But it’s a lesson, I guess. I’ll be newly single when I get home from my honeymoon, and I’ll go out all the time like I used to and meet loads of women, and eventually I’ll find someone else who makes me feel the same way.

Or not. I don’t fucking know. Or fucking care right now.

I’m actually completely content in the moment, something that’s become pretty fucking rare for me if I’m being honest. As Madeline and I walk back to the hotel, I’m thinking about ordering room service, or maybe just a trip to the fucking vending machine.

“I’m getting hungry.” Madeline’s clarion voice slices through my thoughts. “How about you?”

“Uloji it is, then.” The words come out without me even thinking them. Good, it’s about time my instincts showed up again.

“You’re joking. I’m not a millionaire.” She gives me this side-eye glance. “Are you?”

I give her a sly grin. “I didn’t throw my fucking wallet in the water. And you can’t stay here without experiencing the Michelin star restaurant onsite.”

“Uloji has two Michelin stars, actually.”

Madeline is looking downward, almost like she’s embarrassed to know that.

“Really? Since you know more about it than I do, and definitely more than most of the oblivious rubes who are probably eating there now, I’d like to right that cosmic wrong by treating you to dinner, drinks, dessert, and whatever the hell else you want.”

“The people eating at Uloji are rubes?”

“One thing I’ve learned in my line of work is that money can’t buy taste or intelligence.”

Madeline eyes the hotel.

“I need to just run, literally, to the lobby restroom first. Like, really.”

Madeline bolts into the building, and I take the time to just fucking enjoy the moment yet again. Jesus, have I been so caught up in work for so long that I’ve forgotten how to appreciate just being?

Not ten minutes later, we’re about to walk into the Uloji entrance. Madeline looks down at her clothes, realization dawning.

“Isn’t there a dress code? And don’t we need reservations?”

“Don’t worry about that.”

“They’re gonna kick us out, and I’m honestly fucking starving.”

“I’ll go in and check. That way I can spare you the embarrassment, at least.”

“Okay, hurry up.”

I walk swiftly, using sleight of hand to retrieve a few bills from my wallet on the way in.

Madeline’s hugging herself slightly in the cooling dusk air when I get back outside a minute later.

“I thought you knew a lot about this place.” I do my best not to smile.

“What does that mean? I’m the one who said we needed res—”

“Let’s go. They’re ready to seat us.”

I hold in my laughter while watching the look of pure skepticism on Madeline’s face as we walk in.

“Right this way.” The maître d gestures for us to follow, and I finally let out bellow of laughter as Madeline’s eyes widen with happy shock.

Maybe it’s a slow night at Uloji, maybe it’s my doubling of the maître d’s weekly paycheck, but in no time flat, we’re seated by a massive picture window and served an amuse-bouche of caviar and yellowfin ahi with horseradish vodka sauce.

“It sounds weird, but it’s really fucking good.” Madeline’s opining with her mouth full of ahi and her eyes on the sunset out the window.

“Ahi sounds weird?” I ask while spooning caviar onto a water cracker.

“No! I mean horseradish vodka sauce. No reason it should be weird, though.”

“You should have some caviar.”

Madeline shakes her head while taking another bite.

“I’ve had too many strong flavors. It’ll just be a waste.”

Madeline readily finishes the plate while the waiter quietly stops at our table and opens a bottle of Veuve Cliquot Yellow Label champagne. The back-waiter swoops in and collects the empty ahi plate as soon as Madeline finishes.

“You’ve got some ninjas working here,” marvels Madeline.

“Ah, we want to be sure there’s room for your next course.” The waiter’s genuinely enjoying himself.

“The mochi crusted monchong?” Madeline’s wide-eyed, so elated it’s like she’s asking if it’s for real.

“But of course,” the waiter says while filling her glass.

“And the Keahole lobster?”

“As you wish, madam.”

Madeline gives the waiter a little toast with her glass.

“My favorite words.” Madeline takes a liberal swig of champagne.

“I’ll just have the scallops.” I didn’t even look at the menu, but the waiter nods knowingly and leaves.

I reach for the caviar spoon, but Madeline grabs it first and helps herself to a large scoop, eating it right off the spoon.

“What happened to the strong flavors?”

“I don’t know when I’m gonna get this chance again,” Madeline answers with her mouth full. “They don’t serve this stuff in economy.”

“Is it a long flight home for you?”

Madeline takes another smaller spoonful and licks it off. She then takes a slow sip of champagne and flashes a sly, flirty smile that could bring the whole fucking Pacific to a rolling boil.

“Depends on the tailwinds. I don’t mind if it gets long.”

Suddenly, all I can think about is what happened in my suite last night.

I try to calm myself by gulping down more expensive champagne and caviar. The set of plates come out as the sunset is ending. I don’t know what’s in my fried scallop dish exactly, but it’s so good that I almost forget about how fucking hot Madeline looks, even without makeup or a fancy dress.

We end up splitting the lobster, and the meal is somewhat quiet.

“How much longer are you in Hawaii?” I finally ask.

Madeline just shrugs while finishing her monchong.

“Little while.”

“Okay...well, I’ve been having a blast. I’ll be honest, Madeline. It’s because of you.”

Madeline pours the last of the champagne bottle in her glass.

“Cool. I like blasts.”

I slide my chair around so I’m sitting closer to Madeline.

“Hey, I know we haven’t been talking seriously, but this won’t take long, I promise.”

Madeline chuckles a little.

“What’s on your mind, friend?” Madeline laughs again, this time at her own silliness.

“Pretty soon I’m going home, and you’re going back to your life, wherever that is...”

“I’m going back to wherever that is, true.”

Maybe Madeline’s getting extra jokey to avoid talking about this, maybe she wants it to be serious.

“All I’ll say is, the way things are for me right now, it would be a colossal mistake to jump into anything serious.”

“I appreciate your candor, but I harbor no illusions about this. When you go back to wherever-it-is, and I go back to wherever-that-is, it’ll be over—just like that sunset. It’s been nice, though, Ethan.”

“Been nice?” Feeling relieved, I pull my chair in a little closer. Madeline’s blazing, sexy smile returns, and she begins running her fingers around the rim of her glass.

“It is nice, right now.”

Madeline’s brushing the edge of her sandal up and down my lower leg under the table, just barely touching it. I lean in a bit, wanting to see where this goes, and my hand reflexively ends up on Madeline’s chair.

Before I can react, I feel her grabbing my wrist and guiding my hand to her thigh.

“Did you leave room for dessert?” I’m legit whispering, scanning the candlelit room with my eyes. There are a few people at distant tables, and soft music is playing, but I can’t even concentrate on giving a shit, not when I can feel the silkiness of Madeline’s leg, the tops of my fingers sensing the warmth underneath her skirt...

“I always do,” Madeline purrs, not too concerned with being discreet.

I sit straight up and look out the window, the exposed part of my arm staying still, but my hand is edging through the wonderland between Madeline’s thighs.

My cock’s already starting to stir, and after Madeline lets out a high-pitched squeaking noise, I need to take a deep breath to keep things from really getting…hard.

“What was that?” I inquire loudly, playing it off like we’re just a young, drunk couple having some fun in a fancy-ass restaurant on vacation.

“Maybe someone’ll say, ‘I’ll have what she’s having.’” Madeline’s breathing a bit heavy between words, and I’m reaching into her panties for a few light, teasing touches.

I withdraw my hand slowly, and I hear the waiter’s footsteps drawing close behind me. Madeline looks pleased—for now.

“Would the table care to continue with a cheese course? Or a dessert?”

I turn around to see the back-waiter wheeling a dessert cart toward us. I look at Madeline for her answer.

“We need to get going. Thanks. Someday I’ll be back, though, with my lottery winnings.” Madeline’s already standing up, ready to go.

I peel four fresh hundreds from my wallet and hand them folded to the waiter.

“Sorry if this is gauche, but we’re in a hurry. This is for the meal, champagne, and excellent service.”

“No worries at all, sir. Have a wonderful—”

I hand over another several c-notes.

“If you could have a sampling of desserts and cheeses sent to my room, that would be fantastic. You can just leave it outside. Ethan Barrett.”

Madeline and I practically run out of the restaurant door.

 

Ethan

The words “Sure thing, Mr. Barrett!” echo through the door behind us as we pretty much run toward the hotel.

My instinct is to go back to my suite, but I notice Madeline already stopping—then I notice she’s gaping at me incredulously.

“What are you, the fucking Monopoly man?”

“You mean Rich Uncle Pennybags?”

“Uh, yeah, exactly.”

“No, I just believe in tipping generously, and I sometimes like to wear a top hat, although I don’t know how you’d know about that part.”

“Do you own this resort, along with some railroads?”

“Not quite.”

Apparently, we can’t even wait until we’re ten yards away from Uloji. Madeline’s got a firm grasp of my left wrist, and she’s steering it toward her thigh, hoping for a continuation of what we started in the restaurant.

I’m caressing her ass through the thin fabric of her skirt with my right hand. Madeline lets go of my wrist and digs her fingers into both my shoulders, pulling me down closer to her, and gives my earlobe a healthy little bite as I squeeze her ass.

If most of today’s small, modest kisses were like mild tremors, barely registering on the Richter Scale, the way we swiftly begin devouring each other is like the Big One—an apocalyptic, off-the-charts quake that carries the weight of the day’s built-up passion with an underlying ferocity that seems to be taking us both by surprise.

Madeline’s holding my head in her vice-like grip, drawing my face to hers as her tongue glides around with mine. It’s like she’s feeding off the collective desire of both of us, and the sparks feed back into my own limitless well of yearning.

With my hands free, I further explore the majestic form of Madeline’s ass, then her tits, as we remain sealed in our frenzied kiss.

I could be overloaded by taking in all the unapparelled features of Madeline at once—her plump lips, her skillful tongue, her faultlessly curvaceous tits and ass—but my focus only grows. I thought my longing reached its summit when we left the restaurant, but my thirst for Madeline, my driving need to give her immense pleasure, to share pleasure with her, keeps building on itself, making me feel on fire as our kiss dwindles.

We pull away from each other a fraction, less than an inch. Madeline moves her hands glacially around my waist, with the clear intention of undoing them at a pace that she sees fit. I brush a few stray hairs away from Madeline’s neck with my hand, and I slowly land my lips on that same spot of her neck.

As I let the kiss endure and move my lips up and down ever so slightly, Madeline emits a sexy as fuck little “ooh” sound, letting me know I’m on the right track. She also starts grinding against the front of my slacks with a teasing slowness, so I’m certainly on a good path, but this path is about to go further.

I move an inch over on Madeline’s neck, closer to her shoulder, and place my lips down on her again. She emits another “ooh,” a bit higher in register, but we’re not there yet. I move once more, around toward the nape of her neck, and nip at her with a little more vigor.

“Oooooooeeeeeeeeeeeeee.”

The change in vowel sounds means that I’ve finally arrived where I was headed, and I celebrate the moment by giving the spot a few quick flicks with the tip of my tongue.

A deep, primal groan vibrates through Madeline. The sound is startling, and I can feel its power as I run the tip of my tongue up and down the magic spot.

