Aaron
We’re both quiet in the shuttle on the way back to the resort. Macy is sitting by the window.
It’s not a bad kind of quiet—the kind that comes with frustrations piled so high you don’t even know how to address them anymore.
No, this is a good kind of quiet—the quiet that comes with ease and comfort.
Needless to fucking say, this is the quietest that Macy and I have been together by a long fucking shot.
So, I’m enjoying it. For now.
I rest my arm at the back of her seat, looking more at her than out the window.
I can’t get the feel of her clinging to me out of my mind. Sure, it felt fucking good, but more than that, it brought such a feeling of joy. I mean, Macy isn’t a woman I expected to ever see put on such a jubilant fucking display.
The study in light and shadows between the razor-sharp, no-bullshit chick I met at the bar and the lively ray of goddamn sunshine I saw bursting beautifully through the water today...
Fuck, it’s piercing right through me, driving me crazy on some sort of higher plane that I really might not be able to handle.
“Excited about dinner?” I lean a little closer to make sure I breathe my words into her ear. The fine, dirty blonde strands have started to pull from her hair tie.
On the other hand, today was a prime demonstration that just about anything can happen this week.
I’m encouraged as she turns to answer, and our faces are inches apart. She doesn’t shy away. “Definitely.”
If this shuttle bus has seatbelts, I’d be buckling mine now.
Fuck, there’s a reason they never let me pitch voiceover copy for trailers.
Dropping my arm on her shoulder, I let my fingers curl around her slim upper arm. “Are you okay? Recovering from your brush with death?”
She laughs—not flirtatiously, or politely, but fucking honestly—and I notice we’re pulling up to the resort already.
“I think I’ll make a full recovery, and I’ll even hold off on the coconuts for the sake of your, what is it, phobia?”
“No. Phobias are irrational.”
If she thinks I can’t keep this up the entire week, I’d be more than happy to demonstrate.
To be fair, the way her eyes roam to the window as she nods silently tells me she’s already getting sick of it.
Okay, her call.
The shuttle stops, and I hear doors opening behind me.
“Piña Coladas? Now those I can handle,” I announce with a wink.
Another nod, but her face still has the vestiges of an actual smile, and her eyes have a calm, accepting gleam.
I grab both our bags, and head out to the resort. She’s right behind me and gets her key card ready for our suite door.
As the sun sets and the Caribbean air grows cool, our comfortable quiet continues all the way into the lobby, the elevator and the hallway.
How does she smell so fucking good after everything that happened today?
No wonder Harpo likes her so much.
Walking into the room, I take our bags and set them by the walk-in shower. Emptying them, I hang up the damp items and put the bags upside down to dry.
We’re likely going to one of the resort’s serious fucking eateries tonight, which is not something I’d always take so, well, seriously, but tonight I’m going all-out to ensure that Macy gets the full experience she signed on for.
“Do you want to shower first?” I peel off my shirt and wet board shorts and hang them to dry, too.
I hear her behind me. “That would be great.”
She doesn’t say a word as I walk naked by her when she comes in.
Unfortunately, she shuts the door to take her shower. That’s okay.
As has been established, this week is nothing if not full of fucking surprises, so I may as well just keep enjoying the ride.
Turning on the TV, I let it play in the background while I pull out linen slacks and a short-sleeved button-down. Throwing them across the bed, I pick the remote up and surf to find some international sports event to watch while standing on my own two feet to give the furniture a break.
It’s good furniture, it deserves not to get ruined—at least not until I dry off a bit more.
And, as a free spirit who has experience spending quality time with a variety of personalities, I’m certain that some women find sitting naked on furniture a real turn off.
It isn’t long before she opens the bathroom door and comes out in a bathrobe.
She still doesn’t say a word about my nudity. Taking my time, I stretch and wait for her to be done in the closet.
“Do you want the remote?”
She looks at me then, but just shakes her head no.
I’ve gotta give it to her, she keeps her eyes on my face.
“Okay. I’ll take my turn in the shower.” Walking directly in front of her, I head into the bathroom.
The shower feels great and I know I’ve got plenty of time to make myself five-star-resort-dinner presentable, so Macy can see that side of me, too.
As for me, depending on what day it is, my mood, and whatever fucking obligations lie ahead, I can get myself looking dangerously fucking presentable in a hurry.
