Restart – The waving of the green flag following a caution period.
“This is a bad idea.”
“No, it’s not. He’ll be fine.”
“He needs me though.”
“Your husband needs you, too.” Alley pushed me toward the door. “Go enjoy yourselves. Next week in Las Vegas you’re going to wish you’d taken this time. I’m telling you, this year it’s completely different at the track. He can’t even walk from his motor coach to the paddock without someone chasing him.”
“And he could before?”
“Not really the point,” she shoved me into the door. “Leave already.”
I handed her everything Axel would need for the next week and then some. Looking over the two suitcases full of clothing, toys, and food for my little spaz, I clearly over-packed.
“Just... don’t leave him alone with Emma and Aiden, I don’t trust them.”
“I wouldn’t either,” she laughed. “Last week Aiden asked me if he could take Lane to the bar with him because he was good at pool.”
“And one more thing.” I turned to face her before I made my way out the door, crying. “If I come back to a son with a mohawk...” I paused, taking a dramatic deep breath. “I. Will. Kill. Spencer.”
“Don’t worry, Sway!” Alley laughed, sitting on the floor next to Axel’s car seat. “Now go ride your husband’s magic stick.”
“Okay... uh, that’s... weird.”
“Sorry... Spencer messed with my playlists this morning.” She shrugged and took Axel from his car seat. “Now go, have fun.”
“Where are Spencer and Lane?” I noticed how quiet their apartment was. This was also my way of stalling for a little more time.
“They went to play flag football with Van and the twins,” she smiled.
Van had taken to the twins these days and made sure they did everything six-year-old boys should be doing.
Being only thirty-one, Van was like a big kid himself. He seemed tough on the outside when he was in protection mode but inside, he was a child just like the rest of the boys in our family.
I left after that because if I didn’t, I’d never leave.
I knew Jameson and I needed some alone time and not just at our house. It’d only been three days since Charlie’s funeral, and we had yet to actually be alone. Every time we thought we might get a few minutes together, someone was stopping by to see if we needed anything. We needed alone time is what we needed.
My theories about death and grieving remained the same. Everyone was dealing with the loss in their own way, and it affected everyone in our families, even Jimi who had to leave the next day for Grand Rapids. I’d never seen Jimi cry in all the years I’d known him, but when he watched his longtime friend lowered in the ground, his tears fell, as did everyone else’s.
Andrea was keeping busy with the twins, but it was evident everything had taken a toll on her. For someone who usually had a smile on her face, it was hard to see her without one.
Jameson was the quietest. He said little but offered small gestures that meant the world to me, letting me know he was there. I also knew it was hard on him; he loved Charlie just as much as I did. Even though Jameson and I met when we were eleven, Jameson had known Charlie since we bought the track back in 1987. I just failed to realize who Jameson actually was until I was eleven.
I couldn’t do anything to bring Charlie or Rachel back. It was out of my control. I still needed to be a mother to my son and I still needed to be a wife to my husband. Slowly, I was entering acceptance.
This was why we were now finally going on our honeymoon.
I came to realize through the unfortunate twists in life, that you’re seldom offered a second chance at love or life in general. So you should take them when they came. Being married to a NASCAR driver, you’re seldom offered alone time... so take it when it came.
WE WERE SITTING there on the plane in comfortable silence. Jameson was looking over schedules for the track while I read a book on parenting. Without paying attention to him, I adjusted my funbags so they weren’t popping out of my dress. Then he was practically sitting on my lap, gazing at them.
“Wanna join the mile high club?” he asked, looking a little too cocky.
I smacked his hand away, shaking my head.
“You forgot—we already have,” I pointed out, remembering the time on his parent’s jet when we went to Savannah.
“It’s not the same,” he whispered against my ear in his perfected dirty heathen seduction voice. “Come on, honey, it’ll be fun. I’ll be quick. In ‘n’ out.”
In my head, I was imagining being arrested and sent to Guantanamo Bay or some shit like that for even contemplating doing this. How would I explain that one to Axel?