I stop just short of letting Madeline’s coursing pleasure reach its conclusion, and we both take another small step backward into reality, staying swaddled in each other’s arms.

Our timing couldn’t be better, as the front door of Uloji chooses that moment to swing open loudly. As Mad—I’m trying that one out—and I turn to the door, we probably look like a couple scared, guilty teenagers.

An older lady, wrapped up in Burberry outerwear that looks way too warm for the weather, steps out with dignity, followed by a man in his early seventies—probably her husband—decked out in what looks like a Brunello Cucinelli dinner suit and a driving cap.

The man tilts his cap to us in greeting as the couple passes by, and I watch in as they continue to stroll at their stately pace toward the hotel.

“Should we sprint past them?”

I snap back around to the playful sound of Madeline’s voice and absorb the sight of her eyes shining with their usual laughter. I don’t know if she’s amused at that idea or keyed up by the notion of finding a spot less obvious than the honeymoon suite to quench our well of want.

Because I sure as fuck am.

I point up to the sky.

“No need for that, Mad. We’ve got the Milky Way right above us, and the beach just seems to keep calling our names.”

“Did you just fucking call me Mad? That’s no way to earn your clothes back, mister.”

A sort-of-run is great for, say, leaving a Michelin star restaurant in a hurry, but a voyage to the pleasures of the island coastline calls for something a bit fucking quicker. I don’t know what it looks like from the outside, and I don’t care, but the pace that Madeline and I take to the beach sands feels like a damn hundred-yard Olympic dash-style sprint, if there ever was one.

The feeling of fucking tearing across the sand and watching the ocean approach rapidly with a stomach full of pricy seafood and champagne is not as bad as you’d think. Although the feeling of Madeline’s hand hungrily gripping mine and my growing desire at the thought of making her come like crazy under the star-filled sky might be softening the blow a bit.

We slow down as we near the quiet, remote section of the beach, far enough from the main resort buildings, roads, and parking lots that it’s like we’re on a desolate desert island—the only two people around for hundreds or thousands of miles.

“I remember this,” discloses Madeline as she scopes out the scenery.

“I don’t.”

That small wood building, with its weird mid-beach location, catches my eyes.

“Let’s take a jog,” I pronounce loudly as I start trotting to the structure.

“The fuck’s this now?”

Madeline’s muttering and a bit peeved, but she follows me and is easily caught up with me by the time I throw open the unlocked door.

Stepping inside, we’re immediately enveloped by the fragrance of industrial-strength laundry detergent. It’s dark, but Mad—I’ll try it one more time—somehow finds the switch and turns on the harsh, overhead fluorescents almost immediately.

We’re suddenly in a forest of clean, white beach towels. Towels are piled up in large bins, folded in stacks on top of washing machines, lying in rumpled heaps on shelves and some just sitting on the ground.

“This seems private, and...clean, I guess,” Madeline notes.

“We can’t see the Milky Way, though,” I respond, pointing at the ceiling. Mad delightfully looks up, as if to make sure.

“You’re right. Lets’ go where it’s starry.”

I grab the nearest towel, and we sprint the fuck back out there, then down the beach a bit, then north toward the pier, ending up by an abandoned little patch of boardwalk that’s little more than a couple sturdy wood poles.

“Good spot for a picnic,” I state blankly while laying out the beach towel.

“You’re hungry again?”

Madeline’s question is hardly finished by the time we’re consumed with each other again, making out with wild fierceness, grasping at each other with a blind desire that overshadows everything.

The sand softens our fast, mad fall onto the towel. We’re on our sides now, our lips still fastened tightly, our tongues tangling in a sort of savage ballet.

We stay like this for a span of time that falls somewhere between an instant and an eternity. All I know is that we gently fall out of it at one point, the waves still splashing softly against the sands and the dense tapestry of stars shining overhead.

Our shared intuition now stronger than ever, Madeline rolls smoothly onto her back as I move down to my favorite fucking position to be in life.

“This time, I go first,” I remark.

Madeline’s already grabbing handfuls of beach towel in preemptive pleasure while I undo her skirt’s only button.

Mad giggles wildly as I slowly pull the distressed denim down her legs, my mouth growing dry with raw desire as I watch their silken luster come alive in the moonlight.

Mad lifts her head and shoulders slightly as she pulls down her panties. She gives up once they’re past her knees, flopping back down with a fresh volley of giggles.

I finish the job, pulling her lacy royal-purple panties down past her ankles and tossing them on top of where her skirt is now resting at the far corner of the towel.

Laying my hands flat on both sides of Mad’s hips, I swoop my head down with purpose, like a lion readying a mighty roar. My cock is throbbing powerfully in my pants as I sense the wetness of Mad’s pussy before I even get a good look at its moonlit magnificence.

I begin by resting my lips mildly just above the top of her cunt, the warmth giving her clit a bit of tiny, barely noticeable stimulation before lifting my head back up and moving delicately to her left inner thigh, massaging her skin with some tantalizingly soft kisses—kisses she almost wouldn’t feel but become less and less faint as I blaze a trail back to the outer edges of her thoroughly soaked pussy.

The teasing evolves to more serious business as I run my tongue up the outer edge of her heavenly lips, giving an unhurried, delicate lick that causes Madeline to vibrate with another husky moan of ecstasy.

I go with the moment, starting another smooth, measured tongue migration, this time encompassing both sides of her lips from bottom to top.

Common sense would dictate that a cock would never literally explode from arousal, but as Madeline thrashes with uncontrollable pleasure while thrusting her cunt against my tongue, I start to worry about the way my dick is possibly reaching new levels of engorgement as it strains against the sandy ground.

I unthinkingly lift my head up a couple inches, but Mad is having none of that. She grabs two fistfuls of my hair and pulls me back to her.

Maybe it’s good I didn’t get that trim yet.

“You don’t want to lose more clothes, do you?” Madeline’s doing a fine job articulating through her breathless ecstasy.

“These you can take, because you taste so fucking good.”

I sashay my tongue around her opening, the heat of excitement coursing through me.

If a tree falls in the forest...

I try to think about Zen kōans, I try to think about baseball, a fast pitch, low and inside...

As my tongue moves like a magnet toward Madeline’s eager clit, it’s of no use. All I can think about is this fucking goddess beneath me.

Mad’s feral moan moves up and down in an unruly wave as she erupts wildly.

I look up to see Madeline’s gratified face glowing in the night air. It’s full of crazed excitement, and my cock is rock fucking hard.

“You need a break, Eth?”

“You can call me whatever you want, and no, I don’t fucking need a break. I don’t want to waste another goddamn sec—”

In an instant, Madeline has me pinned on my back, only partially on the towel.

“Damn, Mad. Are you in the WWE, by any chance?”

“Fuck no, that shit’s fake.”

The way Madeline swings her leg around to straddle me as her hands continue pinning me securely to the ground makes me feel like I just left decades of monkhood with a lifetime’s worth of built-up horniness and a world record-breaking load ready to shoot out at any moment.

My cock’s already straining, struggling to be let out for some of this marvelous beach air.

Mad lets go of one shoulder to free some pins from the back of her air, to free all of her untamed golden locks to either flow softly in the breeze or fall down her gorgeous face and tits.

“Your torturing me, Mad.”

“Oh, you think that was bad?”

Madeline gracefully pulls her T-shirt up over her head, revealing her gorgeous tits resting in their purple bra cups.

“You didn’t even see these last time, did you?”

“Cruel and unusual punishment, Madeline.”

Mad unhooks her bra and proceeds to let her perfect rack bounce out into the open air.

If things had worked out differently for me, I never would have gotten to see such an astonishing pair of tits in my life. Even with their heavy fullness, Madeline’s tits are practically fucking buoyant, with just the right amount of asymmetry to let you know that they’re beautifully fucking natural.

And those perfectly proportioned, cherry-red nipples...

The sound of one hand clapping…

Fixated on those wonderful tits, I don’t even notice that Madeline’s finally letting my cock out for some fun until I hear her opening my zipper.

I feel the relief wash through me when Mad insistently pulls my pants and boxers down past my knees, and my cock gets a break from running an unbending path down my pants leg, finally springing forth into the cool, salty breeze.

There’s precum glistening all over the head, and Madeline is regarding my flagpole with pure delight.

“Mmm. Let me clean this up for ya.”

Madeline shoves her tongue out with her trademark goofy-sexiness, and to keep from fucking coming, I focus on just fucking breathing as she brings her tongue down to my shaft.

“Yeah, you like licking that up?” This shit usually doesn’t sound so ridiculous when I say it. I’m always pretty good at taking control. But Madeline giggles, and I don’t mind one fucking bit.

“You know it, Pennybags. You got a pretty nice fuckin’ cock.”

Madeline slides her tongue slowly up the entirety of my cock, from bottom to top, seeming to echo my simple technique—a technique which apparently works because, holy fuck, does that feel fucking amazing.

When Madeline switches it up by moving just the soft tip of her tongue in a zigzag pattern around the top of my cock, caressing the rest of it lightly with her fingers, I actually need to grab my forehead and lay back flat, surrendering to a level of pleasure I can barely process.

I keep my eyes set on the night sky—the thousands of tiny white dots, the milky haze of the Milky Way—as Madeline’s lips wrap around my shaft and her tongue runs up, down, and around its lengthy girth with abandon.

Finally adjusting to this crazy fucking pleasure, I lift my head up to Mad concentrating on the task at hand, which she’s so fucking good at, and her amazing tits just floating around gently, coming so close to touching me but not quite making it.

Like she’s reading my mind, Mad lets my cock fall from her lips slowly.

“Should be pretty clean now,” she murmurs.

“Is there a way to be sure?”

“You wanna test it out?”

“Not sure what that mean, but fuck yes.”

“Let’s see then.”

Madeline grips the base of my cock and rubs it lightly against her right tit.

“Seems good,” she continues, “but I could use your help up here.”

I don’t even know what we’re talking about anymore, but in two seconds I’m sitting upright and massaging Madeline’s tits.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” she chirps excitedly as I start licking around one of her nipples.

I need to stop and take a breath. It’s not like any of this is new to me—but on this beach it feels like I’m discovering it all for the first time.

“What does it all mean then?” I leave it open for Mad to make the next move.

“Not sure. I think it means that I just gave you an incredible fucking blowjob and that you should take that big cock and fuck me like it’s going out of fucking style.”

I instantly find that magic destination toward the back of Madeline’s neck with my lips, inspiring her to let out an overjoyed shriek.

“Yes! Perfect place to start,” she screams, loud enough to reach the mainland.

I move myself around so I’m behind Mad completely, and almost instinctively arches her back, pushing her magnificent ass toward me.

Madeline starts grinding herself against my hard cock, and with both of us bottomless, it’s not hard to make the transition to fucking right then and there.

My steely cock slips in easily. She’s so fucking wet. Those waves of immense pleasure start up immediately.

“Fuck,” Madeline yells. “Fucking fuck me! Come on, Pennybags!”

“Oh, that’s how you want it?” I grind out.

So instead of easing into it, I pick up the pace. I start building up momentum with each thrust, and I reach around to squeeze one of Madeline’s tits.

“Ooh! Oooh! Yes! There we fucking go!”

We reach a good pace, and I move my hand down to reach between her legs from the front.

