Chapter Twenty-Nine

The best afternoon of my life began the moment I wrapped my lips around a straw and sucked back the sweet nectar combination of many spirits mixed with juice.

Cocktails: Angel’s brew. The best creation to ever be concocted by some man—I’m guessing it was a man, whose hand I must find and shake with gratitude, even if by now it’s skeletal.

I’ve skulled five tall glasses, and who knows how many will follow? With this liquid courage, I’ve found myself doing things I’d have been too frightened to do otherwise. Like ride a jet ski, and attempt—and by attempt, I mean fail miserably—to ride a wave on a surfboard. I’m having a blast, and from the laughter now coming from the guy with the stunning blue eyes, I’d say Arlie is too.

He’s probably pissing himself from laughing at my expense, but it doesn’t bother me because right now, nothing bothers me. I feel good. I’m free, having fun, and enjoying the big three zero like a woman no longer worried she’s turned the big three zero at all.

“Do you want to try again?” Arlie chuckles.

“Fuck yes, I do,” I cheer, grabbing the strap dangling from my beached surfboard and dragging it back towards the water.

“This time, you need to put your back foot farther to the back end of the board.”

“Got ya.” I make a gun with my thumb and pointer finger and shoot it in Arlie’s direction before blowing pretend smoke from my imaginary gun’s end. Arlie laughs. So do I.

We paddle out, side by side. Arlie winks at me when a wave grows in the distance.

“This one,” I shout.

“I think so. Remember, get your back foot as far back as you can.”

“Back foot back. On it.” I turn and face the board and myself toward the shore. I lie flat on my stomach, plucking one side of my yellow bikini bottom out of my hungry arse.

“Let’s do this,” I chime as I stroke my arms through the water to gain momentum. Jumping upright, I lose my balance instantly, then topple into the water like a massive bag of potatoes.

I’m laughing when I resurface. I can’t surf but trying is so much fun.

Arlie rides the wave like a pro surfer who’s about to go on tour, and as I watch him swing the board, his arms held out wide, beads of water glistening across his back under the sun’s rays, I find Miss Priscilla cheering him on as much as I am.

I’m so turned on right now that if I don’t find a way to alleviate the pressure pulsating through my clit, my vagina might explode, and not in a good happy-ending way, more so in a devastating rest-in-peace, your-pink-lady-taco-has-died way. I need to get my sex on and soon.

When I swim back to shore, I’m greeted by Arlie’s extended arm, and E.T. fingers awaiting me. I take his hand in mine before he pulls me to my feet. There’s a moment, a long pause in time when I find myself gazing deep into his eyes—his beautiful dark blue, forever-changing, sparkling eyes.

I want him … today, tomorrow … always. I’m in love with Arlie Blight, and I need to have sex with him on a television show that won’t show our sexual escapades because it’s a modest and kind entity.

I tilt my head slightly to the left as I wrap my hand around the back of his head. “You’re one hell of a surfer,” I say, perching onto my tiptoes.

“I do alright,” he says, wrapping his cold arms around my waist and pulling my body against his.

“I’m having the best time here with you.”

“Me too,” he whispers.

“I’m ready to take this further, Arlie.”

“I know.”

I press my mouth towards his, closing my eyelids. Our lips connect, and we kiss in a hungry, possessive manner. My limbs become weak. My heart thumps wildly. Every nerve ending my body possesses is overcome with electrical pulses, because kissing Arlie Blight is more magical than a rainbow-coloured dildo with eight speeds of delight. It’s so much better. I lift my leg and curl it around his arse, taking all my weight through only one foot.

Arlie suddenly pulls his mouth away.

What just happened?

“Is everything okay?” I ask, winded.

“Of course.”

My leg falls back to the ground.

“What do you want to do now?” He lets go of my waist, steps back, and turns side on, and discreetly fixes himself below the waistline.

I want to have sex, dumb arse, is what I want to say, but I don’t. Instead, I reply with, “I might have another drink.”

“Okay, well I’m going to take the jet ski out again. Do you want to join me this time?”

“No! I’m fine. I might relax on one of those chairs.” I raise my hand and point in the direction of the chairs in front of the cocktail bar.

“I’ll see you when I get back.” Arlie takes one step forward, dips his head, and kisses me softly on the cheek before turning his back to me.

What the fuck? He seriously just rejected me.

My brain is not one to be messed with. When not distracted, it works at a full pace, questions everything I do and say, and takes me down winding paths of doubt I can’t seem to trek back out of. Right now, my mind is working in overdrive, and no matter how many cocktails I find myself downing, it won’t stop racing.

I need Chris. I need Chris so badly right now I could cry.