Page 8

8

THéO

My head whips around, my jaw going slack. “What?”

“Kidding! Hey, eyes on the road!”

I snap my gaze back in front. “Jesus.”

She laughs. “Sorry. I was just joking. Believe me, your family feud sounds less scary than Ed and Lincoln.”

“Which dude was Lincoln?”

“The short one who didn’t talk.”

“Huh.”

“Okay, tell me more about your family. What are your mom’s and dad’s names?”

“My dad is Matthew; my mom’s Aline.”

“Aline.” She pronounces it carefully, imitating me, so that it sounds like Ah-lynn. “Okay. No other siblings?”

“Nope. I have a couple of cousins, and I have an aunt and three uncles who are younger than me.”

“Wait, what?”

“I know, I know, it’s weird. My grandpa?—”

“Your boss.”

“Yes. He’s on his second marriage. My grandma died before I was born, and Grandpa remarried. They have four kids who are technically my aunt and uncles, but they feel more like cousins.”

“Wow.”

“Just wait till you meet them all.”

She grimaces. “Can’t wait.” She slouches a little into the seat, then lifts her bare feet up onto the dash of my car. The loose skirt of her sundress falls down on her thighs and my body tightens in response to seeing those long, bare legs.

“Hey. Feet off the dash.”

“My feet are clean.”

“Well, sure, but ...”

“But what?”

“This vehicle is brand new.”

“I’m not doing any damage with my bare feet. I just had a pedicure the other day.”

Her purple-painted toenails gleam in the sun. And yeah, her feet look soft. Pretty.

Jesus.

“Fine,” I mutter. “Want some music?”

“Sure.”

I start one of my favorite playlists, the Beatles.

She shakes her head. “Beatles? Really?”

“I like them.”

“Their songs are really dirty.”

“They are not.”

“Yes, they are. There are all kinds of hidden dirty messages in them. And the titles ... what’s this song?”

“‘Come Together.’” As soon as I say the words, I’m laughing. “Oh shit.”

She chuckles too. “See? Then there’s ‘Please Please Me.’ And ‘Why Don’t We Do It In the Road?’”

“‘Ticket to Ride.’”

“Now you’re getting it.”

“‘All You Need Is Love.’”

“Uh-huh.” She starts singing along with “Come Together.” Her voice is pretty good. Unable to resist, I start singing too. I know all the words and there we are, belting out a song together as we cruise along the highway.

We sing the next one too, “Do You Want to Know a Secret,” hamming it up and laughing through parts of it.

After that playlist is done, she turns off the speakers. “Okay, let’s play a game.”

“A game?”

“Yeah. We have to pass the time somehow. Would you rather ...?”

“Oh no.”

“Would you rather not be able to feel any sexual pleasure or never eat your favorite food again?”

I snort. “Easy one. Never eat my favorite food again. There are lots of good things to eat in the world. No way I’d give up sexual pleasure.”

“I agree. What is your favorite food, by the way?”

“Prime rib.”

She wrinkles her nose.

“What’s yours?”

“Hmm. I guess pizza. But that’s a bit unfair, because there are so many kinds of pizza—thick crust, thin crust, all different toppings ...”

“Pizza’s a close second for me. Pepp and mush.”

“Good to know.”

“Yours?”

“I like pepp and mush too. Also ham and pineapple.”

“Fuck no. Pineapple does not belong on pizza.”

“How about chicken?”

“Nah. No chicken on pizza.”

She laughs. “That, I agree with. Okay, your turn.”

I grunt. I have no clue what to ask. After a moment, I say, “Would you rather have sex in a hot tub or on the beach?”

Her peal of laughter delights my ears. “Ha! You surprise me. I’m impressed. Okay, hmmm.” She taps her chin. “I think in a hot tub. I’ve heard sand in, uh, intimate places can be kind of unpleasant.”

“No doubt.”

“My turn. Would you rather”—she pauses—“have an animal best friend—it could be any animal you choose and it would be intelligent and speak to you. And you could ride on it, if it’s big enough, like a bear or a ... a buffalo. Or would you rather be married to someone with a hot body?”

“Jesus Christ.” I rub my chin.

She laughs.

“That’s fucking crazy.”