“We started this back at Uloji.”

Mad whips her hair back and moans with animalistic fervor, and I do the same because it can’t be fucking helped right now. We’re just two creatures in the midst of primal intensity, fucking amongst the volcanoes.

I feel myself getting closer to an insane full-body fucking climax. As we both groan softly, almost in rhythm, I easily find Madeline’s clit with my fingertips. As I caress it, Madeline’s low moan modulates to a colossal squeal.

I wait for Madeline to finish coming before finding my own release, emptying myself into her as her pussy clenches and grips my rock-hard cock.

I drop my head against her back as we both catch our breath, then I chuckle.

“How am I doing, ‘getting my clothes back’-wise, Mad?”

“It’s a start,” Madeline answers, still facing forward but reaching up to run her fingers along my jaw.

Fuck. I can’t even process how fucking amazing she is.

Mad can keep my clothes as long as she goddamn wants.

 

 

Ethan

The beach bar is actually open today. Sometimes, it seems like everything that happens is something that's going wrong.

Less than a goddamn week ago, the beach bar being open would’ve been annoying, and the beach bar being closed would’ve seemed like just another goddamn thing that’s gone wrong.

Just a few days—a meaningless, almost nonexistent stretch of time—but just a few days have been enough to turn my well-worn New York City-perfected curmudgeonly approach to every stupid little goddamn thing that happens and transformed it, like some fucking psychological magic trick, into a shiny new appreciation for the things that I do have in life.

Which is a goddamn lot.

Maddie’s waving at me from halfway across this odd little section of the beach with the small bar and the sporadic buffet. I give a perfunctory wave back.

That’s right: Maddie. Not fucking Mad, because that makes her mad. It’s Maddie.

Maddie from Boston. She finally spilled the baked beans on that one.

I told you that a few days can make a big fucking difference.

Maddie’s happily lost in whatever conversation she’s having with Dominique, and Dominique’s daughter, Sally, and that guy who walks around in a shark costume.

Shark costume guy is supposed to be a mascot or some shit. Whether he’s a mascot for the whole resort or just part of the resort or just this part of the beach, I may never know.

But he has a pretty sweet gig walking around all day and posing for photos with whoever asks. Usually he ends up posing with families with little kids, like Dominique and Sally, but sometimes adults want their own photo.

Adults like Madeline. She likes doing things like digging through the props that shark guy keeps around, like those fake mustaches on sticks and plastic tiaras that say Naughty on them in cursive letters. She also likes doing things like posing with the shark guy and a bunch of those props, poking out her tongue or doing her goofy-sexy duckface for the camera.

Maddie’s looking at the prints from her photo session and talking to Dominique and Sally, who both took a shining to her instantly—from what I’ve seen, literally everyone does. I can’t hear their conversation from where I am, but I hear Madeline break out into her siren-song laugh.

Would I ever get sick of hearing that laugh? No fucking way. Not that I’ll ever find out.

I’m only about halfway through my Captain’s Demise as I watch Maddie walking back in my direction in her ocher sundress and pink Chuck Taylors. She pulls off the sneakers and a dress thing with panache—probably a combination of choosing the right pairings and having the attitude and confidence to make it work.

Speaking of attitude and confidence, is it possible to believe that I still get a little nervous watching Madeline walking toward me? I mean, fucking A, right? Who would’ve seen that one coming?

Whoever I do end up with probably won’t make me feel like that, but that will be for the fucking best.

I also feel like the luckiest motherfucker on the planet watching Maddie saunter closer and closer to me, knowing she’s on her way to the barstool right next to mine. That’s one of those things I’ll miss about Hawaii, but it’s not like I can stay here for-fucking-ever.

I’m rocking khakis for one of the first times in my life, and I feel my usual stirrings underneath the beige fabric as Madeline smilingly sits down to her own Captain’s Demise, which is still nearly full.

“How’d they come out?”

Maddie’s poking around her frozen drink with her straw.

“You should’ve posed with me.”

It’s still out of habit that I avoid shit like that, but I’m really fucking regretting it now. If nothing else, it’d be a tangible memory of my time here. If anything’s certain in life right now, it’s that I’m never gonna have a week like this again.

“You’re right, Maddie.”

“That’s for sure.” Madeline wraps her lips around her straw, draining a decent portion of hard liquor, fruit juice, and crushed ice from her plastic cup.

“Can I see the prints, at least? How many copies did you get?”

“Calm down.”

Maddie’s joking, but she’s right. Again. I need to enjoy this while it’s here instead of worrying about happens when it’s over.

We finish a few more sips of our sweet, icy drinks in silence.

“Would you want to get more photos later?” Fuck, I’m still hung up on this, which is a great way to ruin my last few days here.

“I’d rather just go swimming.”

I notice Madeline’s watching the ocean. It’s no fucking Charles River, that’s for damn sure.

“Swimming? In there?”

Maddie takes out the straw and swigs down the melting remains of her cocktail.

“I would like, Mr. Barrett, to spend some time in the fucking ocean. Swimming, fighting the current, forming our own whale-watching expedition, whatever...and I’d like to do it with you.”

Maddie’s smiling, but it’s not her usual “hotter than the sun”, “set the world ablaze with her sexiness” smile. This smile contains depths of sweetness, sincerity, and warmth that just fucking blindsides me.

I was pretty sure I had a handle on things by now, but...but what, really?

How does a smile change anything?

The mantra I’ve been inundating myself with over the last couple days is truer than ever:

I just need to enjoy this while it lasts.

I return Madeline’s smile with all the warmth I can muster.

“Come on!”

And she’s off, launching herself from the stool and charging across the sand on a singular mission to get into the fucking ocean.

“Woooohooooo!”

Maddie’s bellows resonate across the beach as I follow her. I’m not doing any woohoo-ing myself, but I am running behind Maddie at breakneck speed.

If only all those day traders, index fund managers, and financial analysts back in New York could see me dashing headlong into the Pacific, not even wearing a fucking bathing suit.

If only the person I was last week could see me now. What would he think?

That I’m being weird? Or that I should be embarrassed?

And would it really be me thinking that, or would it be my then-fiancée?

Madeline’s seamlessly ditched her Chucks in the sand on her way into the water.

Thanks to that run, my endorphins are going full throttle as I reach the water just a few feet behind her. Does she even see me?

“Hey,” I call out, trying to project my voice over the din of the crashing waves.

Maddie spins around, a huge grin plastered on her face. Instead of what I’d expect at this point—for her to be laughing, frolicking, caught up in the pure joy of the moment—Madeline happily swings her arms into the ocean and sends the largest splash of salt water that she can amass in my direction.

It all gets me, soaking the bottom half of my shirt, along with the entirety of my pants. I’m still phoneless, but now my wallet, cards, ID, and my suite’s keycard are all saturated with briny ocean water.

Seeing Madeline’s grin, feeling the Pacific soak into some of the priciest clothes I packed, there is no fucking doubt that this is the happiest I’ve been in a long time—since well before I even met Audra, since I can’t even remember when.

“Oh, lady. Do you know what you’ve done?” I send a splash of at least equal size back to Maddie, drenching the lower half of her sundress more than it already is.

I start running toward Madeline through the water as she howls in amusement.

“I can’t believe you followed me wearing shoes and everything!”

“I can’t believe you would splash me.”

We splash at each other a couple more times before Maddie’s outright paralyzed with hysterical laughter. I wait for her laughs to die off a bit as she looks at me.

“Do you know anyone else who would follow you into the ocean dressed the way I am?”

“Probably not, Ethan.”

Another of the handful of times she’s used my actual name. And maybe the last.

She’s wading toward me calmly now, and I stride through the water toward her. The tide is rising, though, and we’re both a little more than waist deep by the time we’re face-to-face.

“Are you glad you met someone in Hawaii willing to follow you into the ocean if you asked?”

On one hand, I’m sort of asking myself that question. On the other hand, I’m not certain why I’m asking it at all.

The response seems positive, though. Madeline finds both my hands in the water and takes them in hers. Her smile—that deep, poignant smile that I’m just discovering now—resurfaces as we draw closer to each other.

“You dope,” Maddie whispers, her smile widening.

We fall into a kiss as the tide begins to wane. Instead of yielding to the moment entirely like I usually do, I start trying to think of a good reason that this really needs to end.

Ethan

Madeline’s still here, enjoying the resort and enjoying Hawaii in ways that only she can, but apparently the last couple days of her vacation are days that she agreed to spend with her friends.

I’m back here where I started―at the honeymoon suite, sitting at the sad, undersized excuse for a dining table and looking at my vending machine-purchased feast of a microwave “barbecue” sandwich and a small can of pineapple chunks I could have gotten at a fucking Gristedes in Manhattan.

I know this seems like some serious sad-sack, feeling sorry for myself type schtick, but none of it is as bad as it sounds. I knew that a vending machine meal was probably inevitability before the honeymoon was over. Maddie and I finished all the cakes and cheeses from Uloji days ago, and I just don’t fucking feel like shelling out for room service or any of that shit today.

And honestly, after two minutes in the microwave, the sandwich smells vaguely edible.

As for Maddie, well, it’s going to be tough saying goodbye no matter what, so I’d be lying if I said there isn’t some relief to getting that over with and getting on with whatever my life is going to be now.

She probably feels the same way. She’ll take something different from this, and she’ll continue on her own journey, and that’s weirdly reassuring.

Fuck, I can’t even bite into this sandwich, it’s so goddamn hard. I might as well have bought one of those fucking petrified lava plates from the gift shop and tried to cook that in the microwave.

And the stupid, pathetic reality is that I am sitting here in self-pity. There’s no reason I can’t leave the honeymoon suite and get a decent meal for myself. Hawaii’s not over yet.

Part of the reason I’m reluctant to leave right now is the dry-cleaning bag hanging on a hook right next to the front door. Maddie finally returned that outfit she confiscated, and even had it dry-cleaned, which is completely unnecessary for those items, but I understand why she did it.

What I don’t understand is her having the resort staff bring it back to my room instead of returning it to me herself.

Well, unfortunately, I think I do understand. Now that the week is winding down, it’s time to wind down anything that could be remotely construed as fun or flirtations or playful in any goddamn way about the fling. Sending my shit back in a dry-cleaning bag through a third party actually makes perfect sense―but I don’t enjoy looking at it right now.

But I suck it up. It’s just a dry-cleaning bag, and as I pass it on my way out, it occurs to me that I need to get a new phone.

This chapter’s ending, most likely, and I’m going to need a goddamn phone for the rest of the story―beginning the moment my plane touches down at JFK, when I’ll suddenly have a flood of harried voicemails, emails and texts about every single fucking thing that’s occurred south of Chambers Street during my honeymoon, no matter how fucking minute―and how it’s all a giant crisis that I need to fix this instant or the world will fucking fall apart.

In other words, I’ll need to go back to work, and I’ll need a stupid smartphone as always.

I ride the elevator down to the lobby, which is more crowded than I’ve seen it yet. If nothing else, it looks like I’m leaving the resort at the right time, before the tourist rush starts.

I have another little bit of luck when I see that no tourists are monopolizing the concierge desk, which means I can stop there quickly on my way out.