I was all for a little adventure, but really, this had bad idea written all over it. When he broke out the dirty engine talking, I ignored my inner warnings and followed his dirty heathen ass toward the bathrooms located in the back of the plane, overlooking the glances of other passengers.
Once inside the tiny bathroom, Jameson grabbed onto my waist, holding me against him. His lips skimmed across my throat. It didn’t take long for him to be shirtless and writhing against me. His lips teased me as my hands explored his flawless body. Over the last few weeks, sex was usually the last thing on our minds. It’d been at least four weeks since we were actually alone, intimately, in any sort of way.
Jameson had gotten my dress up and it wasn’t long before my fingers skimmed over his sensitive skin of his camshaft for piston stroking, causing his movements to falter.
“Sway,” he moaned.
I knew sex wouldn’t work in here, but I knew what would.
Touching and teasing took over, our bodies running on emotions
“You feel so good,” Jameson groaned against my neck, tightening his grip, and then sinking his teeth into my shoulder. “I’ve missed you.”
I shook my head, arching my body up against his as I moved my hips with his fingers. “Oh, God ...” Jameson added another finger, and every coherent thought in my mind was gone. “Jesus Christ!” I yelled entirely too loud for an airplane.
Someone began knocking on the door, but we ignored it, too caught up in our own personal bliss.
Fortunately, for Jameson, when I was in the middle of shaking against him, my hand happened to tighten around him. Jameson groaned and thrust his hips toward me while the knocking turned to pounding and a loud voice came through.
“Dude, I have to go!” More knocking, “Come out already!”
What did my hotheaded dirty heathen do?
He pounded against the door keeping one arm tightly against my waist. “Fuck off!”
“Let go,” I panted against his shoulder.
He nodded almost frantically as his lips found mine again. Sucking his bottom lip into my mouth, I tried to enjoy his touches, concentrating on making him feel just as good.
My spastic jerking seemed to work and Jameson was soon swearing and muttering incoherently against my neck before his weight slumped against me, pushing my ass inside the sink.
What if I’m stuck?
I smiled when his lips brushed along my neck and collarbone before he leaned back and reached for the toilet paper. Smirking, he cleaned off my hand and began to pull up his pants.
“Open the door!” the annoying voice yelled again, pounding his fist against the door.
Jameson practically growled and punched the door, leaving a dent in the plastic. “Get lost, asshole!”
I then realized I was stuck, and we really were going to Guantanamo Bay.
“I’m stuck,” I announced.
Jameson looked between my legs, smirking.
“Don’t joke.”
“Not joking ...” I wiggled frantically, not smirking, not joking. “I’m stuck. Not joking,” I repeated in just as much of a frantic voice one would use while stuck in an airplane sink.
Would they flush me out like waste now?
“Seriously?” he ran his left hand through his hair examining my position in the sink. “You’re really stuck?”
“Yes, asshole. I’m stuck!”
“Shit.”
The pounding continued, and Jameson spent more time arguing with the douche on the other side of the door than helping me. I was not impressed with his lack of concern for me and my ass.
“What am I going to do?” I asked myself because Jameson was far too engrossed in the shithead on the other side of the door to care about an evacuation plan for my ass.
I tried to suck it in, but really, how does one suck in their ass?
Ass sucking did nothing, and just when I was mentally preparing my speech to my son about how Mommy and Daddy were arrested and deported to Guantanamo Bay, Jameson reached behind me to turn on the water—that was up my ass crack—and started threatening to kick the shit out of the guy outside.
“Wait until I open the door, asshole,” Jameson added, hitting the door.
So there I was, stuck in the goddamn airplane sink, my husband pounding against the door and simultaneously tugging on my legs.
It felt strange, water filling in around my ass. I wondered if that’s what an enema would feel like. Not that I ever planned on having one, but I could imagine that was how it would feel.
After a good ten minutes of flowing water, it greased me enough that I finally got loose, only to realize Jameson was standing in about an inch of water.
How did we always end up in these situations?
