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Instead, I watch the girl of my dreams, who has gone from pretty young thing, to flesh and blood siren, walk away.
Drunk Man Di Talk Truth
Regan
Good Lord in Heaven what have I done? If you’d asked me to list a thousand things I thought might happen to me in this lifetime, dry humping a stranger on a shuttle full of people until I came wouldn’t have ever, ever been one of them.
When he volunteered his lap, I was grateful. I’m in great shape, but I’m heavier than I look. I hadn’t missed the way his long, athletic body filled the seat.
When I sat down on his thick muscular thighs, the solid strength of him felt…deliciously sturdy. At least I didn’t have to worry about being too heavy for him.
Bonus points that he smelled good. Not because he was drenched in cologne
- but the kind of good that comes from soap, sweat, and man.
His baseball cap hid his hair and eyes, But God, the part of his face I could see was enough to whet my fantasies. His mouth alone…Wide and graced with lips so full they verged on pouty. And for a mad moment, I’d wanted to turn around and press mine to them.
Just to see if they were as soft as they felt.
It took me a minute to register what I was feeling. I haven’t had a man's dick between my legs in five years. And then his stiff erection pressed exactly where it needed to and flip the switch that turns me from mildly annoyed to wildly turned on. A switch I didn’t even know existed.
I was afraid he’d be pissed. I’d practically given him a lap dance trying to fix my anklet. He’s a man and his body’s response was simple biology. biological.
Until his big warm hand gripped my hip. It felt so good and sure.
Even that woman’s incessant prattling couldn’t cut through the lust that fogged my brain. I’d forgotten how different an orgasm feels when it's not coaxed out of me by my own hand. The pleasure from the friction of his body was unreal.
Guilt is glaringly absent from the swirl of emotions inside of me. But I can’t muster it when everything about what happened felt so… right.
In fact, it’s the only thing that’s happened since I arrived this morning that has.
I pour myself a glass of water, pick up the small silver container that used to hold Jack’s ashes, and step out onto the huge terracotta tiled balcony attached to my room.
I take a moment to breathe in the floral, sea salt tinged breeze carried in from the Sea of Cortez
I got Jack’s letter the day her will was read. The brochure for this resort and the boating company that she’d hired for the ceremony were also in the envelope. “It’s where I want a piece of me to dwell forever, and I want you and Matty to take me. Together. Please.”
It’s heartbreaking to think about her planning all of this.And not just because she was going to die. But because, in the midst of her own fear and grief and pain, she thought about me. Jack knew my soul needed space to unfurl. In the twelve hours since I arrived, I’ve had more time alone than I have in the previous twelve months combined.
The life I’ve dedicated myself to, the one I built with deliberate care, feels so far away right now. Distance allows me to see it with a clarity I’ve never had before.
It’s not a happy scene. Dressed in loneliness, apathy, lack of purpose, every single brick in its facade is held in place with lies, luck, and far too little love.
From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of the small bronze urn I used to carry my best friend’s ashes out to sea last night. I’m gripped by a sense of foreboding. That could just have easily been me. And God, what a waste of a life it would have been.
The loud ring of my room’s phone is a welcome interruption and I dive for it and pick it up before it can ring again. “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s me. Can we talk?” Matty’s tone is clipped, but civil.
My heart gives a little hopeful leap. “Sure, maybe we can have dinner?” I glance at the clock, it’s only 4pm, but I’m starving. I came here hoping that Matty and I could repair what was broken between us. I’ve spent the whole day in my room waiting for her to call. Trying to work up the courage to call her.
“Okay, dinner would be good. Are you ready now?”
“I need to shower, but I’ll be quick,” I say.
“Don’t rush, I’ll come up to your room and wait. See you.”
“I look so tired,” I lament to my reflection and skim my fingertips over the shadows under my eyes. I haven’t slept well since Jack died.