“It’s just a game. Come on. Lighten up. It’s not like world peace depends on your answers.”

I replay the question as I change lanes to pass a truck. “All right then, an animal best friend I could talk to would be cool.”

“What kind of animal?”

I run through choices in my head. I’ve heard elephants are smart. And dolphins. Dolphins are cool. But they live in the water.

Jesus. I’m actually analyzing this like it matters.

“A chimpanzee,” I blurt out.

“Oh, good answer! I’d love to have a chimpanzee friend!”

I can’t stop the smile that pulls at my lips, shaking my head.

We continue on with the game until Lacey gets bored. Her feet go back up on the dashboard. “Climax in ten miles.”

My head snaps around to look at her. “What?” My mind immediately goes into the gutter, imagining what this could mean ...

“The sign. We just passed it. There’s a town called Climax and it’s coming up.” She pulls out her phone and starts swiping and tapping. “Oh! We have to stop there. It’s a ghost town.”

“We’re not stopping.”

“What? Why not? We need a break.”

“We’ll be stopping for gas in a while. We can’t throw off my plans.”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“I am most definitely not kidding.”

“But it will be fun! Come on! A ghost town! And there’s a trading post.”

“A trading post?”

“That’s what it says.” She taps her phone. “How can you not want to go to a town named Climax? I mean, really.”

I give her a long glance and let out a sigh. “Fine.”

“Yay!”

We watch for the sign, I signal and turn off the interstate. This road is narrower, not as smooth, heading into the desert away from the highway. After five minutes, I ask, “How far off the interstate is this town?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Hang on.” She studies her phone again. “Ten miles.”

“Jesus. Well, we’re halfway there. But if we run out of gas because of this little detour, you’re going to be walking to the nearest gas station.”

“Phht.”

We arrive at Climax and I slow down to cruise the main street. The only street. A few cacti and scrub have encroached on the town. Rickety wood buildings line the dusty street, most of them clearly empty and abandoned ... except for one.

“This is creepy,” Lacey says in a hushed tone, gazing around.

“Should we check out the trading post?” I nod at the neon sign.

She grins. “Of course!”

I’m almost nervous about entering this dilapidated store. We push open the creaky wooden door. Inside it’s dim and only a few degrees cooler than the broiling heat outside. Wood shelves hold a few products ... bags of potato chips, candy bars ... condoms. Behind a counter sits an old man with a weathered brown face.

“Howdy. Welcome to Climax.”

“Thanks.”

“Cold drinks here.” He spits chewing tobacco into something behind the counter.

“Uh, great.” We approach the counter. Lacey eyes the stuffed gopher sitting on the worn wood. Nice.

We both order a Pepsi.

“How long have you lived here?” Lacey asks the man as we pay.

“I came here in the seventies. Looking for gold.”

“Ah.” She nods as if this makes perfect sense. “How’d you do?”

“Well enough to retire.” He grins, revealing brown teeth. “And I got a pool out back.”

“Oh! Awesome.”

“What do you do for fun here?” I ask warily, taking my cold can of Pepsi.

“All kinds of things. Never a dull moment. The desert is mystical and awe-inspiring. Beautiful and harsh. ‘You, God, are my God, earnestly I seek you; I thirst for you, my whole being longs for you, in a dry and parched land where there is no water. I have seen you in the sanctuary and beheld your power and your glory.’”

Lacey and I exchange uneasy glances.

“Psalm 63,” he adds. “A psalm of David. When he was in the Desert of Judah.”

“Ah.” Lacey rolls her lips inward.

“And once a year we have Climax Days. People from all over come for a long weekend and party. Anything goes.”

Lacey and I exchange another glance.

“Uh, wow,” she says. “That sounds like fun.”

“You just missed this year’s party. Maybe next spring.”

“We’ll keep an eye out for it.”

He nods. “I’m Charles.” He reaches out a tobacco-stained hand and I shake it.

“Théo,” I say. “This is Lacey.”

“What brings you to Climax?” he asks.

“Well. Oral sex works for me,” Lacey says.

There’s a beat of silence, then Charles guffaws.

I’m standing with my mouth hanging open. Did she just say that?

Her eyes twinkle. She did that on purpose. Jesus.

“You’re good.” Charles points at her. “I use that line on everyone. Not many people have a good comeback.”