But when dangerously presentable isn’t sexy or impressive enough—like tonight, for so many goddamn reasons—I honestly enjoy taking my time to upgrade from dangerous to devastating.
Switching off the walk-in shower, I think about trying to find a stronger word than presentable to go with my devastating dangerousness.
Luckily, my straight razor works well for clearing out that post shark-swim stubble, and my subtle blend of aftershave and cologne adds just the right amount of faint yet undeniably intoxicating aura to any proceedings I’m involved in.
By the time I get out of the bathroom, Macy’s already working on her makeup—and she looks fucking gorgeous.
“You look great.”
“Thanks.” Glancing briefly at me, she looks away quickly when she realizes I’m still naked.
“Is there any food you don’t like? Are you allergic to anything?”
“Shrimp.” Then she laughs.
“Don’t like them or allergic to them?”
If I’m going to show Macy the full fancy-schmancy five-star wining-and-dining resort experience, I might as well take note of any dietary restrictions, preferences, and basically anything that she’s willing to share with me.
Giggling, she turns to me and winks. “Just don’t like them.”
Ah. Well, look at that. Macy’s latest barb comes packaged with an off-color joke, and a decent one at that.
“Is it the size or the name?” I pull on a pair of light grey boxers then sit down to grab the remote.
“Oh, it’s the size and all the veins…” She trails off, and I can see her smirk in the mirror.
There’s one small spark I still sometimes carry from my days of actually being passionate about movies, before making them went from art to a finely-honed, money-making craft. It’s the concept of people, other people, of getting to actually know them beyond the surface.
The surface is usually all that we share with each other. I think one of the ideas of the medium is to get beyond that, beyond what you would ordinarily see of another person, and create a different perspective to be shared, communally.
No, I don’t think about that shit very much anymore, but occasionally, someone will interest me enough to think about for a minute—usually it’ll be random, a quiet extra that casting keeps sending to sets, or a guy selling t-shirts from a box on Ventura—but I don’t think about it for too long because then I’ll start thinking about my own life, and I’ve done enough of that to last the rest of my fucking life.
“I’m sure the menu’s extensive,” Macy says, looking through a makeup kit, “I know what I can eat, and what I want to eat, and I can choose for myself.”
Macy takes a quick side glimpse at me as she rifles through her makeup. I’m not even focused on that, though, I’m more focused on how I’m getting that feeling with Macy.
That she’s got a story to tell, depths that are worth getting to know.
“As long as you promise me one thing,” I offer.
“Oh? And what would that happen to be? It better not involve shrimp.”
“Not unless you want it to—I want you to promise to order whatever you want, and as much as you want. I’m taking care of everything, and I don’t want you holding back.”
Macy takes her sweet time responding, applying lip gloss from a pink tube for a few long seconds before finally breaking her silence.
“You say you want that, but I don’t know if you really mean it.” Macy smirks to herself again as she puts her lip gloss away with care.
Holy fucking shit. She’s got a way of flummoxing me like no one else.
“Try me.” It was all I can think to say.
Macy turns toward me, her smirk gone, making eye contact that’s so intense, it’s almost unnerving.
“If there’s coconut shrimp, or anything coconut, I will be ordering it. I’m not the only one who has to face my fears today.”
“I might have some nightmares tonight, Macy, but I don’t want that to stop you from indulging in anything you want. Hell, ask them to bring a coconut tree over to the table.”
“I may just call your bluff on that one. Ready to go?”
“I’d love to walk over there right now, but this place has a dress code, so I just need a few minutes to get into a properly fancy suit.”
If Macy wants me to take her to dinner in nothing but my revealing boxers, I’d personally be more than happy to oblige. However, I doubt we would be served, which would defeat the purpose—plus it might end up cutting our stay short.
“Fine.” She’s barely hiding a smirk, and I feel myself stirring in my boxers. “Suit yourself, then.”
I grin widely.
“That’s very good, Macy. Very good.”
I point at Macy before turning around to go suit up, hoping to break her composure and smile.
She holds strong, though.
Maybe part of this vacation fling can be getting to know Macy just a little, and exploring those depths.
You know, just to satisfy an artistic curiosity I thought was dormant, if not dead.
The best part is that we’re on vacation, so that part doesn’t have to be like dating, either.
When it’s over, it’ll be over.
Macy is a breath of fresh air, though, and I don’t remember the last time I was this excited just to have dinner with someone.