The lanky, mustachioed concierge’s face lights up when I approach, like he recognizes me.

“Ah, Mister Barrett! We haven’t been seeing much of you.”

Huh. That’s all a little strange, but I don’t have the time to care.

“Right, well...long story short: I need a new phone. I mean, a new personal smartphone with my old number and service plan. Is that possible within a couple days?”

I realize how farcical this is to ask at a fucking hotel as I say it.

“Just put me in touch with your provider; I’ll have a new phone ready for you by tomorrow.”

Word of my generous tipping must be getting around.

“Yeah. Great, thanks.”

My body perks up reflexively as I notice a very familiar laugh and voice resonating through the lobby from somewhere behind me.

Madeline is standing by a small, potted palm tree close to the exit, ensconced in a conversation with Laura...well, at least Laura is ensconced. Madeline is glancing at me, trying not to look too obvious about it.

To be fair, she shouldn’t be too surprised to see me here, but I understand if it makes things difficult, if she just wants to let it all fade.

But fuck that. We should talk, just to wrap things up, just to say goodbye. It’s not like we didn’t know this was coming, and the healthiest thing to do is at least try and be adults about it.

Maddie doesn’t flee out the exit when she sees I’m approaching her, so that’s something.

Why can’t we just try to make this work?

Fuck. I can’t seem to get that idea out of my head.

I slow my pace a little. I’m thinking about what this conversation is really going to entail. I can’t just offer to move to her fucking city. If I come on too strong, it’s going to ruin the memory of this week for both of us.

Fuck, she’s actually smiling as I get closer, but it looks like she’s trying to hold back―to avoid leading me on. Not a great sign.

“Ethan. So nice to see you.”

She’s using just my first name, which is still a rarity, but in this case, it’s a polite formality, the polar opposite of the way she’s used it before.

Two fucking days ago. Less than even that, actually.

I guess a few days really can make a difference, and not always a great one.

“Hello, Madeline,” I reply as I arrive at a good conversational distance.

I’m just trying to match Madeline’s tone, but there’s still clear disappointment in her eyes after she hears my greeting. Like she wishes I weren’t here at all, or I that I would at least ignore her.

I’m trying to be understanding, but after what we went through literally yesterday, this is getting ridiculous.

This sudden, mysterious backlash actually feels worse than the sudden, mysterious backlash I experienced with Audra.

Much worse.

“It’s good to see you,” I state in sort of a drone, taking a breath, silently reminding myself that we agreed this was a fling, and Madeline’s acting completely rational.

I probably seem a bit crazy, in fact.

“Good to see you, too,” intones Madeline robotically, hesitantly, repeating her initial greeting almost verbatim, staring at the floor with palpable discomfort and a touch of anguish.

Fuck, she really doesn’t want this shit. I can’t leave it like this, though.

“Maddie...”

Damn, why did I have to call her that? That word just catches in my throat, making it impossible to finish the sentence for some reason.

Like I’m fucking getting choked up or something. Of course, that would really be ridiculous, but it looks like Madeline softens slightly when she sees my weird, out-of-nowhere struggle with speech.

“You okay there, Eth?”

I chuckle. That caught me off-guard, and I want to want to laugh much harder, but I bring myself under control for the sake of avoiding complete catastrophe with this conversation.

“Yeah. I was at that seminar on How to be Socially Awkward in the main ballroom this morning. Looks like it’s paying off for me.”

“Oh, I went to that seminar, too, if you couldn’t tell.”

Madeline and I laugh for a moment, and that feels nice enough.

I steal a quick peak at Laura, who’s been silent this whole time. She’s trying her best to smile politely, but she’s looking straight at Madeline with a look of pity and mild concern.

“Alright, Maddie,” I say. “If I don’t see you, have a safe trip back. And good luck at grad school. Don’t let the workload get to you―crush that shit and get that motherfucking advanced degree. You deserve it.”

Laura finally acknowledges me, though silently, with a nod as if to say Okay, that’s enough now.

Maddie’s look is fixed somewhere indeterminate on the other side of the lobby, as if she can’t wait to be done with this.

I guess this really is goodbye.

“Maddie,” Laura’s addressing her friend in a sweet, matronly tone, “isn’t there something else you’d like to say?”

Laura’s trying to get Maddie to say farewell with finality so she can get a clean break from her vacation liaison and return to the reality of the real world.

“Thanks.”

That’s all Madeline says. Maybe because I wished her luck, but it’s time to stop speculating about any part of this.

The sunny, Hawaiian day visible on the other side of the lobby door holds no appeal for me whatsoever.

I give Madeline the quickest nod I can and turn away from her to go back to my suite.

Ethan

This is a fine fucking spot to be in at the end of a fucking honeymoon:

Waking up in the late afternoon from a two-hour nap―a nap you only took to get away from reality for a while―not even in the California king-sized bed, but on it, on top of the comforter, still fully dressed and with your fucking shoes still on as your feet dangle off the endive of the mattress.

If that sounds like a pretty pitiable spot to be in on your honeymoon, or anytime, you probably don’t have to worry about being there yourself anytime soon unless you’re my sorry ass, waking up in the darkened honeymoon suite bedroom after my sorry-ass nap.

Fuck it. Married or not, once I get back to my job in New York, it’s not like I’ll get more than a couple hours of sleep every night. I see how goddamn dark it’s getting already through the window.

Maybe the best use of the rest of my time on this stupid trip is a mini-hibernation to prepare myself for another year, or two, or the whole fucking rest of my lifetime of being a markets zombie, dedicating my brain, my body, my entire being to tracking, predicting, trying to nail down shit that has nothing to do with shit, all about cash and nothing else.

I’m already drifting back into slumber when a cacophonous clanking of bells shatters through the room’s silence, rattling lamps and furniture.

Either my suite’s been magically transported to one of the Notre Dame Cathedral towers, or my room phone is ringing.

I reluctantly roll off my bed and slog to the unholy clamor emanating for the unassuming little hotel phone on a nightstand.

I pick up the receiver, and take a moment to bask in the renewed silence. I fight the urge to just hang up, and I bring the receiver to my ear begrudgingly.

“Yeah,” I answer, doing the best I can right now to not sound like too much of an asshole.

“Mister Barrett!”

I recognize the concierge’s affable perkiness through the phone. I think I gave him my mobile provider info on my way back to the suite earlier.

“Yes, what is it?”

“We’ve tracked down a great mobile phone for you, a smartphone like you requested, actually a ‘phablet’ as they call it.”

“I’m not certain what that is. How much is it?”

“It just has a slightly larger screen than most, Mister Barrett. And don’t worry about the expense, the management’s taking care of it.”

That’s confirmation that a stockholder, or possibly even an owner, of this resort or its parent company knows who I am. That’s fine, as long as they’re not involved with my firm in any capacity.

Or maybe the concierge is hoping for one of my famous gratuities.

My mind’s blank as I shower, shave, brush my teeth and get ready to retrieve the stupid phablet as soon as possible and tie up any loose ends so I can get the fuck away from here as quickly as possible.

On the elevator down to the lobby, I run the possibility of using my new phone to change my flight reservation so I can leave tonight and pretend that none of this ever happened.

As soon as the elevator door opens, I spot the concierge behind his desk, holding a large phone up at chest level and speaking into it.

He wouldn’t be this brazen about it if there was anything legally hazy about this gift from the resort, most likely.

I try to smile while walking to the desk, reading the concierge’s name plate.

“Ah, here he is now.”

“Hey, Kingston.”

“Is that you, Mister Barrett? We just need your address and account number to confirm.”

The voice is coming loudly through the speakerphone. It’s the service provider.

This is shady as hell, right? But I don’t have it in me to be suspicious. I recite the information loudly and clearly right in the middle of the fucking lobby.

Kingston is a bit perturbed by this, but what are you gonna do?

“All set, Mister Barrett,” declares the bubbly male voice through the phone speaker, “everything’s now transferred to your new device.”

I want to turn around to see if anyone’s watching this ludicrous display, but if they are, I’ll just let them enjoy it.

Now that all my stuff is on there, Kingston casts his eyes skyward so he doesn’t see the screen as he hands over the device. He slides the box with the charger across the desk as well.

“I thought you’d appreciate it being ready for you when you got it.”

I flip through different screens on the device, everything is surreally in the same place where I left it on my old phone―only larger.

“I sure do, Kingston. I’ll get you when I check out.”

I don’t feel like going anywhere, but I really don’t feel like going back up to the fucking honeymoon suite again.

I find a seat on a generic, semi-comfortable piece of lobby furniture and continue looking through my phone. I have hundreds of unread emails, those can wait...no missed texts or calls that I can see, which is kind of surprising, but everyone knows I’m out of town.

I try to open the web browser so I can look into changing my flight, but my thumb hits the wrong icon, opening my photos.

I think it’s an accident, but I can’t guarantee it.

The last photo I took fills the spacious screen. The picture’s from shortly after I first arrived, and it was overcast. There’s no one in the photo, just the boarded-up beach bar, and the empty beach. I remember thinking that it didn’t look like Hawaii, not in this weather.

Fuck this shit, I can’t just leave.

I know damn well that I’ll never see Madeline again after this week, but I’m not going the rest of my life without telling her how I feel about her.

How do I feel about her, anyway?

I’m still holding the cloudy, empty beach in my hand.

That’s partly why I need to see her: to talk to her, so I can figure out what this pseudo-honeymoon chapter actually means before I try to go on to the rest of my story.

If this shit sounds selfish, well, I guess I can’t argue with that.

But I’m not thinking about myself when pocket my phone and my charger and stride across the lobby and out the door.

I’m not thinking about myself at all as I walk quickly, jog across the pavement and onto the beach.

I’m not thinking about myself, or where I’m going, or any clear plan in mind as I break into a run, going south along the beach, passing the bar but seeing no one there.

Running even faster back to the pavement, bounding, dashing to the other part of the resort, I’m thinking about nothing but Madeline.

About seeing her emerald eyes one last time.

About trying to make her laugh.

About saying goodbye for real.

About telling her…

About telling her what I need her to know before she parasails away from me for good.

When I push through the front entrance of the nightclub, I’m nearly gasping for breath, my heart is pounding with quick insistence, and I’ve got sweat plastered all over my face and shirt.

I walk slowly across the empty first floor of the club, trying to regain some semblance of composure. I can only hope Maddie happens to be upstairs, although the odds on that are probably not great.

I visit the restroom to wash my face and try to dry off a little. After making myself marginally more presentable, I walk into the ill-conceived little gift shop by the stairwell.

I don’t know if I’m trying to delay seeing Maddie, or if I’m trying to delay not seeing her, but this gift shop in a nightclub is fucking weird as fuck.

I still take the opportunity to grab a few random things: a fairly fresh-looking bouquet of anthuriums, a lei of assorted regional flowers, a six-ounce sampler box of chocolates…wait, no, that larger box…no, actually that four-pound box is even better, and maybe one of those small ukuleles painted with a floral design…

By the time I get upstairs, carrying all of that, plus a five-foot teddy bear, I’m mostly relieved to see Maddie―sitting at a table with Laura―so that she can take at least some of this stuff off my hands. If she wants any of it.

God, she looks good.

