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Though, the relief lasted all of two minutes.
Ba-ba-ba-bum!Ba-ba-ba-bum!The familiar, strong, and vibrant beats bounced through the air again, and it was the straw that broke the camel’s back.
“Enough!” Kline shouted, jumping up from his lounge chair. “It’s enough! I’m sorry, but it’s enough!”
Uh oh.I cringed.
The music stopped, definitely, but crickets followed. Fellow beachgoers offered curious, shocked looks in our direction. And Armando and his brothers stared at Kline with dropped jaws and wide eyes.
Even Bobo Buttons and Mr. Boots hid their tiny maracas behind their backs. Truthfully, I was kind of starting to get attached to the two little guys.
“I’m sorry, guys,” Kline backtracked, trying to calm himself down. “I really am. But I can’t handle you following us around for the rest of the weekend. It’s too much. No matter how great you guys are, it’s way too much. My fucking idiot friend has basically hired you to stalk us. I know that’s not your fault, but if you don’t go away when I ask, my only real option will be to call the authorities, and I’m pretty certain I’d ruin my wife’s surprise getaway if I called the police and your cute fucking monkeys ended up in handcuffs.” He sighed. Ran a hand through his hair.
No response. No white flag waved. The brothers just stared at him, while their monkeys hid behind their legs.
All I could do was sit there on my lounger, while the tightness in my chest damn near squeezed the breath out of my lungs.
“I will pay you double whatever Thatch is paying you to make it stop!” Kline shouted finally, fed up with the stonewalling, and the tension in the air endured an immediate, lightening shift.
“Double, Mr. Brooks?” Armando asked.
“Yes.Double,” Kline replied without hesitation. “And if that motherfucker even thinks about suing you for breach of contract, I’ll gladly pay your legal fees to beat his fucking ass in court. Truthfully, at this point, it would make my goddamn day to watch him explain to a jury why he hired a mariachi band to stalk his friend for an entire fucking weekend.”
Armando looked toward his brothers, and both Francisco and Juan shrugged, then nodded.
“Okay, Mr. Brooks,” Armando eventually said, holding out his hand toward Kline’s. “Consider it a deal.”
A giant breath of air whooshed from my lungs.
“Thank fuck for that,” Kline agreed, shaking hands and finalizing the verbal deal.
After my husband offered several apologies for his outburst and gave Armando and crew his secretary Meryl’s contact information to get paid, I felt a little sad as I watched Bobo Buttons and Mr. Boots pack up their maracas and head off into the proverbial sunset.
Good luck, little buddies!
Obviously, though, in the name of my husband’s sanity, I kept that information to myself.
On a huff, Kline sat back down on his lounger, staring out toward the ocean with his lips set in a firm line.
It was safe to say the monkeys had taken a toll on him.
“You okay?” I asked, and he shrugged.
“I’ve been better,” he replied and met my eyes.
Yeah, he’s definitely worn the hell out on the insanity that’s been tossed our way the past two days.
I was almost tempted to remind him of my Valentine’s curse.
The words were right there, sitting on my tongue.
Now isn’t the time, I reminded myself.Sure, the fire and the monkeys and the mariachi stalkers are more than just circumstantial evidence to plead my case, but it’s not the time.
Kline had scheduled this surprise getaway to romance me, swoon me, give me an awesome early Valentine’s experience. Putting our lives and hearing and sanity in danger certainly hadn’t been the intention.
He was the best husband, and he was in need of a distraction and relaxation andfun.
“I’m going to the bar to grab us some drinks. I think we could both use one right about now.” Decision made, I hopped up from my lounger and leaned forward to press a kiss to his mouth. “Scotch or beer?”
