Two Weeks (32 page)

The land takes a sharp turn and we keep going. Ally is leading now, but it's only because I want to keep an eye on her. She's no longer a neophyte, handling the water like a semi-pro. I'm impressed.

I start to lose myself in the familiar, comforting hum of the engine. I used to love bringing friends up here to ride on the water with me when I was younger, and most of the time, Jeff was my guest.

Well, only after we were old enough for my dad to trust us.

I don't focus on Jeff for long, however, because it doesn't matter anymore. I'd much rather think about Ally.

When I finally come back to my senses, I wonder how long I've been on autopilot. Ally leads the way as we fly along a chunk of forest that touches the water directly. Huge trees dangle near the water, depositing big branches in the water that sometimes turtles use as tanning beds.

After we're past the forest, it's a straightaway and Ally starts going faster and faster until I start to feel a bit unnerved.

It's not like I can send her a text to tell her to slow down. I don't know what the hell she's smoking, but I'm a bit concerned.

We hit another sharp turn and pass some jagged rocks. I bite my tongue the whole time as I watch her handle it, but she makes it out okay. And then she flips right over. Hard.

Upright one second, gone the next.

Panic hits me like a drug, every blood vessel, artery, vein, capillary, whatever, flushing my body full of red hot fear. It's like a fire poker in my guts.

"Fuck!" I scream. I slam the throttle and head toward her crash site, trying to keep enough distance so that I don't accidentally hit her. My heart is in my throat—and it's
pounding
.

Once I've reached a safe distance, I hit the stop button and dive off the jet ski and into the waves. I still don't see her. I can't stop thinking about how sharp the rocks look.

Everything happens in slow motion. I don't know how long she's been submerged. Seconds? Minutes? I flip over her jet ski, righting it so she can grab on to the back when I find her. At the very least, the engine is off, so at least something has gone right.

And then I notice her pink life vest floating there on the surface—without her in it. I continue freaking out.

I battle the waves as hard as I can, the water fighting me, pushing me to and fro. My hands chop right through it, but it's much stronger than I am, even with all my training.

I've finally met a superior foe.

The doctor's orders no longer matter to me. I dive under the water, searching, reaching, grabbing for Ally. Nothing. I can't find her.

I'm terrified. Maybe she hit a rock when she fell off and she's lying at the bottom of the lake, bleeding to death and drowning simultaneously. If I can't find her soon, she's going to die there.

My arms furiously beat the water. I let out a howl of frustration as I come to the surface again.

"What the hell are you yelling about?"

The words startle me as much as her crash did.

"Huh?"

There she is, holding the jet ski, smiling like nothing happened at all. "Holy shit, that was great! I haven't had that much fun in years. You were so right. High five!"

"Ally!" I shout in frustration. "I was worried you were dead!" I'm still riled up, but seeing her alive instantly brings me some much needed respite. "I was
certain
you were."

"I'm okay. That damn strap on the life vest didn't hold though. Luckily I can swim, as I told you before." She stops to catch her breath, still rising and falling as she swims. "I'm not ready to expire just yet. Now you know how
I
felt the other night."

"God, I'm insane," I say. I keep my feet kicking, holding me above the water. "Yeah, I guess I get it now." Reality hits me like a ton of bricks.

People fall off jet skis all the time and it's no big deal. In fact, it's
never
been a big deal until now. I'm clearly losing my mind.

"Let's go again!" she says.

I can't match her excitement right now, but I don't think I have a choice.

"Make sure the vest is secure this time." I laugh to myself and swim back to my own jet ski. We both climb back onto our rides. The life vest is in her hand and she puts in back into place and tightens it properly.

Relief comes quickly.

It's clear that she figured out what to do with her key because the next time I try to speak, I'm interrupted by the roar of the engine—and the image of Ally disappearing into the horizon.

All I think about the rest of the time we're flying around the lake is how much Ally has changed in such a short amount of time. When I think about her pessimism and whining less than an hour ago, it feels like an old, worn out memory. Like a movie on a VHS tape that's been reused a thousand times.