She must’ve gotten that sundress dry-cleaned as well, because she’s wearing that, and her long hair is flowing down just one side, over her right shoulder, strands of gold framing her radiant face and draping further down to rest atop...

Anyway, Maddie doesn’t look shocked or surprised in any way to see me. After taking a microsecond to register the sight of me trying to take careful steps across the room both arms loaded with all this crap, Madeline instantly begins shrieking with laughter as her face turns beet red in disbelief.

Laura’s probably used to Maddie’s laughing fits, so it takes her a few seconds to bother turning around and enjoy the scene herself.

“What the fuck?” At least Laura’s able to get a few questioning words across as she laughs.

Maddie’s coming close to hyperventilation as she struggles not to fall out of her chair while she’s also struggling to answer Laura’s question.

Maddie’s shaking her now rosewood-colored face, signaling that she has no idea what the fuck’s going on.

I continue taking slow, careful steps, playing up the clumsiness for their enjoyment, and they indeed enjoy the show for a few more seconds before getting up to help me.

Maddie’s still laughing, though not quite as hard, as she takes the humongous box of chocolates from the crook of my left arm.

“Dude, holy shit.” Maddie’s first sentence of the evening is perfect.

“You know, you can do your souvenir shopping after you hit the club,” Laura notifies me while grabbing the uke.

“I’ll keep that in mind next time.”

“You didn’t happen to get anything for me, by any chance?”

Maddie’s laughter is now just a luminous smile.

“Why, yes, here you go.”

I transfer the giant stuffed bear to Maddie’s waiting arms.

“I can stuff this guy in the overhead bin,” Maddie remarks from behind the wall of plush fabric and cotton.

“Or you could just send me the bill for all huge checked baggage.”

“That works, too.”

Maddie opens her arms and lets the poor beast fall to the floor.

“Oh, and all this other stuff is for you, also.”

“I figured as much.”

I hand Maddie the flowers, and I’m about to place the lei over her head when I hear some ukulele chords ring out behind me.

“Unless Laura wants the uke. That’s up to you.”

“No,” Maddie expresses sweetly before her smile turns terrifically evil. “It’s mine.”

Laura ignores the both of us as she begins walking back to the table and while strumming the uke―until she stops short while walking by Maddie and sweetly, lightly touches her shoulder and flashes her a brief, sweet look. A look I pretend not to see, but a look that seems to say See? I told you so.

I can’t afford optimism or delusions right now.

“Madeline?”

“Yeah, I’m right here.”

Laura’s ukulele chords are growing further.

“I…it’s been shit. My life just, well, kind of turned to shit.”

“Um…”

“Wait. When I came here, on an eleven-hour fucking flight to Hawaii, I didn’t know what was going to happen. I wasn’t excited. I was pretty much ready to give up.”

“Hold the phone, is this an infomercial?”

“Not quite. Madeline, I realize, sort of just right now, I’m realizing that my life has been shit for a long time, even when I thought I was the shit. But this week has been...”

Fuck, words keep getting caught in my throat today.

“It’s been,” I continue, or try to, “it’s just been the best. The best week of my life.”

Holy shit, did I just say that?

“Really?” Maddie looks like she’s about to start laughing again, and that’s what her tone sounds like, but she seems to get caught up at the end of the word―just like I’ve been today.

“This is why I wanted to see you one last time, Madeline. I know that it’s gonna end soon, and I’m fine with that, but...I just really wanted to say thanks. I wish it didn’t have to end, but...fuck, ignore that part. Just…thanks.”

Madeline seems touched, at least. Big tears are rolling down her cheeks, and she lets out a loud, unselfconscious sigh.

“No.”

“No, what?”

“No, I don’t want it to end, either. No.”

Maddie’s walking towards me. She takes the lei off and starts putting it over my head.

“No?” It seems like the thing to say.

“No,” Maddie asserts, smiling through her tears.

“No,” I state simply as Madeline finishes putting the lei on and proceeds to use it to pull me to her.

“Yes.” Madeline finishes with that word as our lips meet in celebration.

Ethan

The bellhop is more classy and discreet than I could’ve hoped for as he wheels the luggage cart full of Maddie’s gifts down the hallway behind us, somehow doing a convincing portrayal of someone who doesn’t even notice as Maddie and I stumble towards the suite door in giddy thrill while grabbing onto each other’s backs and waists, laughing and laying random kisses on each other’s lips, necks, and shoulders.

By the time I’m fumbling for the keycard to unlock the door, Hawaii’s Most Discreet Bellhop is gone. He must have that vanishing act outside the honeymoon suite down to a motherfucking science by now.

Before I even have the keycard inserted fully, Maddie and I are in the throes of our fiercest spell of ravenous making out to date. Just like in some fucking movie, we rotate into the suite as our tongues continue their feverish dance, with me blindly hitting the wall with my palm until I find the light switch.

As warm LED light fills the suite’s main room, I pull my lips away from Maddie’s at a glacial pace, sucking on her lower lip like it’s the key to discovering all that is good in the universe―because I’m pretty sure it actually fucking is.

As good as Maddie’s lower lip feels pressed between mine, feeling it slide away with a sumptuous slowness sends bolts of fiery electricity throughout my being, with the added bonus of making my cock so fucking hard that it would put that microwave sandwich to goddamn shame.

I stare into Maddie’s eyes, letting the power of their mythical beauty inspire new, unmapped sensations of heat, power, and just pure fucking horniness flow, forcing myself to take in her painfully hot features even though painful is no exaggeration and my desire actually starts to fucking overflow...but I force myself to stay locked in Madeline’s emerald stare.

That is, until she bites her lip, and for a second, it almost becomes too fucking much. She starts pulling at the lei I’m still wearing―not necessarily trying to pull me to her, but just pulling out of blind, building passion, grabbing at the flowers with such intensity that petals fall to the floor and generally just fly all over the fucking place.

Maddie’s also grinding her crotch against the front of my jeans, and I’m gyrating in kind, my cock getting a tantalizingly faint sense of the supple phenomena of Madeline’s body through her sundress and my own pants and boxer briefs.

Maddie’s had enough of simply snatching at the lei with little tugs, and now she’s using both hands to grip it furiously. She falls backwards in a purposeful, almost graceful way. I can tell she’s voraciously eager to get in a position besides standing.

We fall to the floor good and hard, our lips drawn back to being hermetically sealed, like they’re two oppositely charged ions unable to deny their ionic bond―or some other science-y shit. All I know is that I’m face-down on top of Maddie, with her arms wrapped around my upper back, gripping me with an almost alarming intensity, trying to somehow get me closer, or maybe to get us both to sink through the floor as we remain rapt in charged erotic bliss.

As I greedily tango my tongue around hers in intuitive rhythm with Maddie, reaching into her dress and stroking the downy coolness of her thigh, the ripening desire feels so good that I want it build and build forever, for eternities, as we attain new levels of excitement and exhilaration not yet known to the human mind.

Maddie helps herself to two generous handfuls of my vacation-shaggy hair, pulling with aggressive force as I finally come up for air. The moderate bit of pain mixed with the unearthly pleasure of Maddie pressing her body upwards against my clothed cock generates a hazy white flash that washes briefly over my vision before leaving a clear-focused view of Madeline’s enraptured face framed by her golden locks―some of them shining in exquisite heaps, some just flowing out across the floor in a way that makes me just want to fucking howl with animalistic desire and anguish at beauty that I will never be able to fully comprehend or process.

Instead of howling, I’m trying to just enjoy the view for a moment, but I can’t help but notice Maddie’s eyes starting to focus and go―I don’t know how else to describe it―fucking feral. Her gorgeous lips pull back to reveal her teeth, and her nose scrunches in an amazingly sexy show of fixated aggression.

“Let me have it. All of it.”

The words just fall out of me. I’m not even thinking. I’m just wanting.

Madeline doesn’t respond verbally. Her hands still firmly fastened onto my hair, she starts pulling even harder while pushing me onto my side with the substantial force of her left leg.

I’m caught up in a tornado-like force of nature moving me and eventually knocking me onto my back. I surrender to the power, feeling the wonderful weight of Madeline’s body come to rest on top of my throbbing, starving cock―still restrained and wrapped up in my pants, waiting patiently, or not, for its chance to be freed from the pants leg just barely keeping it from popping up into its natural position.

Oh my fucking god. She starts grinding, beginning just below my waist and moving slow and easy down the rigid tent of fabric until she reaches the very tip, before moving back up again.

I hear an intense, floor-shuddering moan. I know that I’m making the noise, but I have no control over it. I also have no control over my head falling back and hitting the floor as I almost pass out from the pleasure.

Once again, I find myself flat on the ground, holding my forehead, trying to cope with the full force of what this woman does to me.

Mercifully, Madeline pauses her grinding after several roundtrips of increasing pressure. She brings more of her weight down on my dick and leans forward slightly.

“You asked for it,” she intones coldly.

I try reaching for her tits, but she pushes my hands away and grabs the top of her dress.

I’m thinking about how she’s going to tear the straps if she tries to pull it down, but my thoughts are interrupted by an almost cartoonish yell.

Maddie is channeling Tarzan with her yowl, swinging across the jungle on a vine. I wasn’t expecting to fucking laugh, but I almost do...until Maddie just fucking tears her fucking sundress down the middle like she’s Hulk Hogan or some shit.

I almost want to laugh again, but as she tosses the shredded fabric across the room, I’m immediately spellbound by those perfectly natural, imperfectly round and terrifically large orbs of wonder, held in place by a sexy as fuck bra.

My hands go up again, and Maddie hits them away before undoing and letting her bra drop onto my stomach. Before I can even register the splendor of Maddie’s naked tits, she decides now’s the time for my hands to reach their desired destination―her fingers dig painfully into my wrists as she grabs them, but any discomfort is demolished the moment she transports my hands to her heaving chest.

Maddie lets go of my wrists as I massage her tits tenderly. Her green eyes sparkle as I gradually intensify my kneading. When she tosses her golden hair and looks up at the ceiling to hide a smile, I swear to fuck, I come closer to coming in my fucking pants than I thought possible.

I didn’t think anything could feel better than Maddie’s tits in my hands―or at least as much of them can fit in my hands―but as she leans forward, her weight pushing them into my palms, I practically fucking growl.

Madeline doesn’t seem to mind. After she leans forward far enough, we share a few slow, dawdling kisses, saturated with hunger.

“My turn to go first,” Madeline whispers in my ear.

She won’t hear any arguing from me.

Madeline slams her hands across the carpet on either side of me with a pair of potent thumps. She throws her head back with startling abruptness, but nothing could prepare me for watching the massive, blond forest of Maddie’s hair flying back towards me as she swiftly brings her head back down and lets her hair rest on top of my chest. As Maddie slides down to position herself, her hair glides slowly from my chest all the way down to my belt.

Why, oh why, am I still wearing a fucking shirt? If, one supremely lucky day, I get to find out what that feels like without a stupid goddamn motherfucking shirt in the way, I will likely be able to die happy afterwards.

For the time being, I’ll have to make due with watching Maddie toss her head back up and whip her hair a few times to get it out of her face as she undoes my belt.

“I am the luckiest motherfucker in the fucking universe,” I grit out through clenched teeth, unable to keep the certainty of it to myself.