I stood up—well I tried to, but my ass was sore. Straightening my wet dress, I attempted to right my panties but realized very quickly they were destroyed.
“You need to cut this shit out. It’s getting old ...”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he snapped at me, pounding on the door.
“Asshole.” I kicked his shin. “Now I have to spend the remainder of the fucking plane ride with no underwear on.”
He waggled his eyebrows.
“Lucky me,” he leaned forward and kissed along my neck again. “Husband two, wife... still zero.”
“I’m not playing that game with you,” despite my bitter tone, I laughed. “You know... it’s not the mile high club unless we have sex,” I pointed out with a waggle of my own.
“Pft... I’m not risking my manhood. If we hit turbulence ...” he cringed, zipping his jeans. “I’m not risking it.”
Whoever was on the other side of the door apparently didn’t realize my husband had some extreme anger issues and was more than likely going to kick his ass when he opened the door.
“I’m getting security!” he told us.
I wasn’t sure if he was a man or child at that point. For all we knew he could be a three-foot-tall little person.
Emma would be sad if that were the case. She loved little people. I thought it was because she felt so comfortable around them, seeing how they were around the same height.
“This is why Wes flies me everywhere,” Jameson grumbled and opened the door.
I felt like saying, “Why? Because you are insane and can’t play nice with society?”
Security was standing there when we opened the door, and that didn’t at all surprise me.
“Can you two please take your seats?” the officer asked.
“No,” Jameson objected, crossing his arms over his chest. “I won’t take my seat.”
A flirty flight attendant made her way over to us.
Completely dismissing me, she looked at Jameson. “Can I help with anything?”
“No,” we both glared at her.
“I’m going to have to ask you to calm down.” The security guard motioned toward our seats. “Now, please, take your seats.”
“I’ll take my seat when I fucking feel like it, and I won’t calm down,” Jameson snapped back at him before turning to me and pulling me out of the bathroom beside him. His fingertips gripped my waist securely.
“Where did all this water come from?” the attendant asked me like I’d done something wrong, which we had, but that was beside the point.
I responded with a rude, “How the fuck should I know!”
Jameson’s attitude was wearing off on me.
The security guard started threatening Jameson with arrest if he didn’t comply and take a seat, at which point I started pushing him to our seats and issuing my own threats in his ear.
He went so far as to kick the seventeen-year-old kid who was bothering us on our way to our seat.
Real fucking mature.
Again, he was like a two-year-old trapped in a twenty-three-year-old body. Lane was more mature than him.
Apparently, I wasn’t doing any better though.
When the flight attendant came by to check on Jameson, I gave her a piece of my mind.
“Listen, he’s fine,” I snapped. “And if he does need anything... I... as his wife... will provide it for him.” And for good measure, I added a snarky, “Just like I did in the bathroom.”
We probably shouldn’t even be allowed on an airplane without parental guidance.
Jameson started laughing when she walked away.
“That was hot.”
“Oh, you shut up. You’re going to get us kicked off the plane with your shitty attitude,” I told him, handing him Skittles.
“No, I’m not. That jerk had it coming,” he exaggerated the word coming to specify something lewd and then winked slowly. Leaning back in his seat, he slouched to one side and then turned to look at me in a very cocky way. “This coming from someone who just went off on a flight attendant.”
“You really need anger management classes and stop saying coming!”
“No, I don’t,” he almost sounded appalled.
“Really?” I challenged, quirking an eyebrow in his direction and then looked at the fuming kid across from us nursing his sore shin. “You don’t think so?”
He smirked again. “Nope,” he popped a few Skittles in his mouth and chewed slowly. “I don’t think so.”
WHEN WE LANDED, nothing got better. In fact, it got worse.
“You didn’t think to check the weather?”
“Well... I was distracted.”
“Apparently,” I muttered, pushing my waterlogged hair from my eyes.
This was a disaster. This whole thing had been a complete disaster from the start, and it honestly didn’t look like it was going to get any better.