She gives me a chiding look, seeing my unsmiling face. “Come on. That was funny.”

It actually was. I was just too stunned she’d said it to laugh. “We better get back on the road.”

“Where you heading?” Charles asks.

“L.A.”

“Safe travels.” He spits his tobacco again.

“Thanks, man.”

We head out into the bright, scorching heat. We walk past buildings that used to be a post office, a hotel, a saloon, and one with a sign that reads, climax emporium .

“That’s the brothel.” Lacey points.

“Get out.”

“No really. I read it when I was looking up the town. I mean, a town named Climax had to have a brothel, right?”

I laugh helplessly. “Right. Absolutely.”

“I think I want to come back for Climax Days. It sounds ... satisfying.”

I choke on a laugh as I open the door of my Audi for her to climb in.

When I’m in my own seat, she says, “You need to lighten up and have some fun.”

“I have fun.”

“I bet last night’s the only time you’ve let loose in a long time. Am I right?”

I frown. “Maybe.”

She grins. Her bare feet go up on the dash again. “Can I find some music to play?”

“Sure.” I hand her my phone, which connects to the Bluetooth speakers. When I hear country music twang, I groan. “Oh hell no.”

“It’s Carrie Underwood!”

“I hate country music.”

“Oh my God. I’m starting to think our marriage is in trouble. We’re not compatible in a lot of ways.”

My lips twitch. “Okay, we’ll compromise. We’ll listen to country for half an hour, then I get to choose.”

“You already got to choose the Beatles music earlier.”

“But you liked that too.”

“So you’re going to pick something that I don’t like, just to get your turn?”

“No!” I frown.

“I’m just kidding,” she says. “Again.” A soft sigh escapes her. “Just yanking your chain. Deal.”

This woman’s a handful. I’m now thinking she may have been able to hold her own with Ed and Lincoln and the entire Vegas mob.

After an hour of music, my choice being a mixed playlist of indie tunes, we arrive at a gas station. I’m still good for gas, but I want to fill up just to be sure. We both get out to stretch our legs, Lacey thrusting her arms over her head and twisting her spine.

Christ, she’s sexy.

Her hair is falling out of the bun, all wavy pieces shining gold in the sun. Last night at the pool when she let her hair down, I almost went to my knees. She’s beautiful without all the hair, but I have to admit I have a thing for long hair on women (okay, maybe it’s a fetish). Lacey’s hair is long and wavy, parted in the middle, gorgeous shades of light brown and dark gold and pale blond. Masses of it. Stunning.

I want to pull it all down and run my hands through it. My fingers tighten on the gas pump.

My gaze lowers to her slender, toned calves, remembering her skirt falling down her thighs with her feet propped up on the dashboard ...

I better think about something else, or the rest of this drive is going to be very uncomfortable.

“Should I grab anything inside?” she asks. “Drinks? Snacks?”

“I have bottles of water in a cooler. And granola bars.”

“Sensible,” she murmurs. “I was hoping for some Cheetos.”

I shake my head. “Go find some Cheetos if you want.”

“Okay.” She lopes into the small store with her purse and I find her there moments later chatting with the woman behind the counter when I come in to pay for the gas.

“Yes, she was in Folies Orleans!” Lacey spots me. “This lady remembers seeing my mom!”

“Wow. Small world.”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t want to be a dancer like her?” The woman rings up my gas purchase.

Lacey sighs. “I thought of it. I like to sing and dance, but I’m not good enough. And there aren’t many shows for that type of dancing these days. To make good money, you have to dance wearing nothing but a smile.”

I cough.

“Plus we couldn’t afford dance lessons.”

I hand over my credit card, then sign it.

“Nice to meet you, Verna!” Lacey calls as we leave.

She’s got a Diet Coke and a bag of Cheetos, which she opens and digs into once we’re back on the interstate. She offers me the bag.

Ah, what the hell. I grab some of the crunchy treats.

I try to eat healthy, other than that year after I got injured, when I ate my weight in junk food every week, not to mention I drank gallons of booze, trying to drown my sorrows. But I’ve gotten back to the way I learned to eat when I was playing, lots of protein and veggies. I’ve seen former players pack on the pounds, and I don’t want to end up like that. I work out to stay in shape, and even still play hockey when I can. Truthfully, it’s not just to stay in shape. I have to be active or I’d go nuts.