“Easy there, Eth. And take your fucking shirt off, already.”

I do as I’m told as Madeline frees me from the burden of my pants.

Ethan

The boxer-briefs I have with me on this honeymoon are supposed to be breathable, whatever the fuck that means. Despite that claim, and their ridiculous prices, when Maddie pulls my cock out into the wonderful, air-conditioned atmosphere of the honeymoon suite, it feels like my cock can breathe for the first time since we left the damn elevator.

Maddie leisurely pulls down my pants and underwear while eyeing my cock: wholly engorged, pointing somewhere towards the top of the wall behind me with its generous length, throbbing, hard, and deep violet in color.

At the same time, I’m joyously watching Maddie, the appetite in her eyes setting me on absolute fucking fire, filling me with a never-ending, superheated eruption of molten lust.

And we’ve barely even fucking started.

I’m thinking about the way Maddie’s dexterous tongue felt out on the beach…a nice, slow buildup…

Not tonight. Maddie assertively grabs the base of my dick and spits on the tip before taking a good portion of it right into her mouth. She’s wasting no time, moving up and back down again with purpose and speed, grabbing my balls with a firm squeeze, painting what feels like a frenetic fucking Jackson Pollock masterpiece with her tongue.

“MmmmMMmmmM.”

I’m making all kinds of new noises tonight, and right now, it sounds like I’m singing that goddamn Crash Test Dummies song from the nineties.

I can’t help it, and my moaning continues as Maddie throws me a lightning bolt of eye contact while steadily increasing her suction.

I close my eyes, again feeling like I’m about to fucking pass out, and try to concentrate on the pure fucking pleasure she’s providing. I feel Maddie grip my cock tight with both hands as she shifts position.

I’m no longer watching her, but I feel her slowly tracing patterns across my cock with her tongue. The sudden change of pace, and just the insane fucking way that feels, inspires an especially weird and intense hum from me.

Looking at the ceiling, I can tell I’m out of Maddie’s mouth entirely, though both her hands are working my shaft powerfully.

“You told me to let ya have it. ‘All of it,’ you said.”

The way Maddie softly delivers these words stands in stark contrast with this crazy fucking blowjob, but before I can think much about it, Maddie wraps her lips around my cock and takes me deep into her mouth, all the way down her throat.

She must know I’m about to start that fucking moan again, because she starts humming.

That’s right, she starts humming, almost in harmony, and the feeling of those humming vibrations makes me too fucking close to blow my load.

“FUCK!” I growl.

Maddie lets my cock out slowly until it’s again enveloped by the cool, conditioned air.

One hand clapping, motherfucker, runners at the corners, come on!

There’s no stopping it. I hear my come hitting the wall―and ceiling―behind me. No fucking joke.

I’m still absorbed by the ceiling’s snowy hue when I smell, hear and feel Madeline lying down onto the floor next to me.

Already, the fever of desire is beginning to retake me, my cock still rock-hard and ready to go again.

I turn onto my left side to face Madeline, whose emerald stare―now iconic in my consciousness―pierces me with both aching thirst and tenderness.

I softly brush away the last few wisps of golden hair from her face.

Maddie starts laughing hard, and so do I, until our laughter trails off together. Then we soak up the silence, and each other’s close presence, for a few fleeting moments.

Maddie brings the intermission to an end by brushing her fingers delicately across my abs.

“You got your clothes back, that’s fair...but the dry cleaning is extra.”

Maddie’s staring at me with conviction, and her hand is now traveling all over my abs and pecs. She’s not fucking joking.

“I’ll get out my checkbook.”

Maddie gives me a very business-like nod. The exact type of nod I’ve seen a million times in my career, the type of nod that means That sounds good, let’s move forward with that. It’s uncanny.

Maddie rolls fluidly onto her back as I inch down the floor into my favorite place to be in the world.

I move all the way past Maddie’s feet, get up on my knees and see that she’s lying with her hands behind her head, looking like a supremely relaxed and confident fucking badass. She gestures with her head down towards the area of her crotch.

“Could you get those?”

I slide off her lacy panties as I watch her try to fight a grin from spreading ear-to-ear.

Not only is Maddie unsuccessful in stopping her grin, but she also can’t stop herself from playing with her definitively wet pussy as I lower her panties down past her feet and throw them across the room.

“Hey, I’m gonna need those,” Maddie protests laughingly as she lightly rubs her clit.

“Would you like some help?” I offer.

“Would you be so kind?”

“I would abso-fucking-lutely be so kind, any fucking time you want.”

Maddie puts her hand back behind her head.

Staying where I am, I start rubbing the tops of Maddie’s feet, just the very beginning of the warmup, staying there for a good half minute, then moving up to her ankles, tightening my grip a bit, but keeping the massage therapeutic, trying to channel out every last bit of tension.

I notice Maddie propping her head up slightly, watching me as I work, her eyes drifting unhurriedly up and down my chest, my stomach, lower. It’s the same type of studying I remember Maddie doing outside the hotel after our first night together.

Just like then, it’s a challenge to stay in the state I’m in. I’m ready to fuck her brains out, but I want to take my time.

But since I don’t have the tools for a proper massage, and this isn’t an evening for painfully slow buildups, I migrate further up Maddie’s legs.

“Ooh.” Maddie lets out a quiet, subdued moan as I reach her inner thighs. “That was nice.”

Was nice, she says. I take the hint and reposition myself with steady determination.

I lock eyes with Maddie, moving my fingertips around thighs, letting them get achingly close to the borders of her lips.

As I get so close to feeling her pussy, and she maintains her green-eyed gaze, I feel my cock getting even fucking harder. Maddie finally breaks eye contact to take in the show, giggling with delight.

I lower my head down slowly, my dick continuing to harden at the sight of Madeline’s beautiful pussy. These are the moments that I live for, quite literally. All the garbage, the inescapable daily annoyances, and the cumulative fucking stress and the endless bullshit that we all deal with…at this moment it is all more than fucking worth it.

It’s even more worth it when Madeline lifts her knees up further and throws her legs wide open, allowing me to lie down on my side and go the fuck to town.

I start licking around the perimeter like usual, but she’s already thrusting her cunt towards me. I use my sideways position to perform a leisurely, diagonal run of my tongue from the far lower left side of her pussy lips, running up to the upper right.

Maddie squeaks abruptly.

“That’s good...” she says in a somewhat higher register than usual, “Let’s continue down this road.”

I move the softened edge of my tongue down the crease of her right thigh and I start another diagonal run in the other direction.

“Oh, fuck, Ethan! How is that possible―never stop doing that, oh my god!”

I want to take Maddie to the same heights she took me and then some, and I think that’s a sign I’m getting close. I make a couple more slow laps across the entirety of Maddie’s wet pussy as she moans and sweeps her hands wildly across the carpet.

I slow the pace of my tongue more as I move into more of a classic figure-eight pattern, which is accompanied by the fucking perfect sound of Madeline screaming so loud that I swear I hear the furniture rattle.

“Keep going, keep going, I promise I won’t scream again,” she pleads.

I’m also pretty sure she knows I’m going to keep it up regardless, and I do, and she belts out another blood-curdler that may be loud enough to hear in both Japan and California.

As Madeline raises her cunt further into the air, I get up on my knees and move my tongue up through the center. I gently press part of my tongue against her clit, then thrust my tongue inside her dripping cunt before Madeline comes crazy fucking hard.

I wait until her climax subsides, keeping my tongue pressed to her clit as she writhes under my touch. Pretty soon, she recovers.

“Okay,” she breathes, “that was good for dry cleaning.”

Reading my mind, Madeline hoists herself up and excitedly races to the sofa. The sofa is covered with a large bedsheet for some reason, and as I watch Maddie sit her bare ass down on it, I realize why.

Madeline pats the spot next to hers, and crosses her legs in a way that could drive a lesser man fucking insane.

I stride over, cock in hand, as Madeline watches in sheer glee.

“Let me get that for ya.” Madeline reaches her hand out as I get closer, opening and closing it as if that’ll get me there faster.

I stop right in front of where Maddie is sitting and free my cock for her to grab.

Which she does, the feeling sending fiery shivers of pleasure in each and every direction. Madeline keeps her hand wrapped tightly around the middle of my cock as she eases onto her back. Somehow, we get ourselves into a decent position despite there not being too much space on the sofa.

Of course, it helps that Maddie lifts one leg straight up into the air so I have room to kneel on the end of the couch and we can fuck like crazy.

Does that all sound romantic? Well, the moment I take that magnificent plunge into the realm of overpowering, ineffable carnal oblivion, feeling Madeline’s dazzlingly beautiful spirit coursing through every fiber of the immense pleasure we are giving each other and building together, I’m finally beginning to understand what the word romance might actually mean.

Ethan

It turns out this front room sofa is also comfortable for sleeping. The sound of birds greeting the sunrise, the waves crashing nearby, even the staff vacuuming outside has all provided only brief lapses in slumber before drifting back into one of the best rests of my life.

Of course, it doesn’t hurt at all to have the extraordinary being that is Madeline resting on top of me, both of us wrapped up in this enormous bedsheet and nothing else.

That ringtone is getting to be annoying, I’ll admit. I don’t know if it’s some staff members outside or what.

It can’t be Madeline’s; she keeps sleepily asking what it is when it goes off.

There it goes again. Maybe it’s time and to get up anyway, and... fuck, Madeline’s already gone.

That incessant fucking electronic beeping is still fucking going, and I’m waking up to a world where Madeline has drifted away yet again...

I rub my temples. I know that I keep saying I’m okay with it, that Maddie is a fling, part of a fantastic week that’ll always be nothing but a memory, but feeling the lack of the beautiful, perfect weight of her body holding me in this new, wonderful place that is my life—well, I don’t know.

I’m rubbing my face and my eyes. Everything that happened last night just makes this all the more fucking painful. I may have been fine if I hadn’t fucking bothered.

Maybe not fine, but better, at least.

“It can’t get any worse.” I gotta stop saying shit out loud.

“What was that?”

The siren song. There it is.

“Holy shit, babe. I thought you left me again.”

I’ve got a grin of relief and just general happiness plastered across my face as I turn to see that absurdly stunning face, that gorgeous body, that golden hair that I already know is shimmering in the morning sunlight.

Even hearing her voice and smelling her scent is enough to fill me with motivation to get up and see what the day has to offer.

Seriously. When was the last time I felt like that? Possibly fucking never.

Not until now.

Okay, maybe I’m going a little nuts here. I try to dial back the shit-eating grin a bit before turning to look at Maddie.

I still have what I hope is a warm smile when I turn my head to look at Maddie, who’s dressed in a resort bathrobe with her torn dress slung over the shoulder.

“Hey, I’ll buy you another dress.”

I’m about to start laughing, but Maddie’s staring daggers. She’s also holding my phablet.

“You ever fucking pick this thing up?”

“Uh, no, actually. Was the ringing coming from there? Sorry, it’s brand-new. I had no idea.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

I do laugh a little, sitting up on the sofa.

“I’ll put it on silent if you want to get a bit more...”

“Who the fuck is Audra?”