Jameson’s plan for our delayed honeymoon was to go away for a few days to Rio de Janeiro before he needed to be in Las Vegas on Wednesday. This left us seven days of pure alone blessedness.
In theory, it was a great plan, but now that we were there, it was not good.
Did I mention we were also in the middle of a hurricane trying to find an island that was supposedly located somewhere in the middle of the south Atlantic Ocean?
First, we missed our plane and had to sit at the airport for two hours waiting for the next flight. Then we got stuck next to this obsessed fan who talked to Jameson the entire flight about how he got started in NASCAR and everything from his favorite color to the brand of underwear he preferred. Then we had the mile high fiasco, which was another disaster.
When we finally landed, Jameson was not in a good mood.
In fact, he was livid.
“I hardly see this as my fault,” he added, squinting into the darkness.
“It is your fault,” I told him.
His head turned toward me, his eyes hard, hair falling against his damp forehead. We looked like two wet rats.
“How so?” he challenged, water dripping from his nose.
“I don’t know,” I shrugged indifferently. “Just is.”
The wind blew, rocking the boat. We sat next to each other on the floor now, swaying with the waves, our shoulders bumping against each other with each rock of the boat.
I shifted beside him, reaching for my water bottle. It was dark and you couldn’t see, so when my hands began searching Jameson tensed.
“Wait a second... you don’t have a fork, do you?”
“No,” I said with a giggle. “I was looking for my water.”
He sighed dramatically. “This sucks.”
“Maybe you should have listened to the guy at the dock who said we should get someone to help us navigate,” I suggested.
“I don’t need any help,” he snapped, throwing his arms up. “You’d think he would have warned us about the weather. What an asshole.”
“Did you even have an idea of where we are going, or did you just start driving the boat?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, I know where we are going... I think.” He looked over at me. “Listen, I hardly think this is entirely my fault. That douche had a fucking map—he should have given it to us.”
“He did!” I pointed to the map on the floor.
“Can you see it?” he goaded. “I sure as shit can’t.”
We were silent for a good ten minutes before I finally caved.
“Would it help if I showed you my boobs?” I asked, wiping water from my face.
“Maybe, show me and let’s see.”
Before I could reveal the funbags, the skies opened up and let out the loudest mother-loving crack of thunder I’d ever heard in my entire life. No lie. It actually vibrated my entire body.
Both of us jumped, and my hands went wild searching for Jameson to get as close to him as I could. The storm bubbled up, rocking the boat fiercely. With hands still wild and breathing hard, that’s when I found the camshaft.
Jameson chuckled and pulled me onto his lap. “That’s not your water bottle, honey.”
The rain, warm and sticky, that was just a steady patter before, increased and began pouring what looked like golf ball-sized raindrops onto us, and if the darkness wasn’t enough to blind you, the water coming down was. It was like a faucet.
As the storm surged, it was like a scene out of The Notebook. The only difference being we weren’t in North Carolina, and we weren’t famous actors... okay, well now that I thought about it, this situation had little resemblance to that scene at all—maybe just the rain.
I took a moment to look over this whole scenario. I was horny.
When I went back to the doctor for my six-week check-up, he insisted we wait another three weeks for actual penetration. It sucked, and I was extremely tired of reciprocating motions.
“We shouldn’t make so much noise out here. Remember Dayton Peak? We’ll attract Moby Dick or something.”
I think he was glaring, but I couldn’t be sure with all the fucking rain.
“Moby Dick isn’t real,” he told me. His lips captured mine again, and his tongue swept across my lower lip, tasting me. The water was making our lips—and other things—incredibly slippery. I had the bright idea of wearing a dress, which was now on the floor of the boat because there was no point in having any clothes on with all the rain.
“Moby Dick is too real,” I insisted, still kissing him. “He’s a whale.”
Jameson pulled back. “Sway, Moby Dick is a mythical creature.”
“No, he’s not, he’s a sperm whale. They do exist.”
“Still, the name Moby Dick, and the story, is fictional.”
“Are you trying to shit on my fairytales?”
