Just a Number (Downtown #1) (9 page)

Other retreat sex had been hit or miss. Most of the time, it was just a body for sex. I did my own thing during the days, and usually, only hooking up with a plaything at night. Sometimes, there was more than one that I fucked. Of course, they knew and had agreed to a one-time roll or to join in a little fun together. One thing was for certain, they knew they were just a number.

Everything about Willow was different. I wanted to get to know her as much as she would let me. I wanted to spend time with her, partaking in other activities besides sex. Hopefully, she wouldn’t disappoint me. The thought of her not standing on the dock in a few hours was not fathomable. She had agreed to spend time with me. I was certain she would be there.

Positive, motivational phrases to my class elevated my frame of mind. Feeling great, my class could only benefit from my upbeat mood. I was focused. I was relaxed. I was on my game. My students and I powered through each bend, each stretch, and each breath with vibrant energy. Some sessions were earth shattering; that morning was one of them. Everyone felt it. I realized that as they expressed their thoughts to me as we all left the beach. I even had an extra spring in my step, anticipating more time engaged in a multitude of extracurricular activities with Willow for the next few days, alone.

Away from the resort, I was able to relax. I was able to be affectionate. I was able to let my hands roam. I was able to attack with my mouth. Unfamiliar thoughts plagued me where she was concerned. Uncharacteristic approaches, compared with women in the past. I was about to swim—pun intended—in a sea of uncharted territory.

Arriving at the small wood-planked dock area in the early afternoon, I saw Willow waiting. Gorgeous. Standing in a white lace, flower cover up, her bright neon-yellow bikini was visible on her exquisite shape. The low, v-neck of the dress showed off her incredible tits. Her almost dark hair was pulled back into a high ponytail. Her beautiful icy-blue eyes were hidden behind a large pair of sunglasses. Her signature red lipstick was painted on expertly. She was pure perfection.

Adjusting my board shorts to conceal my desire, I advanced to her side. With a quick hello, I placed a chaste kiss on her inviting lips. Then I helped her into a small aluminum canopied fishing boat that shuttled us to a large catamaran, with hot-pink striped sails named, The
Sea Goddess Beaotche,
moored just off the shore in deeper waters just past a small sandbar.

On board, we were greeted by our native scuba-snorkeling guides. Giving a few safety tips and procedures, they pointed out the location of life vests and inflatable rafts, should they be needed. Instructed about dangers that could arise, they moved on to the day’s itinerary. “We’ll be taking you to a few spots. However, the winds have been churning up the waters a bit. Clarity may vary from location to location. There are some great reefs on this side of the island. A few coves, as well. Coves may be our best bet to see a lot of sea life. We’ll do our best to make your snorkeling experience a good one!”

Joined by a joyful, rambunctious bunch of college students, it looked like we would be having a lively time. Definite partiers; they appeared to have jump started their day with a few cocktails. I guess it was better than being stuck on a boat with a bunch of sticks-in-the-mud.

Sailing to the first area turned out to be a bust for us. After floating around in murky water, only seeing a few random fish we gave up and waited for the others. Visibility was very limited, but party group seemed to be entertained by whatever they thought or happened to see. We didn’t see anything like they were boasting about: the colors of the reef, the various fish. They had to be high on something more than just life.

While we waited, we unwrapped our lunch. The main event—shitty sandwiches—assaulted our palates. Some island specialty gone wrong? Pulled pork cooked with overly sweetened pineapple, topped with melted Swiss cheese and placed on sweet buns. Not a favorite pairing. All items separate were good; together, not so much. Luckily, the island brand ale and chips were good. The tropical fruit, that accompanied our lunch, had a little funky fish taste to it, but once rinsed off with beer, it was edible.

At least my excursion date was delightful and the surroundings were spectacular. While the churning water around the vessel was too muddled to see anything, off in the distance, the lush-green coastline, with small stretches of sandy beach and lava rock, was beautiful. The sun was intense, but a gentle breeze swirled around, cooling our skin. Willow and I sat together on the front of the catamaran. While I reclined, she put her head in my lap. I stroked her ponytail, occasionally wrapping it around my hand. I wished we had the boat all to ourselves, thinking about how I held her in place the night before and drove into her warmth. No such luck, I settled for fucking her mouth with mine.

Once the partiers were aboard, eating their lunch, we moved on to a more remote and protected cove. Further proof that our fellow snorkelers were stoned on something, they devoured the sandwiches and praised the taste. No. No. No. Willow nor I could be convinced the food was good. Even the guides, with their own sacks, obviously containing different food than ours, looked puzzled. Whoever was doing their catered lunch boxes needed a few cuisine lessons. Or better yet, the scuba company should hire a new food vendor altogether. I was sure to express my opinion on a comment card that had accompanied our trip packet when I booked the excursion: A = for adventure. F+ = for food. And, I was being nice.

Despite the array of culinary non-delights, the new location was perfect. The water was calm. Crystal clear. A large reef to one side and a nice swimming area on the other, where we saw sea turtles moving through the water. A white, sandy beach framed by cliffs, palm trees, and lush greenery spanned the inlet. Above the shoreline, a few private villas were perched. The remoteness looked inviting for playtime with Willow. Perhaps I could take her behind a grove of palm trees and ravage her, I thought, when we dropped anchor.

Slathered with sunscreen, we rubbed into each other’s sun-kissed skin, we were almost ready to float around the inviting area. Once outfitted with fins, masks, and snorkels, Willow and I flipped backwards off the side of the boat into the turquoise water. Swimming around, we saw coral and plant life moving with the current, a variety of colorful tropical fish, sea stars attached to the reef, sea urchins on coral, and eels, peeking out rocks. The underwater views that greeted us were stunning. What a magnificent habitat.