And while I don't quite know who this emerging person is, I
really like her
.

I quickly remember that she's leaving at the end of the week, going home to Boston where regular life awaits her. She'll just forget about all of this and re-acclimate to that other existence, to that other
world
.

She'll forget about
us
in no time.

Well, I hope that's not the case. I hope with every cell of my body that it's not the case.

I don't know what I'm gonna do when she's gone.

***

Ally

"P
lease! Oh, God!"

No, we're
not
having sex, but I'm sure we will later—well if Jackson isn't scarred forever from the pain. Every time I dab rubbing alcohol on his cut, he whines like a baby. He didn't have hydrogen peroxide on hand, so we had to use what was available.

"You're the one that said to go ahead with the rubbing alcohol!" I complain.

"Fuck," he says, staring down at the floor. "Well, you're the one that was riding like a maniac and made me jump in to save you."

The cotton ball is soaked, and I've just barely touched him. I've got at least another inch to go. "I didn't actually need saving, thank you."

"Whatever," he grumbles. "I'm still not sure if this is better than an infection or not."

"Oh, it's definitely better than an infection," I say. "Plus, this is really close to your brain, and you wouldn't want all that nasty stuff to start eating away at your—"

"Okay, okay," he says, cutting me off. "No more. Just do it no matter what I say. Do it all at once. Cover the whole length of the cut."

"Are you sure about that?" I ask.

He stares back, unfazed. "Yes. Do it." The muscles tighten in his neck as he swallows.

I discard the used cotton ball in the trash and grab a fresh one. I press it up to the bottle and let it soak until it's dripping into the sink. The situation calls for drastic measures and I'm ready to take them.

I'm fully aware that he's going to hate this. He's going to despise it. "I'm so sorry," I say as I lean in and gently kiss his cheek...

...and then I do it.

"Aww, fuck! Mother of God! Holy shit! Fuck, fuck,
fuck
!" His string of obscenities sprawls toward infinity. It's like the Mount Everest of profanity.

Jackson jolts and knocks the cotton ball out of my hand onto the floor. He grips the chair like he's going to die if he lets go and I'm worried he's going to totally destroy it by the time the pain subsides.

But somehow, it holds together, that good old, reliable wooden kitchen chair. Thankfully, I got the whole cut at once, stitches and all. My work is done.

"Just breathe," I say weakly. It's the only advice I've got.

"I'm
definitely
breathing," he says with a huff. "Oww!" He stamps his foot on the ground like an angry stallion—or an arachnophobe crushing a huge tarantula beneath their boot.

"You're doing great," I say, but it's only a platitude. His expression is flushed with anger, yet so pallid. I watch his muscles clench as he copes with the pain.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, he lets out a gigantic breath and leans back in the chair. "Oh my God," he says, wincing. "That was the worst pain I've ever felt in my life, and I've definitely felt my share of pain."

I kiss his cheek again. "You'll be just fine, champ. Walk it off. I can handle you."

Jackson slowly rises to his feet and rests his hands on my shoulders. "I don't know where all this gusto came from all the sudden, but I'm
really
liking it." He grips my butt and pulls me toward him—and he's rock hard already.

I smirk at him. "God, Jackson," I say wryly, "you really like pain, huh? Maybe you were meant to be the submissive one all along. Do you need a spanking now?"

He's not amused. His eyes are firm, swallowing me like a shot of whiskey. "No, I don't think that's what I had in mind."

"So what
did
you have in mind?" I ask.

He breaks our embrace and tilts his head toward the mirror, trying to survey the work I've done. It's an awkward angle, but he still tries. "Well," he says matter-of-factly, continuing his examination, "I was going to carry you into the living room, drop you on the couch, rip off your clothes, and make you come until you pass out."

"I don't know," I say. "I'm not sure about all of that." I still feel playful and I want to toy with him.

Defeat crawls across his face like a miserable shroud. "You
don't
wanna do all that? Really?"