“Moby Dick is hardly a fairytale.”
“Jameson?”
“Yes?”
“Stop talking about Moby Dick and show me your di—”
His lips cut me off as we drifted in the open Atlantic Ocean. It was one of those moments where nothing else mattered—nothing between us but the moist air. The sky rumbled and growled above us as our passion for one another was the only thing we cared about.
With the high waves, a considerable amount of water was flooding the boat, and the taste of salt was prominent to me.
“It tastes like salt,” I finally said.
“I didn’t come yet.”
“I meant the water, jerk,” I clarified, grinding my hips against him. “Why do you say that? It’s not salty? Where did that saying even come from?”
“It’s just a joke between my brother and me. It’s funny.”
“Yeah, sure it is.”
Sitting on his lap, I knew what I wanted, and he was gonna give it up even if I had to rape him.
“Oh,” he chuckled and attacked my neck again with nips and bites. “Ow, fuck!” he screamed, clutching his leg, or so I thought. I couldn’t see a goddamn thing out there to know if he was really clutching his leg. The wind whipped around us, crashing the boat against the waves.
“Fuckkkk!” Jameson moaned. “What the fuck happened? It hurts! It burns!”
“What do you mean? What happened?” Frantically scrambling from his lap, I reached for his leg.
“Did you bite me?” he yelled over the sound of the waves and wind. “I’m bleeding... fuck, it hurts with the salt water!”
“No, how could I have bitten you when my mouth was against yours?”
“Well, I don’t know... something bit me.”
I felt something wet and slimy against my foot and practically jumped on Jameson’s shoulder because holy shit balls there was a goddamn shark in the boat with us.
It was either that, or that was one hefty salmon.
“OH, MY GOD... SHARK!” I shrieked in a voice comparable to Michael Jackson in “Thriller.”
Jameson went all Steve Irwin of the shark community and kicked it. Yep, kicked it.
As if kicking it was really going to do anything to a fucking shark.
“Are you kidding me?” I punched his shoulder.
I’m not really sure what possessed me to do it, but I picked the shark up and tossed it over the edge. And when I say there was a shark on the boat... it was a tiny shark, like something you’d have as a pet, but still, it was a shark and teeth that could quite possibly kill you.
Regardless of the size and teeth, Mama Wizard shined and saved the night.
I turned to Jameson who was clutching his calf.
“Wife ten—husband two.” I swept my wet hair out of my face dramatically as though I’d just run cross country. “I need a drink.”
“How the fuck did you get ten?”
“Because I didn’t scream like a little bitch,” I told him with poise. “I took care of the problem.”
“Okay, first off, you did scream and climbed on my shoulders. Second, the goddamn thing bit me. I could have died!”
“You’re overreacting.” I slumped against the floor beside him, exhausted by my endeavors.
“No... I’m really not overreacting,” Jameson turned, wiping water from his face. “Have you ever been bit by a shark? Or stabbed with a goddamn fork?”
“Well, no... but that’s hardly a shark bite. It’s more like a scratch.”
He pushed his leg in my face. “That’s a scratch?”
Now that I was closer, it was obviously not just a scratch.
“Holy fuck! You need stitches,” I told him acerbically. He actually did, but I decided to keep with the sarcasm because this honeymoon was turning out to be a shit storm.
Suddenly, as I was thinking we might die out here, we crashed against something hard and then scraped along it.
The boat jolted forward and then slammed to a stop, throwing us against the seats.
“What if it’s Moby Dick? Or another shark?” I asked shyly, covering the funbags that were still playing in the rain.
“It’s not... Moby Dick. And let me tell you something else,” he glared. “If it’s a shark, I’m feeding you to him.” He moved me off him and peeked over the side of the boat. “It’s shore!”
The relief I felt was hard to describe. I wondered if that was how the pilgrims felt when they made it to North America. I resisted the urge to say, “Land-ho!” if that’s what they said.
I should have paid better attention in history class and then maybe I’d know the correct terms.