You know how I love to complain about the cold, lonely air in the honeymoon suite? Because now it feels like there’s no fucking air at all and I’m about to fucking suffocate.

I inhale deeply, trying not to have another bout of panic as Madeline stares at me with furious green eyes.

I need to explain that I’m not married to Audra. It was never actually official, and she made it very clear she wanted it to be over, anyway.

But my mouth feels too arid to even speak, and my heart’s pounding in my ears, and I can’t even think of the right words to start explaining.

I’m sure my silence is worse, though.

“It’s complicated.” Well, that’s a terrible fucking start. “What did she say?”

Fuck. Keep fucking digging, buddy.

“She said...” Goddammit, Maddie’s talking through her fucking teeth. “She said that she made a huge mistake.”

A sudden tension headache starts burrowing its way into my forehead, immediately getting worse. I start rubbing my temples, which I’m sure looks really bad.

But all I need is a chance to explain.

I hold my hand up.

“Madeline, I want to answer your question of who Audra is...”

“She said,” Madeline continues, stalking in my direction, my oversized phone looking like it might shatter in her livid hand, “she said she didn’t want your MARRIAGE to be OVER!”

One good thing I can say about this sudden storm of shit, and about the only good thing I can say about this or anything that’ll probably ever happen again in my life, is that when Madeline pitches the phone at my head with the intensity of Pedro Martinez throwing a fastball, the device lands safely on the sofa instead of hitting the wall.

The only way it could’ve gone better is if she beamed me in the fucking head.

The worst part is, I’m thinking like a guilty person. Like a guy who actually is married and tried to hide it, and now my big secret is out.

In this case, it just appears that way. And because of the circumstances, there’s no way to convince Maddie of the truth. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t tell the fucking truth.

“This was supposed to be my honeymoon...our honeymoon.”

Madeline looks around like it’s her first time in this room. She’s probably thinking about how she should have been suspicious about this.

This horrible story is all coming together for her. It’s an untrue story, but the more it comes together the less likely I can convince her of it.

“In the honeymoon suite,” she whimpers softly. “It’s so fucking perverse.”

“I’m not married,” I announce loud enough for anyone to hear.

Maddie doesn’t bat an eye. I just told her the crux of this whole thing, the most important piece of the puzzle that she just happens to be missing, but to her it’s just another fucking lie that’s not even worth acknowledging.

Madeline’s lips are forming into a scowl. I’ve never seen her look anything like this. I’ve seen her make all sorts of aggressive, angry faces, but those were jokes, just adorable, sexy messing around while posing for a photo or something.

This expression is something she can’t help—it comes from genuine hurt and anguish, and it’s breaking my fucking heart.

“I can’t fucking believe it,” she states evenly, her face flushed with rage. “I can’t fucking believe this is happening. This has to be a nightmare.”

I take another deep breath, preparing to convey the truth as believably as I’m capable of.

“There was a wedding...”

“Shut up! Shut the fuck up! I never want to hear your voice again!”

When she’s in the mood to be, Maddie is absolutely one of the most articulate and intelligent people I’ve ever met. She doesn’t have an ounce of pretense, but after getting to know her over these past few days, I’ve no doubt that she puts every one of the myriad self-declared financial geniuses I’ve had to deal with to shame in the brains department.

But right now, she’s being carried away on a tide of emotions, and her words are becoming terse and basic beyond the point of rationality.

Maddie’s almost completely red as she stands in the middle of the room, the false reality of the situation coming down on her with more weight than she can bear.

Like I said, it breaks my heart.

“Maddie,” I say, trying to plead but subtly trying to get one last chance to break through this horrible web of bullshit, “all I need is two minutes...”

“And what?” Fuck, she’s talking through her teeth again. “You can explain? There’s nothing to explain. You’re mar—”

I didn’t think Maddie was going to cry, but she’s coming close now. I don’t think I could bear the sight.

At least Maddie stops herself from crying. The color is draining from her somewhat, but I don’t know if that’s a good thing.

“The way I see it,” Maddie continues with unnerving calmness, “your actions, your deceitful, disgusting fucking actions have cast a long, dark shadow over what was supposed to be one of the brightest times of my life. I was really looking forward to the future, near and far.”

I want to tell her that I was too. Instead, I say nothing—because this is a uniquely horrible fucking situation in which telling the truth won’t make a bit of difference.

A patch of sunshine comes beaming through the window, bathing the borders of Maddie’s hair in an ethereal glow—the kind of glow I hoped to see before I turned my head.

But that was a few minutes ago, and now all I can feel is the heartbreak, the anguish of seeing Maddie in serious pain but being able to do fucking nothing about it.

I want to tell her that the only thing I want in the world is for her to be happy again.

But she’d never believe it, and she’s already walking out the door.

 

 

Ethan

“Just having a nightmare.”

That’s the shit I’m saying out loud to myself this time.

Waking up naked on the beach, under the bright, warm midmorning sun, saying that wondrous name, I didn’t realize that shit was about to peak—that I was at the start of a honeymoon.

At the end of the week, I wake up naked, alone in the air-conditioned room, with the midmorning sun still there but hiding somewhere outside the window. I’m talking about nightmares—bad dreams and bad reality.

What a difference a few days can make.

At this point, it’s all about the obligations.

The obligation I have to pack up my shit and vacate this suite. The obligation I have to fly back home to return to work so I can pay off my stupid goddamn house in Riverdale.

After that, I have no fucking clue. I’m sure there’ll be something.

But it’s not for me anymore. I don’t care about any of it.

I don’t even care about myself.

One of those things that makes life worthwhile for me is the feeling of hunger gnawing away at me in the morning, along with the vestiges of sleep, knowing that I’m about to enjoy breakfast and coffee to make short work of all of it.

None of that this morning, though. I sit up on the oversized bedsheet draped over the sofa, my bare feet touching down on the scratchy carpet.

All I feel is this dumbass, churning, anxious nausea. I couldn’t picture eating anything anytime soon.

And fuck fucking coffee.

I throw on a black T-shirt and dark-blue jeans. It’s the type of approach to fashion I admire—comfortable and unassuming and who gives a shit what anyone else thinks—but it’s not something I’ve had the balls to try myself until now.

Fucking sandals—I packed them and unpacked them into the suite closet, but all week I’ve been getting a touch of nausea whenever I considered putting them on.

I’ve got bigger concerns right now. Or do I? I just put on the sandals for once.

I float like a half-there ghost down the hallway and down the elevator. The lobby seems quiet and peaceful today, saturated by the type of vibe Hawaii’s supposed to have all the time.

So do I feel at peace walking through there?

No, I don’t feel much of anything. It doesn’t bother me. I just don’t give a shit how I feel or what’s going to happen to me next.

The sky is totally cloudless when I step outside, just that classic shade of blue you only see on postcards in brochures. If I weren’t seeing it with my own eyes, I’d think it was photoshopped or something.

It looks nice. It looks like this past week. That steely gray overcast color of the sky when I took that photo—that’s more in line with what I’m accustomed to.

She’s a rarity in this world, bringing color and clarity that no one else can. It doesn’t matter if I ever see her again, but I can’t let that spirit fade.

I need to see her just one more time, to tell her that.

To make sure that she’s going to be okay.

To tell her not to let my ridiculous ass ruin what she has to offer the world.

To make sure that Maddie will always be Maddie, because right now that’s all I care about.

The sky’s so fucking blue as I shuffle across the beach in these goddamn sandals that it’s borderline fucking oppressive. I don’t think I’ve had anything to eat in close to twenty-four hours, but the bar just happens to be open.

I’m not thinking about too much right now, and I’m feeling even less, but the several empty barstools look plenty inviting at the moment, and the smiling barkeep, who already knows me well, will remain a pleasant memory.

That may be the one thing for me to latch onto from this whole honeymoon.

“Captain’s Dilemma?” the bartender questions as I climb onto the middle stool. “Or Lava Lava?”

“One of each.”

He doesn’t bat an eye and turns his back to get to work straightaway. Within a few seconds, the sound of the blender overpowers the vicinity, and my thoughts drift to the already furthering memories of the past few days.

I can’t keep myself from seeing Maddie’s face in the back wall of the bar, thinking about her laugh and the now-destroyed sundress, picturing her sly smile, her flirty smirk, her unapologetically elated grin and, of course, that one smile full of sweetness with the hint of surprising depths of feeling and thought.

That smile that I first noticed sitting in this very barstool...it seems like yesterday, since it practically was.

Her face now is nothing like that; it’s a faint redness of crushing emotional distress, and her mouth is molded into a resigned frown that looks like it’ll never leave...

And yes, she’s right here. Again. She’s taken a seat on the stool right next to mine.

I’d like to say that I’ve never been happier to see her, but I can’t feel anything close to happiness seeing her face right now. She was able to hold back her tears in the honeymoon suite, but she’s definitely been crying since then, and it makes me feel like my heart is being ripped in fucking half.

“Maddie,” I get out, but I stop there since I’m about to fucking break down myself.

Maddie sees this, and she registers it. She’s looking right at me, and the best I can say about her face is that there’s no anger—but that’s upset by the heaping portions of dejection and resignation inscribed all over her expression.

I did this to her. Fuck.

“Maddie,” I continue, determined to try again. I try my best to breathe slowly, gathering the words together.

“I’m listening.” Maddie’s signaling her change of approach from earlier, but she’s also telling me to just get the fuck on with it already.

“We never signed a marriage license. It’s not official, it’s not even unofficial at this point. She made it very clear that I’m not good enough for her, that my family’s not good enough for her. She moved out all her stuff and broke some of mine.”

“Why?”

“Because I come from a different social stratum, most likely. Some of her family, or friends, or some combination of those probably wore her down with complaints about me, and she happened to see the light—that all my success can’t wipe away my poor-ass origins—either during or after the ceremony.”

Maddie’s eyes are full of interest in what I’m saying, but I can see the weight of disappointment make itself clear at the word ceremony.

“We did have a wedding, Maddie.” I try to make things clearer. “She left immediately afterward, very definitively. Or so I thought.”

“Are you still in love with her?”

“I absolutely was not by the time I got to Hawaii. Even though this was supposed to be our honeymoon.”

“That seems like a fast change of heart...”

“That’s because I never was. I realize that now. It would’ve sounded crazy to me just a couple weeks ago, but that marriage would’ve been a disaster. There’s no way I’m going back, even if she’s serious about wanting that. Audra leaving was the second-best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“What’s the first best?”

The bartender plops both drinks down, one in front of each of us. He doesn’t ask who has which drink, and I can’t tell the difference since my original plan was to drink them both.

“Maddie,” I start, somewhat gravely, causing the bartender to walk away quickly, “I don’t matter. I’m realizing that. At least, I’m not thinking about what I want, or what’s gonna happen to me. I’m thinking about you.”

“Why?” Maddie’s voice is cracking. Oh, please don’t cry. She takes a sip of the frozen cocktail and seems to be able to stop from breaking down.

“Because this was the best week of my life. I know I’ve said it, but I can’t stress that enough. That’s because of you. I know this situation is shitty, and... I just want you to be happy. Even if you need to forget about me, even if you never want to see me again. Just for the sake of the world, for the sake of you, Maddie, I need you to be happy. I need you to be Maddie.”