Swimming around the bay, Willow’s neon-yellow bikini attracted schools of fish. They had no interest in my basic navy blue trunks. She was like a human lure. It freaked her out, at first, as they circled her and closely skimmed her body. Lucky little fish. I absolutely loved it. Not to mention it was a good excuse to look at her curvy body. I couldn’t wait to get her alone.

Wrapping up the day’s voyage, our guides declared it was happy hour and plied us with pitchers of Mai Tais, pretzels, and macadamia nuts. Good thing we had both used a driver to bring us to the boat dock and had one to deliver us back to the resort.

Snuggled up in the backseat, we made out like a couple of frisky teenagers. At the hotel, we snuck back to her room, like we were trying to avoid punishment for breaking our curfew. We laughed the whole way, until we were safely hidden away behind closed doors. Away from prying eyes, our clothes were quickly removed, and the real fun I had been thinking of all day got underway and continued all night long until the sky showed a glimmer lightening. Only nutrition, delivered by room service, temporarily stopped our melding of body parts.

Willow

I
n the darkness of morning, I shocked the guru by quietly escaping my bed and joining him for his sunrise yoga session. My sated, but sore body begged to be loosened up if it was going to be able to go hiking later in the day. Refreshed after finishing his class, we parted ways to shower up before meeting for a light breakfast. Dressed in a pair of white shorts, a sky-blue tank top, and tennis shoes, I made my way to the hotel’s open pavilion restaurant.

Arriving before him, I grabbed some sliced mango, a cheese pastry, and coffee from the buffet. As I nibbled and sipped, I opened my tablet and snapped it into a keyboard case, a great alternative to hauling around my laptop. I was interested to see how things were moving along with my new fashionable island client. It was important that it was going in a positive direction before I left. Only a couple more days in paradise, then it was back to my mainland life.

Emails appeared from work and my mother, still using my father’s email. I guess he didn’t help her out. At least he was allowing her to use his computer. Or maybe, she was sneaking on to his computer.

From: Mrs. Dane, your mother

To: Willow Dane

Happy I can write to you

Today at 5:00AM

Hello Dear,

I would’ve written to you sooner, since you gave me the okay, but so much has been going on lately. I still haven’t gotten my own email address. I didn’t want to bother your father. Mrs. Hooligan, as you kids called her, is supposed to show me on her computer later today, but I couldn’t wait. I woke up all night, thinking about you. I finally got out of bed at four and made a pot of coffee. Your brother told me yesterday that you took a break from work to go to some fancy resort. Good for you. I remember the last time we went on a vacation. Your father was salesman of the year. They had a spa. I spent the whole day being pampered. Make sure you do that. It could help relieve stress. I know your father was always tense. You business people work too hard. But at least you get rewarded. I saw some newspaper clippings about you since we last spoke. I have to confess; I snooped on your father’s computer. I’m glad I didn’t find any exchanges with women. That book we read had emails between the characters. They even sent each other nude photographs. I would’ve died if I saw anything like that on this computer. I didn’t think I would, but you never know. I was scared at first. What I found was files on all of us. He must’ve been scanning stuff into the computer. I learned about scanning, too. He put in cards to him and artwork. They are all in the appropriate file. I was shocked. Your file is the biggest. I hadn’t realized how much you’ve accomplished over the years. So proud of you.

Love,

Your Mother

File on me?
I didn’t respond to my mother’s email. I would’ve, but I wasn’t sure what to say. I wondered what was in the files. Why would my father put together files on all of us? Reviewing us? Memories? Or assessing us? Keeping tabs on who did what. Who did it better? I didn’t know why I cared; I knew what he thought about my life choices.

I moved on to work matters, reading through several correspondences. I replied to ones I deemed necessary to handle while out of the office. Ones that didn’t need research and multiple replies. Basically, the easiest discussions to be made. No stress—happy ones, which included all of the progress being made on Katie’s Swim Shack. I was thrilled with the website and we hadn’t even included the photos that were emailed to me for review. I smiled from ear to ear as I flipped through each one.

“Someone is happy this morning. Must be the sunrise yoga session,” his voice pulled me away. My smile widened, if that was possible, to the point of pain. The delicious sight of
my
yoga-god sparked my whole body; I felt sensations spread all the way down to my toes.

“Things are looking up with a new exciting account…” My computer pinged.
Website with photos update. Suggested name change samples.
“Oh no. Sorry. I have to look at this. Work,” I added, practically disappearing into my tablet. I hoped he wouldn’t think I was rude.

“No problem, I’ll hit the buffet. Be right back. Take your time.”

Shaken momentarily from my email, I couldn’t help myself; my eyes followed his nice ass walking away.
Focus, Willow. Business, then playtime.
Back on track, I looked at the mockup of the site complete, and wanted to do a little dance. To my delight, the island photographer we hired, with the owner’s recommendation, did a fantastic job. He had captured the true essence of her amazing boutique. The only problem I had was with the various versions of the home page labeled with new names. I had never asked for a name change. I didn’t know where that was coming from. Surely, Suze wouldn’t question me; I was in charge. Quickly, I shot an email back before my yummy brunch companion returned.

From: W. Dane

To: Sam Maxwell

Katie’s Swim Shack website

Today at 8:00 AM

S,

No name change, please. Let’s leave it as is and move forward with the mock up. Everything looks great. Let’s go live.

W

Account Manager, Woodland & Associates

cc: Suze

As I hit send, a chair scraped the floor. “Everything okay?” Dash sat down across from me.
Damn!
He was gorgeous in a tight t-shirt, showing off his lean muscles. His tousled hair reminded me of how my fingers felt running through it. And that mouth! I licked my own lips as I watched him take a bit of food and lick his full bottom lip. “Everything okay?” he repeated his question.