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“Sure.”
We enter the conference hall. A shit-load of people are milling around the exhibits. What a mash-up. Lawyers in ties, hippies in flip flops and women wearing brightly colored mumus and even a few evening gowns. Hawaiian-style usually means that people are accepted as they are. So opposite from the military.
I look for Gary and eventually discover him arguing, lawyering, with a group of Japanese businessmen in suits.
When the salarymen move away like a shoal of fish, I introduce Rylie.
“Hello, Rylie,” he says, taking her arm. “Come with me.”
I follow along and listen as he explains what his organization does, who they are currently filing lawsuits against, and how Rylie might work her way into the type of law that can potentially save the planet. He’s a good salesman, lawyer, and advocate. Rylie is enthralled and listens to every word.
I smile at her occasionally, letting her know I’m there whenever her gaze seeks me out.
She looks annoyed at a hostess serving pupus and drinks trying to flirt with me. Her reaction elicits an abrupt, nearly rude, reply from me. The innocent girl looks offended and I realize I’d better check my reactions. I don’t need to be an asshole to make Rylie feel secure. The truth is I haven't noticed another ass since that night in Frank’s kitchen.
Normally I get flirty glances from women all day long. I must be missing something as I can't recall the last time I exchanged a smile with anyone but Rylie.
I sip on a beer and hang in the background. Rylie’s face is glowing. They’re discussing over-fishing, gill nets, tuna limits, international waters. A bunch of stuff about carbon dioxide and pollution that intrigues me, but I know little about.
“This has been amazing,” Rylie says after Gary releases her back to me.
“Did it seem like he can help you get where you want?”
“Absolutely. Thank you for bringing me here.”
“You’re welcome,” I say, handing her a drink. “Hungry yet?”
“Can we hear the next lecture, and then dinner?”
“Sure. Let’s grab a seat.”
After the lecture, Rylie stands up to ask the marine biologist speaker a challenging question. I’m impressed with her poise. I didn’t realize she was such a confident public speaker.
I’m up for sneaking through wilderness with a rifle, diving among sharks, and surfing big waves, but unless I’m in court, my theater, I don’t leap to speak in front of a group. This woman is more special than I imagined and at the same time, I’m reminded of how badly I want to strip away that enticing slip of a dress and bury myself inside her.
It’s sometimes said that a nervous public speaker should imagine the audience naked, so I turn that trick on its head. I imagine Rylie naked, and this audience vanished. She throws a thigh over me to straddle me. Her bare tits bob under the light flowing fabric and I cup her perfect ass cheeks and squeeze as she glides up and down my girth like a carousel horse.
Up and down.
Faster and faster.
My shaft is so fucking hard and I'm so excited, that I don’t hear her whisper in my ear until she calls my name a second time.
“Ethan, where are you?” she whispers.
Oh, shit.
“Yes, I’m sorry,” I apologize, embarrassed at the gotcha. “I was, ah, thinking.”
“Can we please get dinner?” she pleads. “I’m starving.”
“Sure, I just need a moment.”
I can’t stand up, not with this massive bulge in my pants. She looks at the tent I’m sporting with a grin.
“Thanks. That’s really a big help,” I joke, making her laugh happily at her triumph. I think of things besides Riley. Work, turtles, taxes, the Taliban… Eventually, my bastard recedes, and I’m free to stand. I take her hand.
“Ready?” she asks.