“Really?” I peeked over the edge as well to make sure he wasn’t joking. I wouldn’t want to get my hopes up. I was already picturing this turning into Castaway and having to make my water bottle my own personal Wilson.
“Yes, really,” Jameson said. “Get your ass out. I’m done with this fucking rain and this boat.”
I slapped his wet shoulder. The sound echoed throughout the boat.
Walking forward, his jeans clung to him, but I was more distracted with the fact that he had no shirt on, and the water gliding off his chest was creating a waterfall effect over his abdominal muscles.
With the breaks in the clouds, the moonlight reflected off the white sand glowing against his skin.
“Stop gawking at me and get out of the boat,” he clipped, smacking my wet ass as he helped me out. “With our luck, this thing will carry us to China.”
I stopped, my feet sinking into the warm, wet sand.
“Where the hell were you in geography class? China is on the other side of the world.”
It’s not like you’re any better dumb shit. You couldn’t figure out what they said when they discovered land.
“No, it’s not.” Without looking back at me he kept walking toward the trees. “It’s that way.” He pointed at the ocean behind us.
“No, it’s not. That’s Africa.”
Jameson stopped suddenly and spun around to face me, his breath tickling my damp neck. He leaned forward, his lips gliding across my jaw.
“Stop arguing with me, wife,” his hands moved to pick me up bridal style. “I’m soaking wet, I’m extremely horny, and the last thing I want to be doing right now is arguing about Moby Dick, or where the fuck China is, or talk about what is or isn’t a fucking scratch. I want to have sex with my wife. Right now.”
I giggled the entire way to the bungalow he rented.
The secluded house was situated amongst the trees, set back away from the ocean by about a hundred yards or so. It was beautiful—dark, but beautiful. I assumed with the hurricane, the wind had knocked out any power this place might have had. Oh, and did I mention it was still raining and still blowing like a motherfucker outside?
Once we made our way through the dark vegetation and up the few stairs that led to the front door, I heard Jameson groan. “Damn it. It’s locked.”
“Huh?”
“It’s locked, the door... it’s locked.”
“Seriously?”
“Do you really think I’d be lying at a time like this?” he challenged.
“Now wha—” before I could even finish my sentence Jameson kicked in the door, the sound deafening as hefty wood splintered, crashing to the ground.
Jameson stood beside me all Hulk-like, staring at the door. He probably couldn’t believe he’d gotten it down.
“Was that really necessary?” My eyes focused on him and not his insanely hot body. “I’m sure we could have called someone.”
“Apparently it was. Did you see any other boats out there in the ocean?” he asked with a sly grin. “It’s the only way onto this island,” he then winked and lunged for me.
My head tipped back, giving his lips access to my neck, and when he gently bit, I whore-moaned louder than I think I ever had. “Jesus Christ!”
“Not quite.” He pulled my earlobe between his teeth. “But I’m pretty damn good.”
Every time I thought about this night, I envisioned it going slow. A time where we made slow sweet love to each other until the sun came up. That’s how a honeymoon was supposed to be, right?
It wasn’t going down that way.
At least not this first time, after everything we’d been through in the last day. The need I felt was too great and it was nice to see Sway was in the same frame of mind.
Between the airplane and the boat teasing, it only amplified our need.
Not that I wasn’t still upset about being bit by a fucking Great White, but still, I was horny and that took precedence over everything.
Sway ended up on top when we hit the floor once inside the house and immediately snaked one hand behind my neck to pull my face to hers. The other reached down to stroke my camshaft with the heel of her palm.
The beginnings of the erection I had moments ago turned rock hard under her touch.
Gasping when my hand slipped over her, I moaned again and settled my legs between hers, as my right hand now reached for her left knee to draw it up my hip.
Drawing back just long enough to catch her heated gaze, I knew she wanted it too.
There was no more Moby Dick talk, no more China talk, just grunts, moaning, and my bleeding leg.
There was no mistaking the urgency. She wanted this hard and fast, too.
“I love you,” I told her, my voice husky.