Maddie takes the cocktail napkin out from under her drink and wipes away the single tear rolling down her cheek. But now she’s smiling, and the sight fills me with warm cheerfulness.

“Don’t worry, Eth. You don’t quite have the power to take that away from the world.”

“You have no idea how glad that makes me.” I really fucking mean it.

“Well, Ethan...I’ve had an okay time myself, truth be told.”

“Okay.” I decide to just let this moment play out.

“I’m going home soon, but even after I do, it’s just a quick ride on the Acela down to Penn Station.”

That warm cheerfulness starts to evolve into pure euphoria, and I feel like I might float off my stool into the atmosphere like an unbound helium balloon, but I stay convincingly cool and calm.

“You can come visit me anytime, and I’ll show you the best time of your life.” Fuck, not too cool or calm, I suppose.

Maddie chuckles softly, but it’s the most welcome sound I can imagine right now.

“Why don’t we start with lunch and go from there?”

“I know the perfect place,” I respond quickly, trying to balance this cavalcade of shifting expectations on my part.

“Well, that sounds…perfect.”

Ethan

There are plenty of places in the neighborhood where I work—and, if all goes as planned, soon to be my home neighborhood where I live—to bring a date.

This isn’t one of them. But this also isn’t a date, I don’t think.

I don’t know how to define it, but it feels like a major life event that doesn’t really need to have a name.

It’s just me meeting Maddie—meeting her at my favorite spot to get coffee and maybe a sandwich. Because my life isn’t a date-friendly sushi place on Stone Street or something. My life is getting a cup of coffee right here on Broadway, and that’s what I want to share with Maddie.

As for now, I’m still by myself, as I’ve been probably every time I’ve come here. It’s just me at a table with a paper coffee cup and my big-ass phone plugged in to the outlet behind my chair.

I’m also usually not here on fucking Saturday either, and the crowd is decidedly more touristy than usual, with small bands of Midwesterners and German tour groups nervously looking at brochures for the Liberty Island ferries.

Most of the tables are still empty, which is the way I like it. It’s been a long fucking week since getting back, especially living a forty-minute ride up the 1 train line, in the same place, the same bedroom where Audra was sending my possessions out the window not too long ago.

It’s been hard to sleep right there. I’m glad I won’t be living through any more of those days anytime soon and that Audra stopped texting and calling again.

Imagine if I ever actually ended up signing that marriage license. Christ.

Between one and two, that was our decided meeting time. It’s just past one now, and I don’t know what train Maddie’s on. If she did take the Acela, it probably shouldn’t get held up too much.

I know better than to try to give her advice on the fastest way to get downtown from Penn. She’ll decide she wants to walk for all I fucking know.

I’m usually not the person waiting, which is one reason that this doesn’t seem like a date, and I’m considering actually checking my phone—another first.

I do check to see if there are any calls or texts, and there aren’t. I knew that already since the volume’s jacked all the way up. Plus, any call or text from Maddie would come with its own ringtone: “Sleepwalk” by Santo and Johnny.

The iconic, excessively Hawaiian-sounding slide guitar melody will sure sound nice ringing out in the middle of this cafe, but the sight of Maddie walking in from the crowded sidewalk would be even better.

I don’t know why it’s starting to feel like a foolish fantasy that either of those things could happen, seeing as how it’s still barely past one, but I’m still compelled to open my phone’s browser and got to amtrak.com to look at the Acela schedule and the regular Northeast Corridor schedule. There are trains getting in pretty much hourly, but it means pretty much nothing.

There are more fucking crowds forming. Big, naive families with pungent, foil-wrapped sandwiches and bottles of water filling up more tables than I would ever see taken on a weekday morning, ferry ticket sellers taking a break with big energy drink cans, couples on vacation together, possibly their honeymoon…

This shit is getting me out of sorts. By the time one-thirty rolls around, which feels like some definitive halfway point, I have too much of this dumb, nervous energy to keep sitting. I get up for a coffee refill, which may not be the best idea in light of the line forming to get into the single restroom.

Gladly channeling some energy by standing up and moving, I take the longest I may have ever taken to let the coffee fill my cup gradually from the dispenser, to choose a sweetener, to pick up the skim milk carton, look at it, to decide to go with half and half, no, whole milk, to stir it like I’m in the kitchen at fucking Del Posto or something, trying to painstakingly mingle a ragù to life without rushing it—all taking what probably amounts to not more than five or ten more minutes before I have no choice but to go back to my seat while it’s still open.

One forty-five. I’m not used to worrying about the time, or much else for that matter. I’m back at my little table, trying to act relaxed and casual.

Not that I give a shit what anyone here thinks. That’s mostly so I’m not an overbearingly anxious wreck when Maddie arrives.

If she arrives? Not a thought worth fucking tormenting myself over right now.

By two, the weirdly maddening lunch crowd starts thinning out. It’s also two, though. Time to send a quick text.

Just one.

Hey, which train are you on? I can send a car to pick you up.

I regret hitting send almost immediately. If I’m worried about being overbearing, that may not be a good place to start.

Then again, it’s not crazy to ask for some kind of update.

Two-fifteen. I’m well into my next cup of coffee. My text was delivered but not answered.

Maybe she’s on the subway. She must be.

I watch the crowds outside. It’s going to be weird to see Maddie here, in the concrete wilderness, thousands of miles from the idyllic paradise I associate with her. It’ll surely be weird for her to see me here as well.

I watch the waves of tourists ebb and flow outside. I wish she didn’t have to fight these fucking crowds.

Two-thirty. It’s like I’m on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire, and I only have one lifeline left: a fucking phone call.

I unplug my phone from the wall, look at my stupid text to Maddie one more time, and emphatically hit the button to dial her number.

Her phone rings, meaning she’s not in the subway. It rings some more.

And then I hear Maddie’s voice, not saying hello, but asking me to kindly leave a message.

Fucking voicemail. I hang up. This is not as flamboyant a message as throwing lamps and shit out my window, but to me, the message is just as clear: time to give up.

I unplug the charger from the wall and start getting ready to finally leave, when I hear the dulcet slide guitar tones of Santo and Johnny ring divinely through my phone’s speaker.

The charger just drops from my hand to the floor, and I see a new text message on my phone screen with the name Madeline displayed above it boldly.

Ethan

So after all that, I probably shouldn’t fucking leave you hanging.

It’s five years later, and I’m suddenly looking at Madeline, facing her at the end of the hallway.

But you might be wondering what the hell that text message actually said, and if we ever got back together.

The answer to the second question is no, we didn’t. In fact, this is the first I’m seeing her since that day in Hawaii, at the bar on the beach.

The answer to the first question is that, from what I can remember, she said that she had a great time, then she doubled down a bit and used the word amazing to describe it, but she said as fun as it was, she didn’t want to continue, to expand past a vacation fling.

She ended the message with the word Aloha.

God, she looks fucking amazing right now. Even better than all my memories—and my dreams.

Okay, I’ll admit that I remember the whole fucking message really fucking well, even though I made the decision to delete it immediately for the sake of moving on as quickly as possible.

Did it work? What the hell do you think? Seriously, because over the course of the past half-decade, I’ve gone in and out of thinking about it and seeming to not think about it.

But when I do think about it, it’s still more intense than I’d like. And right now, with Madeline occupying a prime space in my vision, center-fucking stage, I don’t have a choice but to really think about it—and then some.

So after Maddie informs me of the investigation, what do I say?

“Am I being arrested?”

I know damn well I’m not. I think it’s a joke, even though I usually have a good handle on whether I’m joking or not. You know, like most healthy people.

“No,” she answers, dead serious. And now she’s walking toward me. Good God.

“That’s not even close to being in my purview,” Maddie’s voice continues, getting closer as her heels clack down the hallway. “But I suspect you know that.”

Maddie stops ten feet away from me, her face betraying that she realizes my joke. I guess it was a joke.

I feel myself catching on fucking fire as Maddie starts walking toward me again. My mouth is going fucking arid, and my heart is lifting off in tempo in a way it hasn’t in years. Five years, to be exact.

I almost want to ask her to stop, that I wasn’t prepared for this, but I don’t fucking dare.

This hallway doesn’t get too much natural light, but what little there is catches the full brilliance of that emerald hue that I’ve forced myself to forget about.

“I figured as much,” I reply hoarsely.

Every single person in the office besides me has taken it upon themselves to hide. I’m sure some people made a beeline for the elevator, but most everyone else is certainly huddled on the other side of their closed office doors, listening to every word of this exchange, trying to analyze every nuance in real time.

I wonder what they thought of that last sentence and how I said it. That’s pretty fucking funny to think about, but what I’m enjoying thinking about even more right now is how Maddie made everyone run in fear with just her presence and a few simple words.

That is really fucking sexy.

God, she looks good.

“I have a good deal more to explain about it, but to give you a couple important nuggets to start with, I’ve been chosen to head the investigation, and while I’m loath to take up much of your time, I’m going to need your help.”

There’s a reason that Maddie needed to call me Mr. Barrett. There’s no way she would be heading this investigation if anybody at the SEC knew about our history, brief as it was.

I suppose she didn’t feel it was even worth bringing up—that she feels so little about it that it wouldn’t be a conflict at all.

There’s a lot more I’m thinking about, though. Like how five years can go by so fucking fast. Or how feelings that seem like they should’ve faded completely are now arising again in dizzyingly vivid and sharp definition.

I look at Maddie, who’s now silent yet stoic, looking for any signs of what she’s going through. I see none—it could be everything, it could very easily be nothing.

I can’t believe she’s here, though. Literally.

I’ve heard that one way you can tell if you’re dreaming or not is to look at your hand. If you see the normal number of fingers, at their usual lengths, then you are in the waking world. I take a furtive glance at my outstretched left hand—it looks on the level.

Which means she’s really fucking here, and she really looks this good.

“Are you okay, Mr. Barrett?” Madeline’s eyes dart quickly down to my left hand, indicating that she noticed my look.

“Oh yeah, I was just checking something. So is this gonna take long?” I’m trying not to give any outward indications about our past, or at least how I feel about it.

“Long?” There’s a sparkle in Maddie’s eye. It sends a flicker of heat straight through my chest, and I need to concentrate on not falling backward—as if I’m being pummeled by a swift wind.

“I have a few minutes now. If you need longer, like a half hour, I may have some open time for an appoint—”

Maddie lets out a judicious laugh, but it’s still enough that the old sensation of being entranced by a riveting siren song comes flooding back.

“I apologize for laughing, Mr. Barrett.”

“You can call me Ethan.”

“Okay, Eth...an. This is not a matter we can settle over lunch. We’re just at the very beginning stages of this investigation. We are going to need your cooperation over the course of the next few weeks, maybe longer. You are going to have to work with me during that time.”

“Wow. That’s going to be a big time commitment on my part. I guess I better start rearranging my schedule.”

I get the beginnings of that helium-balloon feeling, like when Maddie first suggested she could visit New York all those years ago. Except this time, it’s weighted down by the fact this is all part of an insider fucking trading investigation.

“I suggest you start now, Mr. Barrett. You don’t have a choice in the matter.”

Maddie’s austere expression betrays the faintest hint of a smirk.