I’ll have to find a beer league in L.A. to join.

“Tell me a joke,” Lacey says.

I shake my head. “I’m not very good at jokes.”

“You must know one.”

“Okay. A chemist, a physicist, and a statistician go hunting.”

“I can’t imagine you hunting.”

“I don’t really hunt. Anyway, the chemist shoots at a deer and misses it by five feet to the left. The physicist shoots and misses by five feet to the right. The statistician throws down his gun and yells, ‘We got him!’”

She frowns. “I don’t get it.”

“Because it’s the mean of five feet to the right and five feet to the left, get it?”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“I told you I’m bad at jokes,” I mutter.

“Okay let’s play more Would You Rather. Let’s make it the sexy edition.”

My eyes fly open. “Uh ...”

“So ... would you rather walk in on your parents having sex or have them walk in on you?”

“Oh man. Neither.”

“You have to pick one.”

I think through the pros and cons of each. Finally, I say, “I’d rather walk in on them.”

“That took a long time.”

“I like to be sure I’m making the right choice.”

“Hmm. Your turn.”

“I have no fucking clue what to ask.”

“You did good with the beach versus hot tub question.”

“Huh. Okay, would you rather talk dirty over the phone or send dirty texts?”

“Oh easy. Dirty texts.”

Do I have that to look forward to? Oh wait. Fake marriage.

“Would you rather walk in on your best friend naked or have him walk in on you naked?”

“Phht. I’ve seen my best friend naked lots of times. And he’s seen me.”

“Oooh. Tell me more.”

“We played hockey together. We changed and showered and got dressed in the same locker room all the time.”

“Ah.” She lays two fingers on her chin. “I’m picturing a room full of naked hockey players. I like it. Never mind our game, I’m just going to close my eyes and fantasize for a while.”

Jesus.

“Kidding,” she says. “Who’s turn is it?”

We go back and forth a while longer, and even though I struggle with some questions, I’m learning a lot about her. She likes bubble baths. She’d rather have her hair pulled than scratches on her back. She’d like to do a shot off my abs. And from our conversation with Charles, she likes oral sex. Hmmm.

This isn’t doing much for my persistent semi. By the time we get to L.A. I’m going to be so hard I’ll have to disappear into the bathroom for a fast hand job.

I glance at Lacey. Her cheeks are pink. Maybe she’s a little turned on too?

No doubt there’s some mutual attraction between us. After a few moments of thought, I conclude it’s probably best to address this out in the open. “We’re married.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

“You’re a real smartass, aren’t you?”

“I have my moments.”

“Okay, I’m trying to be frank here. We’re attracted to each other.”

I fucking love the way her lips curl into a smile. “All right then, if we’re being frank, yes. Yes, we are.”

“Married people have sex.”

“I’ve heard that.”

I laugh. “You’re not helping me.”

“Are you trying to say you want to have sex with me?”

“Uh ...” My tongue feels heavy. So much for being frank. She’s way ahead of me. “Yes, that’s what I’m trying to say.”

“How long till the next rest stop?”

I choke. “I didn’t mean right this minute. Okay, well, I sort of do, but I was thinking bigger picture.”

“Like, when we get to L.A. How many bedrooms do you have?”

“Three.”

“Good. I don’t think we should share a room.”

“Oh.”

“I’m not opposed to sleeping with you, though.”

Jesus. But this is what I wanted. “That’s what I was getting at. What are the terms of our relationship?”

“You’re making this into a business deal?”

“Um ...”

“A business deal that includes sex.” Her eyes narrow. “I don’t like that.”

Hell. Does that mean sex is off the table? “I wouldn’t say it’s a business deal,” I offer carefully. “More like we’re doing each other a favor.”

She tilts her head and considers that. “Okay. I can live with that.”

“And I want to be clear: I don’t expect sex as payment for the favor. But I wanted to know if, you know, if we both wanted it ... if it would be okay to act on that.”

She purses her lips, lifts her chin, and rubs her fingertips to her throat. “Well, I already said I’m not opposed to sleeping with you. But thank you for clarifying expectations.”

Why do I feel like she’s laughing at me?