"Well, it's just part of it," I say, "that I have a problem with." Jackson turns his attention back to me, away from his image in the mirror.

"Well? What part?" he asks.

This is cruel, especially after causing him so much pain. But it's also far too amusing. I haven't felt this goofy and unhinged in a long time. "Just the whole
come until I pass out
part," I say, a sardonic smile on my face. "It's like five, I don't want to pass out yet. You thought you could get out of feeding me with relentless lovemaking? You cheap bastard."

He gets it.

And then he carries me to the couch and my clothes basically fall off and he slides into me and pounds away and I scream his name and realize that basically, this is as good as it gets.

A vacation with a sexually proficient, kind-hearted, reasonable Adonis that's obsessed with making me come as many times as possible.

I have two orgasms before he has one.

After he finishes, we collapse together on the couch, cuddling ardently, our bodies still coiled like a couple of sweaty snakes.

"I'm starving," I say, interrupting the post-coital silence. "But I don't want to move."

"Maybe you shouldn't have interrupted my plan," Jackson says, still slightly out of breath. "If it were up to me, you wouldn't be awake right now."

I ignore him. "Is there a delivery service that will actually walk in and hand the food to you?" I ask.

"Do you need them to feed you as well?"

I nod. "That would be nice."

"Well, if you're unwilling to move, the delivery guy is going to see you naked. Is that okay?" he asks.

"It depends on what kind of food he's delivering. If it's just a shitty pizza, he doesn't get to see anything. But if it's filet mignon or something, I might put on a little show." I smile deviously.

Jackson laughs. "Maybe you've finally found your calling," he says. "An exotic dancer, but they shove prime cuts of meat in your g-string instead of money."

"Okay, that's not the most appealing imagery," I say, shifting my body until I can finally escape his grasp. I use his huge pecs for support and stand up.

I gather my clothes on the floor, putting them into one neat, single pile. "I'm going to take a shower," I say, "and then we're going out for dinner."

"Anything for you." Jackson stands and gives me an impressive naked bow—and then he chases me into the shower.

We end up eating at a decent bar called O'Neil's with an obvious Irish influence. The burger and fries I get is exactly what I needed. Jackson orders a steak, but sadly, it's no filet mignon.

After downing a couple of beers, we head out for milkshakes. Our gluttonous spree continues. It's always too much sex, or too much fried food, or too much alcohol... and I love it. I rarely let go like this, and it's clear that I'm going to have to do a lot of running to undo such debauchery.

Plans end up changing—we decide to stay an extra day. We're just having too much fun.

***

W
e start the next day with a run together and spend the afternoon strolling through the quaint little shops in the downtown area. Oh, and have the same delicious pancakes for breakfast.

We hit up a Mexican restaurant for dinner, and I'm quite impressed by how authentic the food is.

Still, the enchiladas aren't better than my mom's, that's obvious.

When we arrive home, it's time for white wine in the jacuzzi and eventually we make our way to the bed for the usual sexual shenanigans—well,
after
fooling around in the jacuzzi.

We pass out pretty early, hoping to have a shot at a full last day here, but we still end up sleeping in pretty late.

Again, we have breakfast at the same place, and it's just as delicious this time as it was every other time. I get an omelet today, and we end up sharing a short-stack of pancakes on the side. The coffee is hot and tasty, and I realize I'm really going to miss this cute little breakfast spot.

We spend part of that last day riding around the lake on the jet skis. When we've both had enough, we end up goofing around in the water and tanning for a while. Even with all the shade from the huge trees, there's still a good sized square of hot sun on Jackson's little beach, big enough for the both of us and no one else.

I like it that way.

In the afternoon, Jackson gets a call from Todd, and he's pissed. He figured out that Vince was responsible—from the parking lot security camera footage. I watch Jackson try to deny it, but eventually he gives in and begs Todd not to involve him.

Todd promises to tell Vince that Jackson refused to implicate him when he kicks him out of the league. While it's still not quite the outcome Jackson wants, it's the only alternative being offered.