She moaned against me, wiggling her hips. With that assurance, I pushed inside her.
Sway gasped, her eyes rolling back as I pulled her leg up around my waist.
“Jameson,” she sighed, relaxing slightly in my arms.
“Sway,” I grunted. “Jesus Christ ...”
That’s when our movements turned frantic—arms, hands and legs flailing around, searching for the need. As we rocked against each other, the door creaked with each thrust while the wind howled throughout the house.
Clutching at me, her nails dug into my skin, moaning and tossing her head back and forth against the door.
I bent at the waist, still holding her legs over my shoulders, and continued to push inside her.
Sway moaned and with one last thrust, I was done. The relief and euphoria poured through me in waves as an animalistic growl rang throughout the house. I felt it from the bottom of my feet to the ends of my hair and the pulsing, the overwhelming feelings continued much longer than I recalled experiencing before.
Sex with Sway before the baby had been incredible but it had nothing on this. No way.
Not sure how much time went by but eventually we released each other. When I looked at Sway, her eyes were closed, her hands running through my hair.
“We didn’t make it to the bedroom, sorry,” I murmured eventually. “And the bedroom is fucking amazing.”
“Like that’s somehow your fault,” she chuckled. “Did you see me rushing in there?”
“True.”
We were still in the entryway of the house, on top of the broken door, when I heard a man clear his throat. And it wasn’t me.
I turned quickly, looking over my left shoulder, still on top of Sway.
“Me desculpe, sir?” a gruff male voice asked, standing in the doorway.
Sway screamed, arms thrashing around, legs kicking as she tried to cover herself with her shredded clothing.
“Who is that... who the fuck is that?” she wailed.
I tried desperately to cover her, but it wasn’t helping.
I had a couple of thoughts. One, how long had he been watching? And two, who the fuck was he?
“Who is that, Jameson?” Sway asked on the other side of the kitchen, hiding behind the counter.
How she was able to see enough to find the kitchen was amazing to me. I could barely make out my own feet.
“Quem é você?” I asked.
I knew a little Portuguese, which was actually beneficial given these circumstances, but I also wasn’t sure if I was making any sense.
I didn’t exactly get an A+ in foreign language.
When I was in high school my parents made me take two foreign languages and piano lessons just so I had other interests. Though I became good at them, too, racing always held my attention the longest.
“Eu sou manutenção. Eu esqueci de desbloquear a porta.”
“What’s he saying?” Sway asked frantically, and I could now see she was holding a fork. “What the fuck is he saying?”
I turned to her, both of us still completely naked. While I tried to comprehend what he had asked, I was more concerned with my wife holding a fork.
“I swear to God, if you stab me with that goddamn thing, I will never have sex with you again.”
The man chuckled.
“Gostaria de um sir chave?”
“Yes, I’d like a key.” I took the key from him expecting him to leave, but he just stood there, staring at my wife. I lost it. “Are you fucking kidding me? Se perda imbecil!”
“Desculpe sir, desfrute da sua estadia,”
The man, who we never got a good look at, turned and walked away. I wasn’t even sure what he said, but Sway’s giggling brought me back.
Fearing a return of any more guests, I tried to right the door I tore down. Sway continued to laugh at me trying to get the door back up with the wind blowing. It wasn’t exactly easy.
“Why are you laughing?”
She couldn’t stop giggling long enough to answer.
“That was like horror movie shit. I thought he was going to murder us.”
“And that’s funny?”
“Yes,” she started giggling again, which in turn caused me to start laughing.
Soon we’re both laughing to the point we could hardly breathe.
Tangled together on the floor, our bodies reacted to one another and continued where we left off.
“Should we at least make it to another part of the house?” I whispered.
“I’m partial to the entryway now,” she whispered back. “But we should clean your leg up first.”
I glanced down at the bloody mess. Now I saw how this all resembled a horror movie. We even had the puddle of blood.
“There’s time for that later, honey.” I smiled, kissing her lips. “Right now is all about you and me.”